She. An old girlfriend, most likely. His obvious reluctance to discuss her proved Becca had no right to pry. And no right to be disappointed. “Well. Have a great time.”
He ducked his head in a nod. “See you.” After meeting her gaze for a beat, he strode toward the exit.
Notepad in hand, Emmie took a final tally of their arrangements.
Becca cursed herself for sounding like such an idiot. What was she thinking? He was her teacher, out of her league.
On the ride back, Emmie teased, “Maybe you better get to work on a sample bridal gown. In case you need one.”
Remembering her earlier foolish imaginings made her sigh. “I’m sure he has a girlfriend. Maybe more than one.” The timing was all wrong anyway. “And I have to finish school, get my career started before I get serious with any guy. I don’t even have time to date, as it is.”
“I’m glad you’re serious about your goals. But sometimes life can throw things your way you hadn’t planned for.”
Oh, Becca knew about life’s surprises, all right. This past year had provided a hard lesson.
Emmie steered the delivery truck into the Basket of Blooms’ back lot. “Thanks again for helping.”
“No problem. I better get going, though. I promised Mom a pizza tonight.” Unlatching her seat belt, she reached for the handle.
“Hey, how’s she doing?”
At the thought of her mom’s face twisted with pain with each movement, Becca winced. “Every day Mom’s more worn out. I worry about her.”
Emmie nodded. “It’s good you’re taking care of her.”
“Yes. Good for both of us.” Since she’d been home again, the old tensions disappeared. Her mom treated her more like an adult. In a way, to reverse their roles felt strange, for Becca to be the caretaker. But also heartwarming to know she could repay her mother for all the years of support and love Mom had showered on her.
Their lives had been rough after Becca’s dad left. With no word from him in years, Mom told her not to expect any. Becca suspected her mom was relieved, more than anything, at nothing having to fight with him anymore. Not having to look for clues he cheated again. At first, she’d been angry at her mom for giving up hope so easily.
Admitting her mom had been right made trusting any guy difficult. The few guys she’d dated in high school all paid for her dad’s mistakes whenever they flirted with other girls. In college, she’d dated but none of the relationships ever turned serious. Since coming home, she’d been so busy with school and work, she hadn’t thought much about dating.
Until now. Mike Hunter had come back into her life. Another surprise she hadn’t counted on. One she couldn’t help but be excited about. A reason to look forward to each new day.
Chapter Three
Class had two more presentations to go. Becca loved to see other people’s designs, and discuss the qualities that made them work, or not. To engage herself in such conversations would prevent her from making silly comments to Mr. Hunter. Your teacher.
When Tom and Amy explained their projects in class the next Thursday night, neither impressed Becca. Tom showed zero enthusiasm during his fifteen minutes at the podium. Amy seemed more like a bubbly, reality show contestant than anything, and her sketch of a single flower appeared vague and superficial.
Mr. Hunter asked the class for their opinions.
Another student voiced Becca’s. “What’s it supposed to be?” Even though posed by Jonathan, a typically surly guy, the question held undeniable validity.
“It’s a flower.” Amy waved her hand across the sketch.
Jonathan stretched a leg in the aisle. “I know what a flower is. What’s the graphic intended for?”
Straightening her stance, Amy huffed, “For whatever. Maybe a web site. Maybe a tattoo.”
“A simple flower is pointless,” Andy chimed in. “Weren’t we supposed to have an objective for our projects?”
Her mouth drawn into a tight rosette, Amy’s nostrils flared.
Mr. Hunter stepped to the podium. “I believe so, but Amy’s named several possibilities. Thanks, Amy.” He glanced at the clock over the door. “If no one else has anything to add, we’ll end class here.”
After snatching her sheets from the easel, she stomped to her seat.
As everyone rose, he added, “This weekend, my photography exhibit opens at the downtown gallery. The reception runs from seven ‘til ten. You’re all welcome to stop by.” His gaze swept across the class and stopped at Becca for an extra beat.
Her heart fluttered. Slowing her pace, she smiled, thinking he would call her over to his desk. Maybe walk her to her car, as he had before.
At the desk, he opened his messenger bag, inserted his portfolio and pulled out a scheduler. He studied a page, and then flipped to another.
Even as he ignored her, she sensed his keen attention. He knew she waited for him, but didn’t acknowledge it. Or won’t.
Her stomach churned. Had something changed?
The awards banquet. His former flame must have rekindled. For Becca, it had the opposite effect. She fell in line behind Andy.
He waited for her to catch up. “Are you going Saturday?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, if I don’t have to work.” The shop never stayed open so late on a Saturday, but Becca had felt the uncomfortable weight of Andy’s stare a few times in class and didn’t want to encourage him. He seemed a nice enough guy, but a little too interested in video games. From the conversations they’d had, she’d learned he spent most of his spare time trying to attain new game levels, an obvious interest, given his wardrobe of video game tee-shirts.
As they strolled down the steps, he turned to her. “I might check it out. I could pick you up.”
At his hopeful-sounding tone, Becca grew wary. Earlier, when Becca arrived for class, a parking spot had opened up near the entrance, and she had joyfully claimed it. Doubly thankful now, she unlocked her door. “If I go, I’ll take my own car. In case my mom needs me to get home quickly.” She hated to play the sick mom card, but at least she didn’t have to hurt his feelings.
Pausing by her car, Andy jammed his hand into his jeans pocket. “Maybe I’ll see you there, then.”
“Maybe. Good night.” She smiled and got in, and pulled away with a wave. In her rearview mirror, the image of Mr. Hunter descending the steps caused her to forget about the stop sign at the parking lot intersection. At the blare of a car horn, her heart splat against her ribs and she jammed on the brakes.
Get yourself together!
***
At the shop’s work table, Becca first set a yellow snapdragon by a blue mum, and then pulled it out in favor of a green spike. Usually, the profusion of silky blooms cheered her. Not today. Holding a bloom to her nose, she inhaled its sweet aroma. She couldn’t decide which flowers looked best in the arrangement, because she couldn’t think clearly. Sleep had eluded her most of the night, with replays of Mike Hunter haunting her until daybreak. Why had he cooled toward her?
Carrying a box marked Fragile, Emmie walked in and set it on the table. “Soooo, how was class last night? And how’s Mr. Hunky?” she teased with a salacious smile.
Wish I knew. Becca picked up a fern and held it against the mum, then set it down. The confusion of last night returned all too vividly. Absently, she said, “Good. Fine.”
Her boss stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”
When she turned to Emmie, Becca’s shoulders slumped. “Last night, Mr. Hunter…” To pass it off as nothing, she laughed. “It’s silly.” How could she explain when she wasn’t sure herself? She’d made too much of his friendliness, obviously. He’d probably gone out of his way to be nice to make up for his strictness in high school. His conscience had cleared, and he’d moved on. Simple as that. So why did she feel so betrayed?
“He didn’t try something, did he?” The playfulness gone from her voice, Emmie’s gaze sharpened.
“Oh, no.” If he had, maybe she wouldn’t be confused.
“Good, you had me worried.” Emmie’s response came out in a breathy rush. She sliced away the packing tape.
“I did feel like…” Becca searched for the right words. “I can’t explain.” She’d sensed an undercurrent, as if something else went on deeper than what lie on the surface. Something more than wishful thinking on her part. “He invited the class to his photography exhibit, but when he said it, I almost felt like he was speaking only to me. Probably my imagination.” She waited for Emmie to tell her how silly she was. Give her some guidance. Becca couldn’t talk to her mom about Mr. Hunter; it would upset her.
Her boss smiled. “You have a crush on him. That’s natural. He’s smart, and young.”
As Becca snipped a wilted leaf from an iris, his image came vividly to mind. “And hot.” How had she ignored this in high school?
With a whoop, the woman opened the box and unloaded the various colored vases. “We’ll have to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re doing your homework.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I know where I want to be in five years.” Sooner than five years, if she could keep her goals on track.
Emmie set her steady gaze on Becca. “Good. It’s important to have a design for your life.”
Smiling, she studied the arrangement. “That’s what my mom always says.”
“Smart lady.” Her boss swept some stray cuttings from the counter into her hand. “So you’re going, right? To the exhibit?”
With a shrug, Becca trimmed the end of the flower and slipped it into the basket. “I don’t know if I should.”
“You have to! It’s not on school property. Maybe…” Emmie’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Maybe what?” Becca feigned a look of delighted shock.
“Maybe things will happen that might not normally.” Arching an eyebrow, she brought a rose to her nostrils and sniffed. “You never know what might bloom.” Smiling, she strolled to the front.
Becca laughed. As marketing manager, Emmie managed to put a positive spin on everything.
But her boss had a point. At the gallery, she and Mike would be on more equal terms. If her instincts proved wrong, she would leave, and things would remain the same. On the other hand, if her instincts were right, everything could be changed. Hope untwined like a wild flower vine and wrapped around her heart, its buds ready to burst.
***
Saturday morning, Becca’s first thought upon awakening was: Tonight’s Mike Hunter’s gallery exhibit! To feel such excitement at the prospect of simply seeing him was unreasonable, but since he’d appeared in her classroom—and reappeared in her life—images of him crowded out her other thoughts. In the classroom, with the lights out. His shoulder touching hers as they walked together. In his car, close enough she could have thrown her arms around him. The way he looked at her so intently, with such force of… what, exactly? She still wasn’t sure what he wanted, only that she wanted to pull him close, saturate every pore with his essence.
When he spoke to the class, he focused on her a good portion of the time, as if she were the only one in the room. In high school, he’d done the same thing but in a negative manner. Even so, her girlfriends had envied her being in his spotlight. Now she’d welcome his attention but he’d withdrawn it. Had he recognized her school girlish crush and been embarrassed? Had he cooled to let her down easy?
Either way, she’d find out tonight. A night among artists and others who appreciated great art. She intended to enjoy herself.
Anticipation surging through her, she pulled her new sweater from the drawer. While making a delivery to an office yesterday, Becca had been drawn to the sweater in the window of the boutique across the street. Normally she didn’t linger during deliveries, but she had an image of herself in that amethyst sweater, an image that included Mike Hunter’s approving stare.
Tonight would test her intuitive skills. She slipped on the top, finished dressing, and then went downstairs.
In the family room, her mother watched the news, propped against pillows on the sofa.
Worry nagged Becca as she sat beside Mom.
Her last chemo treatment had left her more tired and nauseous than ever. Today the sparkle had returned to her eyes.
She took Becca’s hand in hers. “I’m good, sweetie.”
“Your color’s better. Can I get you some tea, maybe a little scrambled egg?”
“I’m not hungry yet. I’ll get something later.” Though she’d protested, her mother had been using a walker to get back and forth. Becca kept reinforcing the idea it was only temporary, only to help her with her balance until she fully regained her strength.
“Don’t overdo it. You know I’m only a few minutes away if you need anything.” Every day, Becca said the same thing.
Her mother never called, though. She’d say others had dropped in to visit. Her old friend Mrs. Hardwick next door had been a godsend, stopping by each day.
Her mom squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to worry about me, honey.”
Becca disguised her constant worry, but would love to see her mother return to her old self.
She tugged up the front of her sweater. “Does this look all right?” Now that she had it on, the fitted design seemed a little too snug.
“You look beautiful.” Pride edged her mother’s voice.
After kissing her mom’s forehead, she headed for the door. “I won’t be late.”
“Becca, wait!”
At her mother’s urgent tone, Becca whirled. “What’s wrong?”
“Your cell phone.” Mom waved it in the air. “It must have fallen out of your pocket.”
Not again. With hurried steps, she retrieved it. “I’ll have to buy a holder to keep track of this.”
Her mother smiled. “Have a good time.”
As she left, a good feeling buoyed her. A burden of worry had lifted a bit. Her mom looked better. It was only a matter of time before she’d be back to her old self.
Since she’d moved home, school and work and errands comprised her time. It had been too long since she’d gone out just for fun.
***
Tucked beyond an inviting stone pathway split by a burbling fountain, The Third Street Gallery’s wall of windows and open doors showed a flutter of activity. A sign propped on an easel out front welcomed guests, and displayed Mike’s name.
Becca clutched her purse and walked in behind a young couple. With Mike nowhere in sight, she wandered through groups of people.
The photos gracing the walls drew her closer. Gorgeous black and white shots, all captured in incandescent light. A few portraits, but most were of natural elements—water flowing over a rock, a tree limb blooming with leaves. Details that portrayed unusual angles and elements. The core strength of whatever he caught in his lens came through. Mike had an eye for the essence of an object.
And a person. Several photos of a girl—no, a woman—captured an undeniable intimacy. She peered through her long, blonde hair at the camera as though she’d just made love to it. Or the person holding it.
Becca’s gut burned with envy, imagining Mike with the woman. I should never have come tonight. Jealousy wasn’t her style. Neither were girlish flirtations. And she wasn’t a little girl. She wanted so much more. From an equal–something Mike would never be.
“Becca.” Mike’s familiar voice came through the crowd.
Her heart fluttered wildly and she turned to see him wending toward her through clusters of people.
His charcoal grey sweater conformed to his chest and shoulders. In black pants and boots, he could have stepped out of a New York Times Magazine menswear ad. Intelligent, fashionable and yes, hot. Damn.
“Hey.” She blinked back her embarrassment. Keep it cool. Casual. Adult. She flipped her long hair behind her shoulder, though her hand trembled. “Congratulations. What a great turnout.”
“The nice wine and free cheese always draws a crowd.” Mike’s eyes sparkled behind black-framed glasses.
She
grinned at his self-deprecating joke. “Oh, stop. They’re here to see your beautiful prints.”
“You like them?” Like a proud parent, he looked down the wall of photos. His elbow grazed her arm.
Concentrate on his work. To better forget the warm tingles shivering through her, she turned away. “I love the rich detail. They’re amazing.” She gazed at the prints, and imagined the calming effect each would have in a room.
He folded his arms as he focused on her. “Funny you should say that. That’s what struck me about your sketches–the detail. You have a real talent for revealing the core essence of whatever you’re drawing.”
Cheeks flushed with warmth, she tamped her surprise at his comparison of his work to hers. “That’s exactly what I thought about your photos.”
With a soft laugh, he laid a hand lightly at her back. “Great minds think alike.”
She wondered…did he ever think about her? Could he tell her insides turned soft and warm at his touch? “So tell me about your inspiration for these.”
Instead of beginning with the obvious photo, the one they stood near, Mike moved to the next one. “The gnarled branches of this tree always intrigued me. It’s near my parents’ house.”
“Yes, I like the way the bark swirls in the center.” What she liked even better was the way he stood so close, head tilted toward her, as he pointed to it. His sandalwood cologne mixed with his own clean scent in a tantalizing way.
When he stepped further away to explain the next image, she wondered whether he’d loved the girl in the photographs. The possessive glow in the woman’s eye suggested something more primal, on her part. Like he was something she wanted to devour.
They ambled along the line of photos hanging on the wall. Though Becca basked in his attention, she told herself to keep her head. Occasionally someone would interrupt to say congratulations, or how much he or she loved his work. If the person said hello to her, Mike would follow an introduction by saying, “Becca’s a talented artist.” Not, she noticed, Becca’s one of my students. The distinction was clear, but the meaning was not. He thought of her as more than his student, but how much more?
Design for Life Page 3
