“Anyway, it was just that regional paper. Don’t let it get to you.” Jake handed him the oil.
All he did was nod as he turned and walked out of the store. He headed home, plopped down in front of his computer, and did a quick search on the Heritage Festival. Didn’t take him long to find the post. He slowly read through it, his anger growing at each word. Not only had his work been panned, but all the other artwork had too. The review of his work had just been the harshest.
Then he noticed the name of the poster. Desiree Knight. He clenched his jaw. Looked like he was never going to get that woman out of his life. This was her revenge for what he did. Or more precisely, what he didn’t do. He didn’t do what shedemanded of him. And then he’d left New York and Desiree and that whole life behind him.
But he was certain of one thing. He wasn’t going to show his art at the festival’s art show. Not if Amanda was going behind his back to bring in critics. He didn’t need that. It had taken him long enough to get back to woodworking after what happened the last time. He didn’t need Desiree’s words playing over and over in his mind. And he certainly wouldn’t trust his artwork to someone who never even told him that she was bringing in art critics. He thought this was a simple, local art show. That locals would see his work. He even thought it might lead to him placing some artwork in a local shop. That he was finally ready for that. But… not now. Not ever.
He pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping on the floor. He strode over and opened the door—that still squeaked, but didn’t annoy him half as much as he was annoyed with Amanda right now. No, past annoyed. He was furious with her.
He crossed the distance between their cottages and rapped on her door. She opened it, looking surprised. She glanced at her watch. “You’re early for dinner.”
“How could you go behind my back like that?” He threw the words out at her, his hands balled into fists with his fingers digging into his palms.
She glanced at him warily. “What did I do?”
But he swore he saw a flicker in her eyes. She knew what she did.
“You had an art critic come and critique the art being displayed at the festival.” He shook his head incredulously. “And you let her see it when it was crammed in that back room in city hall? What were you thinking? That was certainly not showing the art in its best light.”
“Connor, I?—”
He waved his hand. “Don’t want to hear it. I never agreed to that. You said a small, local showing celebrating the island’s heritage. Not that you were bringing in people to judge the work. And look what she said about the other work too. That most of it was unremarkable. Which is very wrong. There’s some good, strong artistic talent there.”
“I know. There is?—”
He cut her off again. “Anyway, I’m pulling out. There’s no way I’m displaying my art at the show. I’m done. Finished. I’ll go get my art piece and that’s that.”
“Connor, wait. Listen to me.”
“There’s nothing you can say. I trusted you with my art. You knew I hadn’t shown anything in a very long time. And now this. I don’t need the critique of my work. And I don’t need to be around someone I can’t trust to go behind my back—without saying a word to me—and arrange for this art critic to come.”
“I’m sorry… You don’t understand.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and he ignored it.
“You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could do this. You never said a word about it. Didn’t talk to me about bringing in an art critic. And I had to find out about the review from someone else.” He glared at her, his anger overwhelming him. “It’s over, Amanda. All of it.”
He swiveled around and crossed the distance in long, measured strides. Putting the art show behind him. Putting Amanda behind him. He’d been right to choose a reclusive life… because look what happened when he decided to trust people again.
Amanda slowly closed the door and wandered over to the table, sinking into a chair. Her gaze drifted across the carefully set table, all waiting for the intimate dinner she had planned. The dinner she would now eat alone. A hollow feeling settled in her chest. Not that she was hungry. She’d lost her appetite.
Connor’s eyes had flashed with a scorching anger, turning an icy, inky blue. She hadn’t in a million years thought a critic would pan his work. It was exquisite. So beautiful. It was like each piece held the soul of what he carved. The lines, the wood, the smooth, silky finish. Each piece was a masterpiece. She firmly believed that.
But… Desiree sure hadn’t. Her review was brutal. But that couldn’t have been the first non-glowing review Connor had ever gotten, could it? Don’t all artists find people who don’t click with their work and don’t appreciate it?
But she did feel terrible. She’d felt certain Connor would ease his way back into showing his work and that he might be happy to see it reviewed. That the festival might be just his first step.
But now? After Desiree’s remarks?
And had she done this for Connor? Or for herself? That idea still mocked her. Had she been wanting some accolades for herself too?
What if he gave up carving again? Could she have actually made that happen? Ruined his career by her eagerness to get his art out there again? She’d honestly wanted to show his art to the world, but she realized now that wasn’t what Connor wanted. It was what she wantedforConnor. And it hadn’t been her choice to make.
She let out a long sigh. And who knew which artists might pull their work out, just like Connor? She’d made a mess of things.
CHAPTER 22
Amanda went to Coastal Coffee early the next morning, seeking Beverly’s guidance. Or a shoulder to cry on. Or something. She just couldn’t stay in that cottage any longer, looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Connor.
As she slid into a chair, the familiar scents and sounds of the cafe did little to soothe her. While she waited for Beverly to finish up with a nearby table, she traced the grain on the worn wooden table. Beverly came over and handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “Here, this will help.”
