“So, what’s going on with you and Finn? Is it date night for two? Netflix and chill? Taco Tuesday? Hmmm?”
“I’m still here, Phoebe. And it’s Monday.”
Shelly silently chuckles, making my chest swell. Afterthe day she’s had, it’s good to see her happy. She takes the phone from me. “Just a casual date after he bid at the auction. Nothing more.”
“Ah, I see. He could’ve taken you somewhere fancy.”
Shelly’s face scrunches up, showing her disinterest in our disaster date story.
I intercept the phone. “What can I say Phoebe, we just like tacos.”
“All right, I’m putting your order through. I’ll let Shelly explain what the phrase taco Tuesday really means. Enjoy your evening.”
“Thank you.” I end the call and try to control the curve of my lips when I take in Shelly’s flushed cheeks, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip. If only it was taco Tuesday. “Drink?” I pull a beer from the fridge and pop the lid.
“Thanks.” She takes a sip from the bottle. “Sounds like you’re a regular at Just in Queso.”
I can’t hold back the grin any longer. “Like I said, I like tacos.”
“I would have thought with your money bags, you’d have a chef.” She wanders back towards the couch, her fingers gliding along a rack of paintings. “I didn’t know you’re an artist.”
“What did you think I had tucked under my arm the other day? A chequebook?”
She laughs. “It wouldn’t surprise me.” With big eyes, she looks up at me. “May I look?”
I nod and hold my breath, hoping she likes the scenes.
Flicking through the paintings, she pulls out a landscape of the beach and her turtle hut. “This is beautiful. You’re really talented.”
“Thanks.” I shrug my shoulders. “It’s just a hobby.”
She spins around to face me. “Just a hobby?” Her eyesscan my living space, which is more like an artist’s studio than a holiday home. “It must be a very lucrative hobby, though.”
My eyebrows pinch. “What do you mean?”
“You sell them, right?”
“No. I’ve never sold any.” I point to the rack. “I did a couple of commissions for my mother’s friends back home, but that’s about it.”
“You should get yourself a website. Or even a gallery.” Her green eyes glow like the reef, wild and full of wonder. “You’d make a fortune here in Magnolia Point. You have enough here to set up your own gallery.”
“It’s a nice dream, turtle girl.” My shoulders curl inwards as my chest caves. I can only imagine owning a studio, painting all day, and making a living from my art. I know I’m privileged enough to not have to worry about money and I was able to travel to Europe and study after I’d fulfilled my commitment to economics and business studies at Oxford. That was the deal with my parents. Finish my education, then take some time out for my passion. But my father will never see art as a real job.
Shelly crosses the room, closing the gap between us. “Why is it a dream? You have money. You could easily set this up.”
“You have no idea, Shell. I’m here to work for my father’s real estate business, not waste my time drawing pretty pictures.” I swill the bitterness down with a swig from the bottle. “We don’t all get to do as we please. Even with all my money bags.”
Her hand squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Finn. You’re right. I don’t understand what it’s like. My parents have always encouraged me to follow my heart.” Her brow furrows. “But surely you can stand on your own two feet and follow your dreams. If they won’t support that, there’smany that will.” Her hand slides down my arm, her fingernails tracing the ink there. “Including me. Let me display some in the hut. You could even ask the resort shop here to display some for you.”
“That’s sweet of you. If you want to sell some to raise money for your cause, go ahead.” I flick through the canvases and select a few of the local landscape. “I’ll drop these off tomorrow for you.”
“Thank you. You’ve been more than generous. But I didn’t mean to sell for the cause. I meant to get you started in business. Your parents would surely be proud to witness your potential.”
“They know my skills. I’ve been drawing and painting since I was old enough to hold a brush. My mother supports me, but my father will never understand.” A sigh leaves my lungs.
A knock at the door sounds just as Shell’s phone rings. Opening the door, the delivery driver hands over our food.
Shelly comes to stand at my side, slipping the phone into her pocket. “We have our first hatchling of the season. Wanna see?” Her face is lit up brighter than the moon above us. “We can eat while we wait.”
