She watched him shift between his feet, clearly embarrassed. It was honest, so honest he didn’t want to look her in the eyes. “Okay,” she said, deciding to give him a chance. She flipped the kickstand on her bike back down and headed back to theblanket.
“Okay?” he asked, joggingafterher.
“Yeah, you earned another fiveminutes.”
He followed her back to the blanket then sat beside her. For a long moment, they watched the clouds roll in. “Wait, does this count as part of my fiveminutes?”
She laughed. “No, the time starts when you start talkingbusiness.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to know why I’m trying to prove myselfworthy?”
“Do you want totellme?”
He shook his head and took a long sip of coffee. “I don’tgetyou.”
She turned to face him. “What do you want to know?” A seagull flew overhead, squealing in warning about the coming storm, but she knew there was still time to make it home before the clouds openedonthem.
He leaned back on his elbows. “When I first looked you up, I discovered you’d once been a prominent artist in the city. Yet now you live here doing commissioned paintings you obviously don’t wanttodo.”
“What makes yousaythat?”
He nestled his coffee cup in the sand to keep it from tipping then rubbed the back of his neck as if buying some time. “Sorry, I’m not going to fall into that trap again. No more answering questions with aquestion.”
She took a long cleansing breath, seeing the most recent atrocity in her mind’s eye. “It’s work.It’sfine.”
“Now who’slying?”
She sighed. “Fine, I hate it. I hate it more than I can evenexpress.”
“Actually, I think your work does a great job of expressing that. I saw that painting you wereworkingon.”
“Yeah.” She noticed that the small dimple he had deepened when he smiled. Had it always been there? His brows also seemed darker, so dark they made his blue eyes pop even more. The man was definitely paint worthy, but she swore she’d never paint portraits again. Connecting with someone on that level was unimaginable, especially if she already knew what the end resultwouldbe.
“So, why are you painting them if you hate itsomuch?”
“I already told you, it’s work. Besides, now it’smyturn.”
He sighed. “Okay,shoot.”
“Why does my picture mean so muchtoyou?”
He closed his eyes and took a long breath. “My advertising company is in trouble, and getting this contract would save it.” His eyes popped open. “I’m not trying to guilt you into taking the job…well, unless that would work.” He winked playfully. “I just don’t want my business to fail. I enjoy what I do, and working with artists is enjoyable. Most ofthetime.”
When was the last time she had fun at work? Sketching on the beach by herself was fun in its own way, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had fun with another person. The only memories that came to mind were the night Stephon announced that she was washed up and he wouldn’t sell her paintings anymore, and the night she found him in bed with anotherwoman.
“Where’dyougo?”
“Huh?” She blinked to find Josh staring at her with a confused look on his face. Fighting the sandy grit and tears that always came with the memory of her ex-fiancé’s betrayal, she scrubbed at her eyes. “Sorry.Thewind…”
“Are you okay?” He reached over, but she backed away. “You have more sand about to go inyoureye.”
She closed her eyes, and his thumb grazed the arch of her eyebrow then along her cheek. It left a trail of heat, scorching her skin more than midday sand on bare feet. She opened her eyes to find him close, tooclose.
“Someone did a number on you, didn’t they? Do you think he’s the reason you can’t workanymore?”
“Who said I can’t workanymore?”
He leaned back with a cool air about him. “If you could, you would’ve jumped on the chance for thirty-five thousanddollars.”
“Thought it was twenty-five.” She caught his eye twitch, the same gesture she had seen earlier when he had lied about his clothes, and knew it washistell.
“After what I saw in there,” he pointed to her sketchbook, “I think it could be worth thirty-five. That is, if you candoit.”
A clap of thunder rolled in the distance, warning of the storm’s approach. She got up on her knees. “We bestheadback.”
He helped her stand, his soft hands on her elbow, his breath on her ear. She pulled away and fought the quickening of her pulse, but it won, deafening in her ears.No, not happening, she told herself. No man, however good looking or softhearted he might be, was going to trick her into believing in him again. Not now, not ever…notagain.
