by Lexy Timms
“I wished John could’ve turned more toward his art and less to his drugs,” I said.
“Dude, could I talk to you seriously for a second?” Drew asked.
“What’s up?”
“You’ve been a bit off since the remembrance. I’ve been to every single one, and it’s never taken you this long to bounce back. I’m worried about you, man.”
“I don’t really know what to tell you. I recognize that. I feel it in my bones, but I don’t have a reason or an explanation for you. Something’s just shifted, and I don’t know what it is. It’s frustrating, but I’m trying not to think about it too much.”
“You think it’s the tension with your parents?” he asked.
“Well, I wish they would finally acknowledge their fault in all this too. None of us are fully to blame, but all of us played a part in what happened to John. But they pretend like it didn’t fucking happen and like he didn’t fucking exist. You know they’re removing his pictures from their house?”
“What?”
“Yeah. The last dinner I had with them, there were bare areas on the wall where the color had been displaced. Pictures that had hung there for years with my brother’s smiling face, and they’re gone now. Made me mad as piss.”
“I have no words for that, man. I’m sorry,” he said. “But don’t take all this on yourself. I know you’re doing everything you can to honor your brother’s memory. Taking on the homeless men to help them out. This art gallery. Trying to keep a steady relationship with your parents. But don’t drown yourself in keeping his memory alive. You still have your own life to live, you know.”
“Yeah, and he doesn’t,” I said.
“So, the question becomes would he want you miserable? Or would he want you happy?”
He had a point, and I knew he did. But I had to admit that helping Hailey with her art gallery wasn’t entirely about John. Yes, honoring my brother was there, and yes, I felt his presence whenever I picked up my pencil to draw again, but this project was as much about Hailey as it was about him.
I only wished I understood why.
“He would want me happy,” I said.
“We all know he would, Bryan. We’re all just waiting for you to see that.”
“I think I might’ve made a decision that pushes me in that direction, but I’m not sure if it was a good one.”
“What do you mean, man?”
“Hailey asked me out to dinner, and I said sure.”
“Hailey? Art gallery Hailey?” he asked.
“Yeah. Is that completely unprofessional? Bad luck? Anything like that?”
“You asking if it’s a mistake?”
“That too.”
“Hell no, man. That’s great. Dude. You fucking need a good woman in your life. And even if she’s just a good woman for right now, I haven’t seen a woman on your arm in years. If Hailey holds the same types of community outreach values that you do, that’s saying a lot about her personality, and I haven’t even spent time with the chick.”
“So, you think dinner with her is a good thing?”
“Yeah. Especially since she asked you. Most women aren’t gutsy like that,” he said, grinning.
“She said she asked me because she wanted to repay me for my kindness.”
“Then you take whatever she’ll give you, dude.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “It’s dinner. Not sex.”
“You never know. Those art gallery chicks fly by the seat of their pants. Just take it as it comes. Enjoy yourself. Then tell me all about it afterward.”
“You’re insane, you know that?”
“It’s why you keep me around,” he said.
I felt a little better about it after talking with Drew. Having someone on my side when it came to having dinner with a client settled me a bit about the entire decision. I took one last look at the cabin picture and inhaled the scent of its innocence as my mind wandered back to the cabin picture Hailey had shown me. I didn’t know why I was so drawn to that picture, but I was ecstatic it was one of the paintings she was going to pay me with.
It might not have been drawn by John, but I could use that same reminder of innocence in my own home some days.
Especially after those dinners with my parents.
Chapter 14
Hailey
The June breeze off the ocean fluttered my hair as I waited on my couch. The window was open, and I could smell the ocean breeze coming through the screen, relaxing my bones as I fidgeted on the cushions. Bryan was picking me up any second for our date tonight, and I had to say, I was incredibly nervous. Even though this was to repay him for all he’d done for me thus far, I was nervous about what he’d think of me.
What I looked like now that I’d dyed my hair pink.
I decided to play it down for the dinner. I put on a brown and turquoise skirt that had swirling designs on it. I slipped into a pair of my brown flip-flops and opted for a slightly tighter shirt that fell barely off one of my shoulders. I didn’t want it to look like I was preparing for some sort of fancy date, but I would’ve been lying if I said I didn’t want to stun him somehow. He was a beautiful man, and even I could see that. I’d kept my eyes off men for years, wanting to focus on my art and not have dating disturb the community outreach I was doing.
My hands began to tremble in my lap as the wind kicked up outside.
A storm was beginning to roll in, and I wasn’t sure what that would do to the project. I got up and shut the window, feeling a chill shiver down my spine. I grabbed one of my tie-dyed wraps from my room, throwing it over my shoulders as the thunder began to roll in the distance. It was nights like this where curling up with my canvas was the only thing I could think to do because of the inspiration storms like this brought on.
But a knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts, and I sprang to answer the door.
I opened up and immediately Bryan’s eyes flew to my hair. I could see the shock in his eyes. They danced around my hair before his dark eyes slowly came down to meet my gaze, and I couldn’t help but smirk at how off-guard he had been caught.
“I never can stay with one color for too long,” I said. “It usually changes to reflect my mood, but sometimes I get restless and just need a change to keep me on my toes.”
He didn’t say a word, but the smile that crossed his face told me he enjoyed my explanation. I took a second to study him as his eyes drifted along my outfit. He wasn’t dressed to the nines or in some sort of suit, but he did have on this beautiful cologne. I had to make sure I wasn’t breathing in too deeply. I didn’t want him to think I was some sort of creep or anything. It had this fresh cotton smell before the musky wood scent hit you.
It suited him perfectly, especially in the tight shirt he was wearing that gripped his arms in the dip of his biceps.
“So, I was thinking Korean barbecue,” I said.
“I’ve never had it,” he said.
“Ah, so he does speak,” I said, winking. “Thought the hair was a bit too much of a shock.”
“I actually like it. Just takes a bit of getting used to. Like when you pick up a Pepsi can but are expecting lemonade.”
“Yuck. I take it that’s happened from experience?” I asked.
“Yep. And it was yuck.”
I giggled as I stepped out of the house. The wind had really kicked up, almost knocking me off my feet. Without thinking, Bryan shot his arm out and caught me, his muscles clenching against my stomach as he helped me steady myself onto my feet. The warmth of his skin filled my gut with a carnal sensation, one that trickled behind my pelvis and spurred a moment where I imagined his lips against mine.
“Let’s get into my truck, and we can figure it out from there,” he said. “The storm’s going to get pretty bad.”
“You think the gallery will be all right?” I asked.
“Yep. When I saw the weather, I sent some guys out there to cover it up and drive nails into the tarps to make sure everything stayed dry and didn’t move.
It’ll be fine. You’ve got my word.”
We got into his truck as the rain started pouring. I told him to head toward my gallery, telling him the Korean barbecue place was past it about a mile down the road. Part of me wanted to make sure the gallery was all right. Not that I didn’t trust him. It was just that this storm was really kicking up, and if there was anything I could do to keep the project from stalling, I wanted to make sure I could get it done.
But as we rode by the gallery, I saw he was right. Tarps were covering everything from the equipment to the building itself.
“Feel better?” he asked, grinning.
“Shut up.”
“And here I thought you meant it when you said you trusted me.”
“I do! I do. It’s just ...”
“It’s your baby. I understand perfectly. Only giving you a hard time,” he said.
“I can’t believe you’ve never had Korean barbecue. Ever had something called bulgogi?”
“I have had bulgogi, yes.”
“That’s the most popular type of Korean barbecue,” I said.
“Well, then I’m looking forward to dinner. I’ve only had it once, but it was really good.”
“And here I thought you were looking forward to it because I was around,” I said.
“Figured that was a given.”
I whipped my gaze over to him as we pulled into the restaurant. I studied the side of his face, trying to see if he was making a joke and trying to see if that playful little smirk of his would pull at the corners of his cheeks.
But it didn’t.
He was completely serious.
“Ready to brave the rain?” he asked.
“One. Two.”
We both threw our doors open and ran to the restaurant. I had my wrap over my head, trying to make sure my newly-dyed hair didn’t get too wet. Bryan splashed in puddles, soaking the bottoms of his jeans as we leaped for the porch. We turned back out and looked at the sheets of rain coming down, laughing to ourselves as we both shook our heads.
“Is there any dye running down my neck?” I asked.
I felt his gaze heatedly on the back of my skin. Before I knew what was happening, his finger had hooked into the wide neck of my shirt, his fingernail grazing my skin as I jumped.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t see the goosebumps working their way up my back.
“I don’t see any dye dripping anywhere,” he said.
“Good. Thanks.”
Both of us were silent until we were sat at our tables. We ordered our drinks and placed our food orders, opting for a massive plate of sharable bulgogi on a bed of white rice. The rain slammed against the windows as the thunder shook the walls of the restaurant, and I didn’t even realize my eyes were gazing out in the direction of my art gallery.
“If you’re so worried about it, I could price out what it would take to weatherproof the entire thing. You know, like that storage unit you’ve got.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be so preoccupied with it. You guys have put a lot of hard work into it, and I’ve got all those paintings in that storage unit.”
“Trust me,” he said as he laid his hand on mine, “that storage unit you’ve got out back is a treasure. You could blow a tornado over that thing, and it would still be standing. Your artwork’s fine in there.”
I was painfully aware of how wonderful his hand felt on top of mine. Just as quickly as it had happened, the moment was gone, and I suddenly felt naked without his touch. Three times in the span of fifteen minutes, I’d felt some part of his body against mine, and I was having a hard time concentrating on anything else but his body. How his shirt clung to his muscles and how his broad shoulders tapered into a slim, toned pair of hips.
“Have you always loved art?” he asked.
“Oh, gosh, yes. Ever since I was a little kid. My mother probably has pictures somewhere of the artwork I used to draw on the walls. She would always say they weren’t your average doodles,” I said, giggling.
“So, you’re close with your family?”
I felt a lump catch in my throat before I drew in a deep breath.
“Actually, no. I’ve been estranged from them ever since I dropped out of medical school.”
“You. Medical school. I don’t see it.”
“Neither did I, but I was supposed to be the doctor like my father, and my sister, Anna, was supposed to be like my mother, the lawyer.”
“Is this the sister that—?”
“Invested? Yep. I’ve only got one sibling.”
“Did she grow up to become a lawyer?” he asked.
“She did. And she’s a fabulous one. She’s the one who’s been coaching me through all the legal stuff regarding the business. But I know her passion’s in music.”
“What instrument does she play?”
“Oh, she doesn’t. But you should hear her sing opera. The woman’s got a voice that could fill a canyon.”
“I bet it’s beautiful,” he said.
“It is, and it’s wasting away while she works a career she hates. I can’t get her to step out like I did. Of course, she’s got a wonderful relationship with our parents. But they couldn’t embrace the fact that I dumped medical school to focus on my art.”
“Couldn’t they have compromised? An art education instead of medical school?” he asked.
“That’s assuming my parents understood what the word meant,” I said. “Either way, Anna supports me fully, and that means the world. She’s coming to see me over the fourth of July. I’m looking forward to it.”
“That sounds like it’ll be fun. Will she come by the site?” he asked.
“Probably. She’s excited to see the progress. I try to send pictures to her, but she always says it’s never quite like being there.”
I could tell Bryan was tensing up, and I wasn’t sure what was going on. His shoulders were rolled back, and his hands were now in his lap. His eyes were focused out the window instead of on me, and even though I knew he was listening, there was something else going on.
“Look, I’m really sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable with all this. The dye thing, I just wanted to make-”
“No, no. I’m sorry. I just ... I don’t really get along with my parents either, so I can sympathize.”
“Oh. I drudged up bad memories. I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. I get it, is all. Makes it easier to choose friends over family.”
“Yeah. It does. That way you can build the family you want instead of being stuck with the family you got,” I said.
“My friends throw better parties than they do, anyway. I’m actually allowed to drink something other than wine at them,” he said, grinning.
“And my friends don’t expect me to dress in some decadent fabric and walk around in heels. The one time I wore heels, I twisted my ankle so badly, I popped one of my ligaments.”
“You popped it?”
“Yep. Right off the top of my foot. Like a spring. Just boing!”
The two of us laughed as our food was set in front of us. It smelled delightful, and we both scooped heaping portions onto our plates. For a little while, things were silent while the storm continued to rage, and the lightning cast sharp shadows on Bryan’s face that I simply couldn’t take my eyes off of.
The searing image of his dark eyes flickering up at me just as the lightning flashed outside was one I’d have to draw to release from the confines of my mind.
“You know, I’ve been inspired a bit by working on your gallery.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Well, I sat down a few nights ago and drew something other than a blueprint.”
“Bryan, that’s awesome. What did you draw? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind. I drew this geometric design. It starts as a square in the middle and slowly spirals out to the edges of the paper.”
“You seem to have a fascination with those. Could I see it so
metime?” I asked.
“Sure. If I can remember to bring it by the site, I will.”
I was absolutely delighted. The idea of inspiring someone already with my art and the gallery told me I was doing the right thing, that despite the rocky road with my parents and all it took to get here, I’d made the right decision with my life.
I was so thrilled, my cheeks were beginning to ache with my smiling.
“So, you keep saying blueprints. I think you mentioned something when we first met about architecture?” I asked.
“Yep. It’s what I studied in trade school. I’m much more focused on the construction end of things right now than the architecture of it. Most of the residential homes we build are cookie-cutter style homes, so I draw three basic layouts for each massive project and that’s about it.”
“Well, that’s some artistic expression at least,” I said.
“Yeah but not like drawing and shading. That taps into another part of me that I don’t get to express often.”
“Well, I for one am glad you’re expressing it now and that you’re sharing it with me. It makes me happy. More than you’ll ever know.”
His eyes shot up to me, and I couldn’t help losing myself in them. The smile that crossed his face twinkled the small speckles of hazel I’d just discovered in his eye color. There wasn’t a thing about him that wasn’t beautiful, that wasn’t somehow tragic and yet full of life. He was the perfect canvas and the perfect subject.
I wanted to draw all of him.
He was the type of subject you could use for an entire gallery opening. An artist could fill the walls and line entire buildings with photographs and pictures of him. Every angle, every color, every contrast, and every emotion screamed and clawed its way toward a canvas.
It was like his presence was meant to be someone’s muse.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
It wasn’t until his voice ripped through my mind that I realized I was staring at his geometric tattoo.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “Very much so. I’ve been enraptured with all your tattoos, actually. It’s a form of art I’ve never been able to express. Don’t have a steady enough hand to tattoo, nor do I have the ability to choose something and stick with it.”
