What Matters More

by Liora Blake

  A feminine whoop sounded from the group, followed by a round of high-pitched cheers as one of her girlfriends pulled a rhinestone-studded plastic tiara out of her purse for the bride, then handed out plastic wine goblets with the words “Bride Squad” printed on them to everyone else. Someone made a giggling toast, and there was another raucous round of cheers.

  Anya couldn’t help but laugh, because everyone deserved to have friends like this in their lives, women who would always show up to celebrate your best moments. Good girlfriends made the world go around—and would keep it from spinning away when all that rosé and tequila finally caught up with you.

  In this case, they also made it easy for Anya to finally choose a playlist. Besties & Bachelorettes on Cloud Wine was the one. No question about it.

  Anya sent out a silent prayer that not all the songs in the playlist would be earsplittingly peppy, since this marked the end of a long day for her. Teaching a high-energy paint-and-sip class did have its benefits, though. Those groups always tipped better than a room full of quiet, serious types, and since tips were what made teaching the classes worthwhile, the more energy in the room, the better.

  With that, she queued up the playlist and then clipped the ridiculous mic to the collar of her shirt, slipping the sound system’s remote into the back pocket of her jeans as she made her way to the front of the room. Fergie’s “Glamorous” started playing—eliciting a few predictable squeals from the bride squad—just as Anya made her way atop the platform.

  “Hello, ladies!” she called out brightly, pasting a big smile on her face. “Welcome to Wine, Wonder and Whimsy! I’m Anya and I’ll be running this little show tonight. I hope everyone is in the mood to have some fun, because that is our only objective here tonight. Just think of me as your cruise director, because I’m here for whatever you need to make this a great night. I’m going to walk you through tonight’s painting step by step, plus I’ll show you a few tips and tricks to make your painting uniquely you. But the most important thing to remember is . . .” Anya cocked a hip and dramatically flicked her hand toward the long bar top on the retail side of the store. “I’m also your bartender.”

  Just as she’d known it would, declaring herself the pourer-of-fun inspired the bride squad to cheer and throw their hands into the air, shimmying around on their barstools like wild dancing queens who were already a little too tipsy to stand up. Anya let the cheers die down into murmurs as she adjusted the two easels set up on the platform, one with a blank canvas she would work from and the other with a completed painting on it.

  Tonight’s painting—a winter wonderland acrylic of chubby cartoon-style penguins frolicking on a snowy hillside—was about as different from her art as was possible. Even so, illustrations like this were what she’d cut her teeth on as a kid, so she sometimes found that grabbing a sketchpad and rediscovering her inner child was exactly what she needed when her “real” art wasn’t coming together the way she wanted it to. Plus, anything that involved soft, rounded animals straight out of a Christmas TV special was great for a class of paint-and-sippers, especially the newbies, because that way no one really cared when their penguins inevitably didn’t look like actual penguins.

  Once the group had quieted, she gestured to the completed canvas, sweeping a hand from top to bottom, Vanna White style.

  “All right, ladies, let’s get started. Tonight’s painting is called ‘Northern Lights and Arctic Delights,’ and it’s a-dor-able, right? Now, I know it looks like there’s a lot going on here, but don’t worry. Even if you’ve never painted before, that’s okay. When you’re done, you’ll be amazed at how it all came together. I promise. And even if it doesn’t, it won’t matter. Do you know why?” Anya waited a beat, then gave the group another megawatt smile.

  “Because if all else fails, we’ll just drink more wine.”

  Fifteen minutes later, nearly everyone in the group had finished painting their backgrounds. Anya worked the room as pop music blared around them, weaving between the tables to help people feather out the aurora borealis colors at the top of their canvases. Once she was sure everyone was ready to take on their first penguin, she made her way back up to the platform and added a few finishing touches to the instruction canvas she was working with and then plopped her brush into a rinse cup. She slipped the speaker remote from her pocket so she could turn down the music and begin explaining the next segment of the painting. But before she had the chance to do any of that, the front door to the shop swung open, drawing her attention that way.

  A guy who could easily pass for a male model strode through the door with long, purposeful strides, quickly scanning the retail area before lurching to a stop just behind the bride squad’s table and locking his eyes on Anya.

  That’s when Anya realized that, no, she hadn’t been transported to the front row of a luxe men’s fashion show—she was merely being treated to the sight of JT.

  In a suit.

  And not just any suit, either. From the cut of the suit coat across his broad shoulders to the way it tapered across his chest and torso, every inch of the dark navy fabric looked like it had been designed with JT’s body in mind. Even the dress pants seemed tailored to fit him perfectly, slim fitting while still avoiding the trendy high-water style that Anya was not a fan of. Seeing too much of a man’s socks wasn’t a good look on anyone, even JT.

  The white dress shirt beneath his jacket was open at the collar. No tie, yet nothing about that made him look sloppy. The stark white fabric stretched taut over his pecs and narrowed down his sides, tempting any straight woman to imagine the washboard abs beneath. But Anya didn’t have to imagine them. She already knew about the wonderland that existed under JT’s clothes, which made her want to strip him out of that shirt. Right now.

  Unfortunately, she might not be the only one with those thoughts on her mind. Everyone in the room had their eyes on JT, openly gawking.

  The bride squad was not only gawking, but they were also giggling and elbowing each other in the sides, too. Some of the ladies were simply staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes. The bride shot her girls a curious look, prompting the obvious ringleaders of the group to shrug, beaming with mischief. That’s when Anya’s brain began to piece together what was happening.

  Take one bachelorette party, add in the unexpected appearance of a hot guy, and then multiply it by copious amounts of wine. Their conclusion was obvious.

  Male. Stripper.

  Anya groaned inside. If she wasn’t nuts, or simply projecting her own lewd thoughts, then it was possible that some of the women in this room were entertaining the theory—or the hope—that JT was a stripper who had been hired by the bride squad.

  She couldn’t blame them, really. JT did look like the kind of man you wanted to see take his clothes off.

  He also looked comically out of place. Ginuwine’s “Pony” was blaring out from the sound system above, which didn’t help matters. If it hadn’t been, no one would have been surprised if JT suddenly produced a boom box from behind his back to cue up a similar song, right before asking the soon-to-be Mrs. Ramirez to raise her hand.

  JT locked eyes with Anya, and for a moment, everything around them faded into the background, leaving her a little unsteady on her feet. She had been expecting to see him tonight, so that wasn’t the problem. But when JT had insisted they go on a “real date” after class tonight, she’d never imagined this version of the already-too-hot-for-his-own-good JT would show up.

  Anya had been perfectly content with what their version of “dating” had entailed up to this point, which was sex. JT made a point of coming by the Greenes’ house whenever possible, and when he did, it was first things first: slaking the need that had built since they’d last seen each other. After that, they would watch a movie on the couch or hang out in bed and talk until one of them was barely able to stay awake, prompting JT to head home for the night.

  But two nights ago, JT had flipped the script on her. She’d barely had a chance to cat
ch her breath from the orgasm she’d just enjoyed while riding him when he’d slid his hands up her back and pulled her body down so they were chest to chest and eye to eye.

  “I’m taking you out this week. Dinner and a movie. Something. I don’t care, as long as it’s the two of us out in public, with all of our clothes on, going on a date like normal people,” JT said, prompting Anya to balk, replying that she didn’t need him to take her out on a date. But her objections were pointless. JT hadn’t come yet, and he was still buried deep inside her, which made it hard for her to think straight to begin with, and when he answered her protests by jutting his hips in short thrusts, she was done for. Another orgasm later, she was helpless to do anything but agree with whatever he said.

  Perhaps that explained why he was here two hours too early.

  Anya switched off her mic and gave JT a wave, gesturing for him to follow her over to the side of the platform. He blinked and then scanned the room, as if he had just now realized there were thirty other women in the room, all of whom were staring at him. JT’s face paled a little as he made his way to Anya’s side.

  He tipped his head and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Am I early? I thought you said six.”

  “I said the class starts at six. We won’t be done until around seven thirty, and then I need to close up. I probably won’t be out of here until eight.”

  JT sighed. “Remind me never to make plans with you when you’re naked. It’s too distracting.” He cast a quick look around the room. “I guess I’ll run home and change clothes. I testified in a court case today and it ran long, so I didn’t think I’d have time, but now I do. I’ll just shower, change, then come back and pick you up.”

  Anya immediately reached up and grabbed one of his lapels, giving it a gentle tug as she locked her eyes on his. “Don’t you dare.”

  His eyes dropped to her possessive grip. One side of his mouth hitched up into a lazy smirk. “You like?”

  “I like,” she breathed. “A lot. As does every woman in this room.”

  JT grimaced. “Okay, so I’m not imagining things? Because I feel a little like . . .” His words trailed off and Anya snorted.

  “Like you’re being pictured naked? Naked, but slathered in chocolate frosting while holding a DVD of The Notebook in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, and a red rose between your teeth?”

  Anya stifled a laugh at the immediate look of horror on his face, along with the pink bloom that flushed his cheeks.

  “Christ. I swear, women have the filthiest minds,” he muttered before running a hand through his hair. “There’s a Home Depot around here somewhere, right? I’ll just go wander around in there until you text me saying it’s safe for me to come back. There are tools there. And lawn mowers. All sorts of things that I can’t afford and don’t need, but—”

  A plan was quickly forming in Anya’s mind as he talked. A slightly devious plan, but one that would be good for JT’s overactive mind. She cut off his Home Depot speech by gently tapping her index finger against his mouth. Her eyes fixed on his as she flipped her mic back on.

  “Ladies, I’d like to introduce JT,” Anya announced, watching as JT’s eyes widened to saucers. She took his hand in hers and turned them to face the group.

  “JT and I had a date tonight, but he showed up a wee bit early. Apparently, he just couldn’t wait to see me,” she said playfully, casting a glance at the bride squad. There was no harm in staking her claim, she figured. Just in case anyone was tempted to ask JT about riding his pony later.

  She walked to the center of the platform with JT’s hand still wrapped in hers like a sweaty vise grip.

  “He was just telling me that he thought he should go walk around Home Depot until it’s time for our date. But I have a better idea. I think he should stay and join us. What do you guys think? Who wants JT to stay?”

  The room erupted in cheers, and even over the din of all those voices, Anya could hear JT griping under his breath. She ignored it. Devious plans aside, JT needed this. He needed what Anya knew art could provide, no matter who wielded the brush.

  Art had a way of quieting everything else that was going on, leaving nothing but the canvas to focus on. All your fears and anxieties, both big and small, would recede into the background until the only thing that mattered was the next brushstroke. Even here, in a setting where conversation and fun were more important than technique, for as long as the brush was in your hand, all the other bullshit in your life could be set aside.

  No one needed that more than JT. He was beautiful and principled, hardworking and demanding—to a fault. He was good at being good, to the point that Anya suspected that he was sometimes bad at being himself, especially when it came to his missteps. But art was an excellent teacher when it came to understanding failure. A constant reminder that with a little more paint, flaws could become features, and with a lot of paint, you could start over. What mattered more than technique or talent was the courage to show up and try . . . even when you were bound to fail.

  Anya gave JT’s hand a squeeze and led him over to a free station at the far end of the front row. He was a safe distance away from the chardonnay-guzzling Golden Girls, yet close enough that Anya would easily be able to check in on him throughout the night. JT sat down on the stool with a heavy sigh as Anya slipped his suit jacket off. She told him to roll up his sleeves, and then strolled to the front of the store to hang up his jacket, grabbing an apron and a beer on her way back.

  She draped the apron over his head and handed him the beer. He slipped his free hand across the back of her legs to rest familiarly behind her knees, shooting her an uneasy look.

  “Anya, this isn’t my thing,” he cautioned her. “Never has been. If my mom was here, she’d tell you I never did anything artsy as a kid. I wasn’t into finger painting or making drawings for her to put up on the fridge. I liked building forts and playing football, and that’s about it. I’m not . . . creative.”

  She tipped her head and smiled. Handing him a brush, she leaned in close.

  “And that is exactly why you belong here.”

  13

  Anya

  By the time the class was over, JT had muttered more than a few colorful words under his breath, declared that he hated penguins, and quietly advised Anya that she would pay for all of this later. To that last one, she mouthed the words I hope so and shot him a wink. As for the cursing and the penguin-hating, she just grinned and told him to stop allowing poor innocent penguins to get the best of him. And on top of all his other complaints, when it came time to finish their paintings by adding a coat of clear varnish across the canvas and sprinkling on fine silver glitter to give the snowy hillsides some shimmer, JT ended up with more glitter on him than on his painting, all courtesy of a loose cap on the bottle. If he hadn’t looked like he should be shirtless and gyrating under sultry stage lighting before, then he certainly did now.

  Anya sat at the front counter, settling open drink tabs while ushering everyone out with a smile. Two college-age women who Anya suspected were longtime best friends were the last to leave.

  “Thank you so much. This was the best class we’ve been to. Like, ever,” one of the college girls said, dropping a ten-dollar bill in Anya’s tip jar. “Some of these things are so cheesy. It’s so obvious when they’re trying too hard, you know?”

  Her friend tossed in her own tip. “And you’re so good at explaining things, way better than most people. My penguins totally looked like penguins,” she added.

  Anya heard JT snort from all the way across the room, where he was perusing a display of brushes and palette knives. He and his penguins were still on the outs, apparently.

  “Aw, thanks. I’m glad you guys had fun. This kind of work isn’t what I normally do, so it’s good to know that I’m giving instructions that make sense. No one wants to feel like a silly little penguin got the best of them. I mean, it’s a penguin. Doesn’t get any cuter than that.”

  She sent a goading look JT
’s way. He shook his head slowly, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he arched a brow. Then he lifted his hands and mimicked delivering a swift swat to someone’s ass. Anya’s ass, undoubtedly.

  “Well, what kind of art do you normally do? Is there some of it here?” the first girl asked as she scanned the paintings hanging on the walls of the shop.

  Anya couldn’t even imagine her paintings hanging in here. She rarely considered the idea of her work hanging anywhere, though—even in galleries that specialized in abstracts. Seeing her work displayed on stark white walls under unforgiving lighting, her name printed in bold letters on a little card next to the canvas . . . it all made her uneasy. She’d successfully tamped down that feeling just long enough to apply for the Fenton, but that was only because she desperately wanted all the long-term benefits that came with the program.

  Still, there was no way around the harsh feeling of exposure that came with sharing your work. Once your art was on display in a public space, it wasn’t yours anymore. Even in a place like Wine, Wonder & Whimsy, the fear of negative judgment was always there.

  Anya tried to laugh lightly, but it came out sounding stiff and shrill. “Oh, no. My original works are all abstracts. Mostly oils and acrylics, but I work with watercolors sometimes, too.”

  “Can we see some? Are you online somewhere?”

  Both girls looked at her hopefully, and Anya tried not to wince. She did have Instagram and Pinterest accounts, but she only halfheartedly maintained them. Referring someone to pages with only a few random posts was probably a bad idea, so Anya schooled her features and did the only thing she could think of. She lied.

  “Nope, sorry about that. You’re not missing anything, though. Trust me.”

  After offering a few disappointed sighs, the two girls made their goodbyes, taking the time to wave at JT before leaving. He returned it casually while keeping his curious gaze fixed on Anya. She locked the door behind them and then began to take care of the last few closing tasks.