Yeah, that was going to happen.
The man was practically snoring.
I jumped up and went into the bathroom, quickly cleaning myself off before bringing a wet cloth back into the bedroom to clean Sal up. I tossed the washcloth toward the bathroom door and then grabbed the blanket from the floor at the bottom of the bed. I lifted it up and spread it over Sal and climbed into bed—on the opposite side of Sal from the wet spot.
Chapter Six
Lany
“Here?”
“Over to the left just a smidge.”
I moved the painting over to the left a couple of inches. “Here?”
“No, back the other way, but just a smidge.”
I moved it back to the right. “Here?”
“No, it needs to go to the left just a smidge.”
I rolled my eyes as I lowered the painting to the floor and then turned to glare at Eddie. “What exactly constitutes a smidge?”
“It’s bigger than a hair,” Lyn said as he walked by with another painting.
I blinked at the man.
Lyn chuckled as he walked away.
Bastard.
I panned back to Eddie, who seemed to be having the hardest time ever keeping a smile off his face. “Where do you want the damn painting, Eddie?”
We had been hanging paintings all morning. The art show was scheduled to take place in two days. We needed to get everything up on the walls before my mother came in with the event crew she had hired to make sure everything was perfect.
I adored that woman. Mentioning the art show to her and asking her to cater the event had been a stroke of genius on my part. Getting my aunt involved had been a stroke of genius on my mother’s part.
Wonder where I got it.
Between the two women and the contacts they had, this art show was gearing up to be the event of the season, or at least the month. Hopefully, Eddie would be recognized for the artistic genius he was and sell lots of paintings.
I held the painting up against the wall again. “Eddie?”
“About half an inch to the right and then up two inches.”
Finally.
Those instructions I understood.
Once Eddie started talking in easy-to-understand language, we got the rest of the paintings hung in no time. We were all sitting around having coffee when the doors swept open and my mother strode in like a woman on a mission.
I almost laughed. Eddie and his artist friends had no idea what was about to happen.
“Junior.”
I hate that name, but from my mother, I’d happily take it. We had something of a mutual admiration thing going on. I adored Cynthia Harris to the depths of my soul, and she adored me just as much.
I jumped up and hurried over to give my mother a small hug and a kiss on her cheek.
