Her eyes moved to the studio and the hanging flower basket where that very first subject once filled her lens. Hank the Hummingbird had been some sort of lure, a magnet pulling Cal and Edie together and into one another’s lives.
She remembered trying to capture the little creature, attempting to freezeframe those wings that vibrated furiously as he fluttered from petal to petal. And she remembered the way her own stomach fluttered when the handsome—and much younger—artist appeared in the doorway, smirk on his face and a spark of challenge in his eyes.
Today, when she glanced through the windshield and caught sight of Cal standing there in a similar manner—shoulder leaned against the doorjamb, ankles crossed nonchalantly, face full of expectant hope—her pulse skittered into a faster beat, that nostalgia taking her thoughts for a ride.
She desperately needed to jumpstart her creativity but hadn’t counted on doing the same with her heart. It beat wildly, but for what reason?
Cal flicked two fingers to his forehead in a wave that was more irresistible than she wanted it to be. She’d forgotten how attracted she had been to this man, mostly because she’d spent so much time with Cal and Josh together recently. And there wasnothingattractive about the way those two duked it out. The opposite, in fact.
But like that first day when a tiny hummingbird ignited a burst of creativity within her, Cal’s studio did the same. As she walked up the pathway to The Dock, she could already sense a buzzing within her being, this force that grew stronger with every step.
This had been the place where she’d had her first official exhibit. Where she sold her first painting. Where she gained her confidence as a new artist.
And the place where they’d shared their first kiss.
Was it the man standing in the doorway that evoked this creative energy within her? Or was it the space that was dedicated solely to producing and showcasing art that manifested it? Honestly, she couldn’t be sure.
When she had texted Cal for help, she’d assumed it was the latter. But as she stood in front of him now, his tousled hair sweeping across his forehead as the wind ran its fingers through the strands, she felt a different sort of inspiration.
On impulse, she pulled her camera from her bag and began to click.
Cal didn’t paste on a cheesy grin in response to being in front of her lens. No, he just continued to look at her—lookintoher, almost—with those penetrating eyes and coy smirk. There was an intensity in the gaze he gave her. It made her thankful that she had her camera up to her face, separating them. Because sheneeded a barrier when it came to Cal. Some way to block this incredible pull that roared to life every time they were alone.
She finally lowered her camera to her hip once she’d captured him from every angle.
“Did you get what you were looking for?” He pushed off from the doorframe, that smirk shifting into a full-fledged grin.
“I’m sorry.” Edie shook her head. “I don’t know why I took those of you just now.”
“I’m happy to be your inspiration, Edie.” When she came up the steps, he moved to the side to let her pass through the doorway and into the studio first. “Always.”
Those words made her feel light, airy. Maybe it was the memory of their more intimate times together. Maybe it was the way he always encouraged her in her artistic feats. Maybe it was the familiarity of The Dock, all the way down to the very smell of the place. But being in this space, in such close proximity to Cal, caused Edie to experience a rush of something. Excitement, maybe? Anticipation? She wasn’t entirely certain.
“I got what I needed,” was all she said in reply before stowing her camera into its bag and adjusting the strap on her shoulder.
Cal closed the studio’s door, then led Edie to the room where the real creativity took place. “I have something I want to show you.”
At one point in their relationship, Cal had confessed that Edie was the only woman to ever step foot in the back portion of the studio. The only one to see his works in progress, canvases half-full of color and composition. Was that still the truth now? She wanted to ask but knew she didn’t have any right. She also wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Cal was allowed to share his art—this portion of himself—with anyone he well pleased.
“I’m working on my piece for the gala.”
He led her around the butcherblock table, taking her gently by the elbow to guide her through the labyrinth of easels and upright canvases. There was one canvas larger than herself, with the front of it pointed away from them so she couldn’t fully glimpse it.
He maneuvered so they stopped right in front of it.
“Oh, Cal.” Something prickled in Edie’s throat when she caught sight of the art piece with its rich oranges and blues, painted, blended, and smeared into what she could only describe as the perfect sunset over the bluest sea. “That’s beautiful.”
“I’m calling it The View by the Shore.”
A perfectly fitting title for the piece, considering its content. She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze to take it all in. There was something wholly familiar about the scene, even in its abstractness. Sure, it was a painting of the ocean and the sky—two enormous, almost overwhelming entities—but it felt so much more intimate than that. Narrowed down and almost personal.
“Do you recognize it?” he asked.
She couldn’t be sure. The Southern California coastline stretched for miles and miles. It could be any number of beaches or shores.
“It feels like I do, but I can’t pinpoint it exactly.”
“It’s the beach where you took your first starfish image. The macro one.”
