I blinked. “You want to stay in Dairyville for three weeks? What about your boyfriend? Won’t you miss him terribly?”
He laughed a little too loud. “Well, I would have if I hadn’t seen a pic of him wrapped around a hulking Spaniard at an out of the way club. I’m just thankful I had friends there who recognized him or he might still be fooling me.”
“Oh no, Lysander, I’m so sorry that happened. That little cunt!”
He laughed. “Oh yes, just more ammo for my Mother who had warned me about him. So I’ve given her no grandchildren and no prospects since I can’t seem to choose the right person to settle down with. And her lack of faith in me extends to the company. She thinks I’ll mess this up, or get bored and fly home early. I need this to be perfect. I need you to know Ihave your back.” His eyes were suddenly softer, less glossy and more real. “I’ve already booked a room at the Victorian house on the edge of town. The one with the wraparound porch. I want to help.”
Something about the way he said it made my chest hurt. Not in a bad way, but in the way that happens when someone is unexpectedly on your side.
I reached over and touched his arm, just above the wrist. “Thank you, Lysander, really. I couldn’t do this without you.”
He glanced down at my hand, then back up, smiling for real. “Well, let’s make it legendary, darling.”
Inez finished her water, then looked at her phone. “We should leave soon. My flight is at two.”
Lysander perked up. “Let’s get going.” He stood, smoothing his shirt. “Brie, you’re amazing. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He offered his hand, and I shook it, trying not to feel like a fangirl.
After they left, I lingered in the echo of their voices and the citrusy-smoke smell of lunch. I gathered the plates and set them in the tiny gallery sink, then stood at the window for a long minute, just watching the light move over the floor.
I’d been so sure I’d mess this up, or that no one would take me seriously. But today felt different. It felt like I was building something that mattered, that had roots. Like maybe, for once, I wasn’t just passing through my own life.
I swept the crumbs off the table, tucked my notes under my arm, and started planning the mural for the alley wall, because why the hell not?
This was the beginning, and I wasn’t going to blink first.
Lysander met me at the gallery in the late morning. We immediately continued planning where we’d left off yesterday. We had to be precise when it came to the placement of certain paintings. We chatted comfortably as we looked at mock-ups of the gallery on my tablet; our heads close together as we huddled around the folding table.
It was almost lunchtime when Finn showed up. I heard the heavy tread of boots on the fresh concrete, and even before I looked up, I knew it was him: the way the sound settled in my gut, the way the air felt suddenly tighter. He stood in the front doorway, backlit by the Texas sun, arms folded across his chest, eyes locked on me.
He’d worn a clean plaid shirt that stretched across his substantial chest. It was tucked into Wrangler jeans that fit his muscled thighs just right. His cowboy hat sat low on his head with his auburn curls peaking around almost to his shoulders. Damn, he looked good enough to eat. He took two steps in, then paused, scanning the room. His gaze caught on Lysander, who was standing next to me, holding a tape measure across my shoulders to show how wide I wanted the spacing. Lysander was close, not in an “I’m hitting on you” way, just the efficient, European “I do not care about personal space” way. Still, I saw Finn’s jaw go tight.
Lysander noticed him and broke into a wide, effortless grin. “You must be Finn!” He stuck out his hand, and Finn took it after a millisecond’s hesitation.
“Lysander,” the man said, “Hale and Marrow Arts Management. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Finn’s grip was probably painful, but Lysander didn’t flinch. “Brie’s told me you’re a legend around here,” Lysander went on, eyes twinkling. “The stories! I’ve been dying to meet you.”
Finn looked at me, then back at Lysander. “Yeah? What stories?”
I stepped in. “Don’t believe half of what he says.”
Lysander laughed. “Oh, I'll never tell.” He patted Finn on the arm, then went back to laying out the measuring tape.
I tried to shake off the tension, but it clung to me like the last sticky note on a refrigerator.
Inez was just here for the day and had arrived a bit after Lysander this morning. I was glad for her help. She looked up from her end of the table. “We’re finalizing display spacing. Is this your partner?” She said it deadpan, as if the idea of me having a partner was as unremarkable as ordering lunch.
I shook my head. “He’s—uh—he’s Finn, my boyfriend.” It was the first time I’d officially introduced him as that, but I couldn’t very well call him my “mate” in front of humans. That might sound a bit odd to them. Thankfully, Finn rescued me from my awkward introduction.
Finn cut in. “What are you planning with the lighting?” His tone seemed interested, but I could hear the edge underneath.
Lysander explained, going into detail about the fixtures and color temperature, and even though Finn clearly didn’t care, he nodded along, every so often glancing at me as if to say, “You sure you want to trust this guy?”
We moved around the gallery, checking the height of the spotlights and talking about traffic flow for opening night. I was acutely aware of every gesture, every word: the way Lysander would lean in, almost conspiratorial, to ask my opinion, the way Finn trailed after us, a step behind, arms crossed, lips pressed into a line.
Eventually, Lysander had to take a call. “Sorry—New York. I’ll be ten,” he said, slipping outside with a practiced smile. Inez went to check on her pieces in the car, leaving Finn and me in the middle of the gallery, surrounded by silence and half-finished work.
He waited a second, then raised a brow at me. “That guy always this… friendly?”
