“All right,” I promise and head back out with her.
Paul looks up, white teeth flashing as I sit.“There you are.We were going to send out a search party.”
I take a deep breath.“No need.We made it back alive.”
He tosses back his head and laughs.The sound echoes off the walls.
The man laughs at nearly everything.It should be a refreshing change.
Somehow, it’s not.
There’s no grumpy side-eye.No jaw-twitching, no hand-flexing.
Definitely no groping under the table.
Still, as our main courses arrive, I vow to do as I promised.
“So, what brought you to Denver?”Paul asks as he digs into his salmon.
I fill him in on my project, and his brows rise.
“It’s a big painting on a wall.People will touch it with their sticky fingers?”He frowns.
“I guess?But art exists to be enjoyed.”
Harlan clears his throat.“Any thoughts on what else besides the skyline?”
“I’m still working on it.”I think back to last night.I didn’t get the stroke of specific inspiration Brooke suggested, but I got a feeling.More of a vibe.
Everyone together, the Kodiaks, working toward a common goal.
I couldn’t sleep when I got home, so I sketched.I could do most of them from memory and photo references.
But I couldn’t do Clay.
Not his broad shoulders, the tattooed expanse of him.
Not his chiselled jaw.
Not his aggressive stance.
Not those dark eyes that see everything.
A buzzing sound comes from my bag hanging on the back of my chair.I try to be subtle as I reach for it, but Mari pins me with a look.
"Could be Brooke," I mouth, but I slip the phone into my lap and glance at it.
Grumpy Baller: Did you get the flowers?
I ignore the text and return to the conversation, but a minute later, my phone rings.
I jump up, three sets of surprised eyes flying my way.
“I’m so sorry.Give me one minute.”
I dash for the hall, theGrumpy Ballercontact on the screen making me curse.
“Clay, this is not a good time,” I answer once I’m tucked out of sight.
