ChapterThree
Afternoon rain showersrolled in from the ocean and she felt bad for making the big city businessman ride a salt-water rusted bike around sand dunes in his suit, especially during the heat of the day. By the time he stopped behind her, his hair gel had melted and his jacket was hanging from his waist. She slid her bike into the rack in front of the coffee shop and faced him. “Why on God’s sandy Earth do you want my image so bad that you’d ride through all that while wearingasuit?”
“Because it’s that good,” he said, huffing forbreath.
Stunned, she took astepback.
“That being said,” he continued after a moment, “I’m not interested in an artist who paints pictures of ugly houses. If you’ve lost your edge, tell me now before I spend another minute chasing what I thought was aunicorn.”
“Unicorn?” She’d never been described as a unicorn before. “And if the unicorn exists, what exactly are you expecting? Fairy dust?” sheasked.
Josh untied his coat from his waist and hung it over the handles of his bike. “I thought artistic girls like you believed in fairytales.”
She toed the sand beneath her feet. She had, once, but then life showed her the truth. Magic and unicorns didn’t exist, just like true love. “Coffee?”
“Inthisheat?”
“I never said it had to be hot coffee. There’s this wonderful invention called ice. Maybe you’ve heard of it.” Shewinked.
He removed his tie completely, unbuttoned his top button, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. While his attire looked more befitting the beach in summer, his hair still looked like the leaning tower of bad hair gel. She reached up and ruffled his hair, messing with it until it looked more casual. “There, much better. Do you live in suits andperfecthair?”
“When I work, yes. I don’t usually ride bikes through sandy beaches in the heat of the summer for work,” Josh said with an edge to hisvoice.
Lily felt a little guilty, but she knew Connie wasn’t about to let a twenty thousand dollar commission go. She was just going to have to make sure Josh gave up first. “Yes, well, that’s how it’s done here.” She led the way up to the counter and ordered her coffee, then found a seat in the shade. Her sunscreen had probably sweated off, and who knew if heworeany.
He ordered a bottle of water and paid for both drinks before sitting at the table across from her. He was probably one of those men who only drank bottled water, worked out three hours a day, and had his brows waxed. “Tell me why you don’t want to sell the rights to your picture,” he said, twisting off the cap of his water. “It’s an opportunity to earn a lot of money, probably more than you’re making painting hideous portraits of gaudy mansions. I’m willing to go as high as thirtythousand.”
She swallowed at the lure of money. That sum could end her career of commissioned paintings, something she hated, allowing her to set up her own exhibit in New York, in a rental space anyway. But it was a matter of what she hated more, commissioned paintings or reliving the heartbreak of two years ago. Instead of answering, she said, “Tell me why you’re working so hard for thatimage.”
He pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and laid it gingerly on the table, like it was something precious. “Don’t tell me you don’t see it? You drew it so you must. It screams of an emotional connection. An image like this makes people believe in romance and true love, of tomorrow with promise of happily-ever-after.”
“Josh,” the barista called out. He retrieved Lily’s coffee from the counter and set it in front of her. She swirled the liquid in the cup to allow her a second to get the lump out of her throat before she spoke again. “That’s crazy. It’s just animage.”
“You know it’s not. It’s obvious to anyone who looks at this that you put your soul into this drawing. But then you threw it out into theocean.Why?”
“What does it matter?” Lily asked, her chest tightening at the memory of all her friends with their hopeful smiles. Dreaming of a hero who would carry them off into the sunset had seemed so futile to her. While her friends had happily thrown bottles into the sea like little girls wishing on dandelions, she stood there at the other end of the rainbow with nowhere to go. Her wish hadn’t been for the hero to appear, but the hope that the man she thought was her hero felt the same asshedid.
“It doesn’t, I guess.” Josh picked up his water and gulped it down. “Tell me about your art, then,” he said after draining half the bottle. “How can the same girl who drew this paint that picture I saw back atyourhome?”
She shrugged, her usualanswer.
“Are you going to answer anythingIask?”
She shrugged again and hesighed.
“What will it take to buy this artwork from you?” He leaned over the table and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “No more shrugging. You have a voice.Useit.”
She didn’t like the way her arms tingled at his touch, or how her mind clouded and her breath hitched. She told herself that his movement had surprised her, thatwasall.
“Are you washed up? A has-been?” heasked.
“What?” sheshrieked.
He let go of her and sat back with a smile, the right side of his mouth curving a little higher than the left. She didn’t like the loss of touch even more than she didn’t like him touching her, a conundrum that only confused her. After two years of not even holding hands, her body craved physical touch. That had to be allitwas.
“So, have you lost your muse or whatever it is artists need to create masterpieces?” He clasped his hands together, resting them on thetable.
Her gaze followed them, assessing their form, color, texture. The way she subconsciously assessed everything she saw, her eyes seeking the beauty in the world around her. Pulling her gaze away, she glanced up at him. She didn’t like his question, maybe because she worried it was true. Stephon had been her muse, her inspiration that launched her art career, until he had betrayed her two years ago. Since then, everything she’d created seemed devoid of life. That was why she only accepted commissions of landscapes, pets, or even gaudy mansions, and rejected any requests for portraits or portrayals ofromance. “No…”
