by E. L. Todd
The next morning, she dressed herself then left for Thatcher’s gallery and arrived just on time. She waited in the car for a while before she had the urge to walk to the front door. She knocked hesitantly, unsure if she should just walk in.
When the door opened, she was expecting to see Diane, but it was Thatcher.
“Good morning,” he said as he opened the door wider, allowing her to walk inside.
“Hello,” she said as she stepped across the threshold. She wore shorts and a plain t-shirt, trying to seem as casual as possible. She didn’t wear makeup, trying to seem as unattractive as possible.
He wore jeans and a brown t-shirt that clung to his chest. He turned to her and eyed her. “You look nice.”
“I just rolled out of bed.”
“Then that’s even more amazing.”
It was awkward while they stood across from each other. Thatcher seemed calm, his hands in his pockets while he stared at her, making direct eye contact with her. Every time she looked at him, he was staring at her, so he avoided his gaze as much as she could. His blue eyes were burning holes in her skin. After a moment of silence, she cleared her throat.
“Where’s Diane?”
“It’s the weekend—she’s off.”
“Oh.”
“She has two little ones. They are going to the beach today.”
“Are you two friends?”
“Of course. She’s my colleague and friend.”
She nodded, unsure why she did. She wasn’t agreeing to anything.
“You’re really nervous around me.”
Her cheeks blushed and she kept her gaze averted.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Your eyes say otherwise.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Is it because of what I said last night?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I apologize.”
“Thank you.”
“Now let’s get down to business.” He walked into the other room then moved through the hallway until they came to his private show room. The walls were covered with his paintings. They were all different and unique. No two images looked alike.
She stared at them, memorized. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
She walked over to one that she was immediately drawn to. It was the image of the sea, powerful and strong with waves crashing down on jagged rocks. It didn’t remind her of the Hawaiian beach, but of a place she had never been. She stared at it for a long time. “What happened?”
He came beside her.
“My father passed away.”
She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. “He drowned?”
He nodded. “When we were surfing. His body was never recovered.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
She looked back at the painting, staring at it intently.
“I haven’t sold it to anyone because I wasn’t able to part with it. But I let it sit here because people love to look at it.”
“It’s powerful.”
“Thank you for appreciating it.”
She turned to him and saw him stare down at her, his gaze heated.
“I know your painting is supposed to be featured in my showcase room to be sold, but we aren’t doing that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m buying it.”
“What?”
“I’ll leave it in the room but it isn’t for sale. Name your price.”
“What—I can’t do that.”
“Why not? I buy artwork from artists often. You’re an artist and I’m a customer. Name your price.”
“I can’t accept money from you.”
“I’ll just write you a check for twenty grand then.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“You could sell that painting for more than that to the right buyer.”
“I—I don’t want you to buy it.”
“You’re refusing me as customer?” he asked.
“No, I would rather give it to you than sell it.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t want your money,” she said.
“Too bad. You worked for it. Something that beautiful shouldn’t just be given away for free.”
“I can’t accept your money.”
He sighed. “I have an idea. You give me this painting, and you sale a different painting instead.”
“As long as you don’t try to buy that one too.”
He smiled. “I can’t promise anything.”
“Okay. I have a few.”
“Bring it over tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
They stood in front of the painting and stared at it, the silence falling on them.
“Would you like to see where I paint?” he asked.
She looked at him. “I would love to.”
“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the house where a stairway stood. They reached the second landing then walked into a spacious living room. Large windows were spaced everywhere, making the house bright with natural light. Bookshelves marked the walls where statues and figurines stood. The kitchen table sat in the corner which overlooked the front yard. He guided her to the back where a large room stood, windows comprising the outside walls which faced a balcony. Painting utensils, canvases, easels, and paint were in the corner, ready to be pulled out at any moment.
He walked to the middle of the room. “This is where all the magic happens.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He grabbed remote and pressed the button. Classical music came on over the speakers, a symphony of violins and the quiet strings of a piano. “What do you listen to?”
“Nothing.”
“No music?”
“No.”
He placed the remote on the table then approached her, placing his hand on her lower back and taking her hand. He swayed with her, dancing with her in the middle of the room. Against her will, she let him guide her, looking into his eyes as he held her to his chest.
He pressed his face against hers and rested his hand on her lower back, rocking from side to side. “You’re a lovely dancer.”
She said nothing, feeling his face close to hers. The distant smell of cologne tickled her nose, making her want to smell him even more. The muscles under his shirt were prominent. She could feel them in her hands. His breaths fell on her skin, warm and delicate. His eyes never left her as he moved. She couldn’t believe they were dancing in the middle of his artistic room, but she didn’t want to stop. It felt oddly normal. His nose rubbed against hers, making her melt.
“Thatcher,” she whispered.
“Nancy.”
“Please don’t kiss me.”
He smiled while he looked at her. “Why?”
“I just don’t want you to.”
“Fair enough. I won’t kiss you until you ask me to. You have my word.”
“What makes you think I’ll ask?”
“It’s just a hunch.”
“You’re cocky.”
He laughed. “Believe me, I’m not.”
“It seems like it.”
“I feel something for you, Nancy. That doesn’t happen for me very often. You wouldn’t be dancing with me, swaying in my office, if your heart didn’t beat for me like mine does for you. And your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”
“And what do they say?”
“That you want me to kiss you—you need me to.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, pulling her eyes from his.
Thatcher slowly stopped moving, still holding her to his chest. He held her there, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Join me.” He moved to the ground then lied down.
She looked at him for a moment, watching his stare at the ceiling. Nancy moved to the floor and looked up, seeing the paintings in the sky. “What are those?”
; “Paintings I made when I was little.”
She stared at them, a smile forming on her lips. “They’re cute.”
“That’s supposed to be a shark,” he said, pointing up. “It came out more like a beaver, but I tried.”
She laughed. “It does look like a beaver.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s what my dad said.”
“He was a smart man.”
“I’ve always wanted to be painter since I was like two years old. My dad always supported me even though everyone said I would be a starving artist. He believed in me when no one else did, to the day he died.”
Her hand rested at her side and she felt his knuckles touch hers. His fingers gently rubbed hers, spending tingles up her spine. Her fingers responded until he grabbed them, holding them tightly in his grasp.
“Did you talk to your dad?”
“No. I didn’t see him,” she said.
“Where was he?”
“He stays at his other beach house on the weekends.”
“Why?”
“So he can fuck his bimbos without me seeing them. He always says he’s working but I’m not stupid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to talk to him?”
“What’s the point? He won’t listen to me.”
“Maybe you aren’t saying it in a way that he can understand.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your dad doesn’t respond to emotion, he doesn’t respond to words. What does he respond to?”
“Money.”
“That’s where you should start.”
“Steal from him?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “You should hit where it hurts.”
She looked at him, seeing him stare at the childhood pictures he created. It was easy with him, natural. “You live here?”
“I live and work here.”
“That must be nice.”
“People tell me I need to get out more.”
She laughed. “It does sound like you’re a hermit.”
“I go surfing every morning.”
“I’ve never been.”
“You should try it.”
“I’m too scared.”
“Of what?”
“Drowning…” She hated to be insensitive but that’s what she feared.
“You shouldn’t be. It’s very unlikely to happen.”
“You aren’t scared to go back in the water?”
“I was for a long time. But then I realized I shouldn’t live in fear, and I should accept what happened. When I went back to sea, it helped me let go of my father’s death, really accepting he was gone.”
“Are you close with your mother?”
“For the most part. After she remarried, I came by less and less.”
“Do you dislike her husband?”
“No, he’s a nice guy. He treats my mom well.”
“Then why don’t you visit?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel like home anymore. Did your mom pass away?”
No one had ever asked her that but she didn’t feel uncomfortable with the personal question. “I don’t know.”
He turned his head and looked at her, gauging her features. “She left you?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“How old were you?”
“I think I was two. She couldn’t handle a child so she left. My dad couldn’t find her and gave up after a few years.”
He squeezed her hand tighter. “Now that makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
“You father is indifferent to you, your mother abandoned you, and you have a boyfriend that doesn’t treat you right. I see the pattern.”
“Excuse me?”
“You accept the love you think you deserve. You’re scared to be alone, think that everyone will just leave you, so you latch onto the only person who’s showed any interest in you.”
She shook her head, feeling the tears burn behind her eyes. She sat up and started to storm out. He followed behind her.
“Nancy, please stop,” he said calmly. “I don’t say this to hurt you.”
She didn’t stop. “I’m getting out of here.”
Her ran in front of her then blocked her pathway to the stairs. His hands were in his pockets, looking unthreatening, as he looked her in the eye. “I don’t say this to hurt you.”
“It didn’t seem that way.”
He didn’t touch her. “Look at me, Nancy.”
She sighed and looked him in the eye.
“I’ve heard bad things about him. He isn’t the right guy for you.”
“And what have you heard?”
“He slept with you for months before he even wanted to date you. He blatantly flirts with other girls in front of you, he’s an asshole in general, he cheats on you.”
“We’re working through it.”
“And you think he’ll just change?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Nancy, I’m—”
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t feel comfortable having this conversation with you. Please don’t bring it up again.”
He sighed. “If that’s what you want.”
“I should go.”
“Please don’t leave. There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“Would you like to have brunch with me?”
“Brunch?”
“It’s a meal between breakfast and lunch, usually served on Sundays.”
“I know what a brunch is,” she snapped. “You’re going to make brunch?”
“Yeah. I usually have friends over every Sunday for it.”
She smiled. “So you aren’t a hermit?”
“No, not all the time.” He extended his hand. “Come on. I know you’re hungry.”
“How can you tell?”
He approached her then kneeled before her, pressing his ear to her stomach. “It’s growling.”
She laughed. “You caught me.”
He stood up and took her by the hand, leading her into the chair. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“Coming up.” Thatcher made waffles with strawberry dressing, bacon, and eggs then placed them on the table.”
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“My ex-fiance,” he said as he dug into his food.
She was about to sip her coffee but she didn’t. “You were engaged?”
“A few years ago,” he said calmly.
“What happened?”
He looked at her, his eyes serious.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask you something so personal.”
“You can ask whatever you want, Nancy. She left me for someone else.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. But it turned out for the best.”
“What do you mean?”
“It may have taken her a long time to realize what she really wanted, but she eventually did. Now she’s married to the person she really loves. She’s happy. I’m glad she didn’t stay in the relationship with me if she wasn’t entirely happy, settling for me.”
“You seem to be—okay with it.”
“When you love someone, you aren’t bitter or angry. You are selfless. If she’s happy, I’m happy for her. She’s where she belongs. And I’ll find where I belong eventually.” He drank from his coffee then cut into his waffle. “Which is why I don’t want you to settle for someone who doesn’t’ really make you happy.”
“You don’t even know me.”
He stared at her, chewing his food. When he swallowed it, he spoke. “I know you better than anyone.”
“How so?”
“When I looked into your painting I saw everything I needed to know.” He looked into her eyes, his gaze tense. “Have you told anyone else about your father, your mother, y
our inheritance?”
She looked down at her food, poking her eggs. “No,” she whispered.
“I didn’t think so. Why did you tell me?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
“You’re very cocky.”
He smiled. “I’m really not. I’m just confident. There’s a stark difference.”
“The difference isn’t clear to me.”
He ignored her comment. “So, I wanted to offer you a job.”
She almost dropped her fork. “What?”
“Diane is leaving soon. Now that she has another kid on the way, she and her husband decided it was best if she stayed home. The vacancy will be available soon. It pays twenty-five dollars an hour, great hours, and comes with benefits. Also, it includes free trips to art shows across the country and internationally. It’s yours if you want it.”
She was speechless. “Why are you offering this to me?”
“Because you would be perfect for the job. You can put your art in my gallery, help me select art to add to my collection, and learn from other artists that you meet in the industry. You could leave your job at the aquarium, something you don’t even enjoy, and pursue your dreams.”
She leaned back in her chair, suddenly losing her appetite. “Can I think about it?”
He smiled. “That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. As soon as I post the job, I’ll have hundreds of applicants a day.”
“I’m just overwhelmed.”
“And you should drop out of school.”
“What?”
“Unless you change your major to art.”
“But I’m halfway done.”
“Halfway done to getting a degree you’re never going to use.”
“I might.”
He shrugged. “Only you know what’s best for you, but you can easily lie to yourself. I know I do it all the time, pretend that I’m okay when I’m really not, push back an assignment because I don’t want to deal with it, repress a thought because it frightens me so much. It’s the same thing, Nancy. You can take the time to think about it, but you already know your decision.”
She stared at him, seeing the confidence in his eyes.
“Since this is Diane’s last week, it would be smart to take advantage of the opportunity and learn from her. But it’s up to you. If not, I can train you, but I suspect we won’t get much done.”
