One Hundred Glances (An Aspen Cove Small Town Romance Book 14)

by Kelly Collins

  “What I can’t see can’t hurt me.” It was a stupid thing to say. Everything she couldn’t see could hurt her and did.

  Baxter promised he’d never leave her, and he walked out. She sat crying into her plate of spaghetti until she remembered crying never helped. All it did was stuff up her nose and make her eyes itch.

  His idea wasn’t awful. It would get her out of the jam she was in. The contract said she had to deliver ten original works of art. It didn’t say impressionist art. She could toss paint against the canvas and call it such. She’d seen many an artist get hundreds of thousands of dollars for abstract work.

  “Turn left in fifty feet,” her app said. She did her best to gauge the distance, but she had to trust the accessibility map would get her to her destination. “Turn left in ten feet.” She moved forward, and her phone vibrated in her hand. “Turn left now. Your destination is one hundred feet on your right.”

  That was to the front door. She needed to enter at the back—the door that led directly to her studio. Going in the front would pose all kinds of challenges, like finding the alarm panel to disarm it so she could travel freely down the hallway. She didn’t have an alarm on her back door because she often left it open while she painted, and no one could set the alarm to the building, so they bypassed it.

  When she rounded the rear of the building, she tucked her cane into her bag and used her fingers to count the doors as she passed them. She was the ninth and last door in the building. She’d chosen this unit because of its stunning views of Mt Meeker and the valley below it.

  At her door, she put in her key and unlocked it. The sweet smell of linseed oil washed over her. To some, it was unpleasant, but to her, it was home.

  She left the lights off and went to work gathering the canvases leaning against the walls. One by one, she touched them to feel where the paint ended and the canvas began. Why she hadn’t depended on her other senses, she didn’t know, but she figured it was because the event had completely blinded her emotionally. She’d tucked herself into the dark, awful place where she wallowed in sorrow, selfishness, and fear.

  Only nine of the pieces had enough work to call them art, and she stacked them next to her easel. Thankfully, Baxter was taking care of her. He’d set her paints out in order of the color wheel and set the black and the white next to the colored tubes.

  Tying her hair back into a ponytail, she went to work. Her phone rang several times, but she ignored it. She was in the zone. The paint slid across the canvas as if the brush were moving on its own. She was too talented an artist to simply blot on black. She needed depth and color to get her point across. She was the black moving toward the light, and as she moved the paint toward the pre-painted section, she let hope shine onto the canvas. In her mind, it looked a lot like a dark sky opening up and a ray of light guiding her on her path back to herself. Not her old self, but her new self.

  By the fifth time her phone rang, she knew she couldn’t ignore it any longer. The only person who called her was Baxter, and he deserved more than her silence.

  “Hey,” she said as she mixed what she hoped was a stormy blue-gray.

  “Sosie, where are you? I’m worried sick about you. I’ve been calling, and I went by the studio, but the light was off. Where are you?”

  It warmed her heart that he cared so much. Theresa had been right when she said she should have had more people supporting her. The problem was, she didn’t know how to let others in. It wasn’t something she was used to. She did the supporting, whether it was empathy for her drunkard of a brother, or sympathy for her depressed mother. She was the rock in her family, and there was no one to help her.

  How funny that a stranger had to show her she had value beyond her art, and that her work could exist, but differently.

  “Sosie, are you there?”

  She shook all thoughts from her mind. “I’m here. I’m at the studio. I don’t need lights.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “No, I have to do this by myself. Thank you for the brilliant idea. You were right.”

  “But I wasn’t, you’re not a has-been, at least not to me. You’re everything.”

  He’d used her words. “Thank you. I needed to hear that, but right now, I have to be everything for me. I know that sounds selfish, but there can’t be us if I can’t close the chapter on my old life. I need to do that in a way that honors my art. I’m using your idea to rework these canvases. I can see them in my mind, and they are amazing.”

  “When will you come home?”

  “Not until I’m finished.”

  She expected him to argue, but he didn’t. Baxter Black understood her. He might have been the only one who had taken the time to figure her out.

  “Call me when you’re ready. I’ll pick you up. And Sosie ... I love you.”

  “I love you too. Thank you for being exactly what I needed.”

  She went back to work and didn’t stop until she finished the ninth canvas, and her fingers cramped so badly she feared they looked as knobby and gnarly as the twisted branches beyond her window.

  She gathered her things and extended her cane. Her phone told her it was five in the morning. Had she painted all night long? She turned to look over her shoulder as she walked out the door. The canvases were there even though she couldn’t see them, and she imagined they might be her greatest work yet.

  She considered calling Baxter because she was dead on her feet, but the brisk morning air invigorated her. She told her phone to map her path, and she moved down the street toward home.

  The weight of the world lifted from her chest. She would make her deadline, and with any luck, she’d earn enough money to pay off the Albrights. She didn’t have ten canvases, but she had nine original works of art, and that was more than she could hope for.

  As she moved down Main Street, a calm she’d never felt before settled over her. Birds singing, and the sound of an oscillating sprinkler leaked into her awareness. Bacon and syrup scents filled the surrounding air.

  She trudged up the stairs and walked down the hallway. Sleeping in her bed was probably what she should have done, but she missed Baxter, so she kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed next to him. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. Even in sleep, he loved and protected her.

  She closed her eyes and let the exhaustion pull her under.

  His absence woke her. She felt the coolness on his side of the bed and knew he’d left for work hours ago. Today he planned to finish Gray’s house, and then move on to his. He’d laid down the hardwood floors and used a circular saw to put grooves in between rooms for her. Today the counters were coming—counters she’d picked out because he wanted her to be happy where she lived.

  She rolled onto her back and covered her eyes. Her first hint that something was wrong, or maybe right, was a sharp pain that nearly split her head when she opened her eyes. The bright light of the room was almost blinding.

  She closed her eyes, thinking what she saw was a ghost of a memory. Something from her past that was playing tricks on her mind.

  She moved her hands in front of her face and slowly opened her eyes again. Shadows of pink floated in her vision. Nothing was clear, but there were color and texture mixed in with the cottony blur.

  “Oh my God!” she screamed. “I can see.”

  She tripped over her shoes while jumping out of bed. She brought them to her face. “Vans, I’ve been wearing white tennis shoes all along, and I never used the app because I thought they were black.” She tugged them on and raced to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror.

  “You’re a mess, girl.” She leaned in until she could focus on a single square inch of her skin. As she waited, more came into focus. “My face.” Her palms cupped her cheeks, and she pinched them the way an Italian grandmother did her grandchildren. Pink rose to her skin. She rubbed at the dark circles below her eyes, but the smudge didn’t come off because that was what happened when she didn’t get enough sleep.
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br />   She threaded her fingers through her hair. How she missed seeing strands of blonde and beige, gold and brown. “You need a haircut.”

  Curiosity didn’t kill the cat, but it mesmerized her. For the next hour, she moved around the apartment, seeing it for the first time.

  “Blue couch.” It was the exact blue she thought it was and wondered if she’d seen it. She touched the books on the shelf, looked out the window that oversaw Main Street, and watched as people moved from shop to shop.

  She should have called Baxter right away, but she’d lived in the dark for over six months, and she wanted to bask in the light by herself for a few minutes. Wouldn’t it be funny if she pranked him the way he had Red and Gray? Only she’d be pretending she was blind when she could see.

  She picked up her phone and saw the cracked screen, broken from so many drops and falls. She dialed Baxter’s number and waited for him to answer.

  “Hey, Sosie, did you get some sleep?”

  “Slept like the dead. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the house. The counters just came. Should I pick you up?”

  She held back a giggle. “No, I’ll walk. Should I bring you lunch?”

  “It’s almost dinner. How about we eat at Maisey’s?”

  “Sounds perfect. I can’t wait to see what kind of pie she has tonight.”

  “It’s always the same.”

  “I know, but I want to see for myself. I’ll be at the house within the hour.” She knew he wouldn’t pick up on what she meant. She always used the word see even though she couldn’t before.

  She hung up and called her agent.

  “I see you got my letter. I thought you’d ignore it.” There was no friendly hello or how are you. It was strictly business. She almost blurted out that she could see, but Theresa didn’t deserve to be the first one to know. That privilege was for those she loved.

  “I tried, but Baxter convinced me to take a peek.”

  “And?”

  “I’m calling to tell you your art is ready. I only have nine canvases.”

  “I need ten.”

  “Fine, you’ll have ten. I have no way to transport them, so if you want them, come and get them.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She was telling Theresa to pick up art that even she hadn’t seen.

  “Is the paint still wet?”

  “I used thickened linseed oil, so it will be surface dry.”

  “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  Sosie's heart fell to the floor of her stomach. “Tomorrow?”

  “The show is next week, Sosie. It’s a good thing you called because I was signing a different artist.”

  Being replaced should have made her feel something like anger or jealousy. She felt nothing. “Okay, tomorrow then.”

  “All ten, that’s two less than you promised, and they better be good. We can probably punch up the price given that you’re blind. That’s almost as good as being a child prodigy. Glad to see you’re back. Plan to ride home with me, and we’ll discuss the future.”

  As soon as the call was over, she sank onto the couch. Her future? Wasn’t it here with Baxter? If she thought living in the dark was scary, making her way back to her old life felt like climbing a waterfall. She wasn’t the same person she was six months ago, she was broke but rich in so many ways.

  All she wanted right now was Baxter and one of his hugs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He had installed the sink in the kitchen just as the door opened, and Sosie walked in. She looked lit up like a Christmas tree. Painting all night must have filled her soul with goodness. Never had he seen her look so pretty.

  “Hey, you.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and moved toward her. Her eyes got bigger as he neared to brush a kiss across her lips.

  She smiled and raised her hands to his face, running the pads of her thumbs across his cheekbones—across his lips. With spread fingers, she combed through his hair like she hadn’t felt it a hundred times already.

  “Dark chocolate.”

  “Or mud,” he said, knowing she was asking about the color of his hair. She did that a lot. Asking for specific colors helped her picture things in her mind.

  “No, it’s like sipping chocolate, smooth and rich and deep brown.”

  “You can call it what you want as long as you kiss me.”

  She did, she pulled him to her and kissed the breath straight from his lungs. When she stepped back, she turned in a circle as if taking in her surroundings. It was odd for her, but he’d learned to expect the unexpected with Sosie. She was one of a kind and unpredictable.

  She moved to her painting like a moth to a flame. On tiptoes, she stretched her fingers to touch the checkered shoelace he’d used to close the gaping hole in the canvas.

  “Interesting. I like it.” She took a step back and narrowed her eyes like a critic. “I’ve never used multimedia in my paintings, but I find it fitting. You did the same for me that you did for this painting. You took in a girl with a broken heart and stitched up the deep cut with your love.”

  Sosie was always intuitive about her work, but this time, she seemed to see what was in front of her.

  “Sosie, what’s going on?”

  She spun around to face him. “I can see!”

  “You what!?”

  “It’s not perfect, there’s a halo around everything like my world is surrounded by frayed cotton, but I see everything.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “Like really see? As in you see me?”

  She nodded. “I see you in your tattered jeans and cotton T-shirt. The shock in your big brown eyes is heartwarming and scary at the same time.” She threw her arms out and spun in a circle. “I see your beautiful house.” She rushed to the kitchen and touched the granite counter. “This is exactly the way I pictured it.”

  He stood glued to the hardwood floor. She could see, and that would change everything. Would she stay with him? He couldn’t imagine she’d choose him. Her life differed from his. She was art shows and galleries, exhibitions and consignments. She had a home in Tuscany and a place in Denver. The only thing she came to Aspen Cove for was her studio.

  He knew it should thrill him, and he was happy for her but devastated at the loss of the Sosie he knew. She would get buried behind the Sosie of old—the artist who needed paint and linseed oil more than love.

  “That’s great, Sosie.” He swallowed the lump that nearly choked him. “It’s really great.” He moved to her and hugged her tightly. “Shall we go out to a nice place for dinner and celebrate?”

  She shook her head. “Maisey’s sounded like a great idea, but I realize I have so much to do. I have to go to the studio and get the canvases ready because Theresa is coming tomorrow to pick everything up.”

  “Are you going too?” He sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for the one word that would crush his soul.

  “Yes.”

  He took a step back from the emotional punch to his gut.

  “Right.” He moved to the sink and started on the plumbing.

  “I’m coming back, Baxter. I promise.”

  He smiled, even though it took every bit of effort to keep it there. “Sure, your studio is here.”

  She rushed to him and threw her arms around him. “No, I’m coming back for you.”

  He set the wrench on the counter. “I appreciate that you think you’ll come back for me, but, Sosie, you have a life outside of Aspen Cove. It’s a life I can’t give you here.”

  “Then come with me to live in Denver.” Her skin glowed with excitement. “We can get a cute little fixer-upper in the historic district.”

  He shook his head. “I’m flattered you offered, but my home is here. I’ve got a good life in Aspen Cove, and my family is here.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  Was I? “No, Sosie, I’m just pointing out that I’ll be here, and you’ll be there. Things will be more difficult, but maybe they can work out. I mean ... you seem to have a pocketful of miracles.”r />
  “Oh my God, you are breaking up with me.”

  “I’m just being realistic. Wasn’t it you who said if you can’t be an artist, then who are you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “That was before I met you.”

  He pulled her into his arms and hugged her like it might be the last time because deep in his heart, he knew it was.

  “You are a strong, sexy woman who showed me that love is possible, and caring for someone isn’t as risky as it seemed.” He forced a chuckle. “Hell, I might even be a little good at it. I mean, you survived me.”

  She buried her nose in his chest and breathed deeply before she stepped back. “I’m going to the studio for a bit. Let’s meet back at the apartment for a celebratory glass of wine.”

  Losing Sosie wasn’t something he wanted to celebrate, but the return of her eyesight was. How could he be unhappy about that? “Have you called your doctor?”

  Her headed bobbed. “I called him on my way over here. He thinks it was stress that caused the swelling to remain, and as I relaxed into my acceptance, my body healed, and the pressure on the optic nerve subsided. I have an appointment with him the day after tomorrow.”

  With little more to say, he nodded. “Do you want a ride?”

  She looked over her shoulder at the painting on the mantel. “I could use a ride and that painting if you don’t mind loaning it to me. I need ten canvases, and I only have nine.”

  The painting would be all he had left of her when she went back to her life, but it wasn’t truly his, he’d kind of hijacked it that first day in the studio.

  “It’s yours, Sosie, take it with you.”

  “I’ll give it back.” He dug into his pocket for his keys. “Let’s get you and the painting over to the studio.”

  He moved around the house he thought he’d share with her. She was everywhere, from the color of the walls to the transition lines in the flooring. She was in the speckles on the granite to the blue sea-glass tile he had yet to install in the bathroom. Sosie might not live with him, but she’d always surround him.