Not that she couldn’t drink him under a table…
He bumped his shoulder into hers in answer. “So, Fletcher, what kind of metal art do you do?”
“Uh, sculpture, mostly,” he answered.
“Any jewelry?” Nick probed.
Fletcher shook his head. “Not really, no.”
“Are you in the market, Nick?” Soledad asked curiously.
“Maybe,” Nick said in all seriousness.
Sassy narrowed her eyes and started tearing a napkin into teeny, tiny pieces. Again, what was he up to? Fletcher must be wondering the same thing, because he looked a bit uncomfortable. Sassy jumped into the exchange. “Did you train with anyone?”
“No. I guess you could say I’m self-taught,” he asserted.
“Wow,” Sassy said, impressed.
“Soledad tells me you’re an artist, too?” Fletcher asked.
“I was,” she asserted. “At one time.”
“What happened?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “I was awarded a grant that helped pay for the art school of my choice in New York.”
He raised his brows. “That’s fortunate.”
“For a kid from Utah, it felt like winning the Powerball.”
“What was your preferred medium?”
“I was a painter,” she told him.
Nick leaned in. “You’re still a painter, Sassy. You just don’t sell your work.”
She glanced at him. Him handing her easy wins in his leather-smooth voice wasn’t going to help her eradicate this heat she felt for him.
“Why don’t you sell your paintings?” Fletcher asked.
“My work never made much of an impact,” Sassy explained. “Not like others’.”
“So you just gave it up? Just like that?”
Sassy couldn’t tell if the question was more surprised or judgmental. Neither could Nick, apparently, because his shoulder nudged into hers again and stayed there, supportive. She didn’t move away. “I don’t see it that way. I’m still passionate about art, and I love working with artists. I love seeing their faces when they sell something they put their whole soul into. It’s that lightning-in-a-bottle feeling, the same one I felt when I painted years ago. I lost that feeling as an artist. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still feel it for others who deserve it, especially those from marginalized communities. Giving up professional painting never felt like selling out. Not when it felt like I’d found what I was meant to do with my life.”
“Hmm,” Fletcher said contemplatively. “You do still paint, like Nick says?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “For myself. Art and creative release can be a private endeavor, too.”
“Mine’s been a private endeavor for years,” Fletcher said, “but not by choice.”
“Sometimes life leads you in a different direction than you expected,” Nick said. “You wind up exactly where you were meant to be all along.”
“True,” Soledad agreed with a nod.
Sassy wanted to lay her head on his arm and close her eyes in thanks. He turned his head, met her eyes. Something in his glimmered. He understood her implicitly.
