Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I’m still melting. Scrape me off the floor where I’ve become a puddle.
I jog to catch up with him, looking around quickly for the janitor before I loop my arm through his. “Thank you. That would be amazing. My paintings do need frames. I mean, I don’t think that would’ve helped at the galleries–it was more a gatekeeping thing, but…”
We’re inside the studio now, and Asher stops my words with a kiss.
I melt against him, my arms looping up around his neck, my body softening into his. “That was really thoughtful, Asher. Thank you.”
He kisses me again, but he’s a man with a mission. He strides back to the stack of paintings and starts to measure and inventory them. “These have names?” he asks, ripping a piece of paper from my sketchbook and thrusting it at me. “Will you write down the name of each one and a description, so I know which is which then I’ll put the dimensions underneath.”
It takes over an hour, but Asher doesn’t seem to mind. By the end of it, I have a list of every painting I’ve made over the last five years. The paintings I had to go into debt on my credit card to ship back here.
“Wow. I’ve produced a lot of art.” I look at the list. It feels satisfying. Not that I’m a quantity-over-quality kind of artist, but it’s nice to see what a long list of art I have available to sell, if I can ever get in a gallery.
“Have you thought about an Etsy store?” Asher asks.
My brows pop. I notice the same resistance rise up in me that I had when Olive suggested we visit galleries. Is it fear of putting myself out there? Or my wolf instinct telling me it’s a bad move?
It’s not like the gallery visits went well for me.
“Well, no…”
Asher shrugs. “I’m just thinking it might be another way to get your stuff out there. I mean, in addition to galleries and what-not.”
“Um, yeah. I mean, I don’t have the slightest idea how to go about that, but I should figure it out.”
“Yeah. Or I’ll figure it out, and you keep painting.” Asher folds the two-page list of paintings into squares and tucks it in his back pocket. “Also, I have a surprise for you.”
“You do?”
“Yep. It’s at Sweet Treats.”
“Aren’t they closed?”
“I have keys. Meet me in the back alley in fifteen minutes.” Asher ushers me out the door of the studio into the hall.
“I’ll beat you there,” I tease him.
“No chance of that, swee–Ms. James.” He winks at me, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone’s still around. “See you soon,” he mouths before jogging a few steps ahead and slipping out the door in front of me.
I pretend not to watch him start up his motorcycle as I walk to my car, but the entire time there’s a low happy buzz in my chest.
I’m loving this new level of comfort with Asher. It seems he’s finally forgiven me for getting his dad banished. I still don’t know how things are going to work for us–especially when he’s my student for the rest of the school year, and I want to leave Arizona when it’s over–but it’s starting to feel like the insurmountable problems are worth solving.
Maybe I’d be willing to stay. I don’t know.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down, thinking it might be from Asher.
It’s from Andy, though.
Andy:
I’m in Phoenix. Come swim at the resort–they have a lazy river.
My stomach twists. Even texting feels like an infidelity to Asher.
Me:
Not interested.
Andy:
Meeting at the gallery is tomorrow evening. You can tag along to my meeting.
I suck in a breath. My wolf says this is a bad idea. Artist me says sacrifices have to be made. Not with Andy–fuck that, never that–but I need to use the connections I have. I’m not afraid of saying no to Andy–even if he does seem to be acting illogically attached to me. I’m a shifter. No human man could ever force his will on me. Asher would hate me meeting with him, especially if he knew how much Andy has been up my skirt, but I’ll keep it short and business-like. End of story.
Me:
Send me the name and address.
Andy:
I’ll pick you up.
Me:
It’s not even remotely on the way.
Andy:
Come with me or don’t, babe.
Ugh. Really? What a pain in my ass. He’s purposely jerking my chain.
Me:
Fine. Pick me up at the school so I can put a few of my paintings in the car.
Andy:
Send the address.
I send the address and start the car, trying to ignore the queasiness in my belly. I should tell Asher.
I will tell him. But not until right before Andy comes. I don’t want his wolf to get crazy possessive and for him to act irrationally.
I shove down my misgivings as I turn the ignition and drive to the alley behind Sweet Treats. Once I’m there, I forget the whole thing because Asher’s leaning against the old brick building that used to be a mill. It belongs to Mrs. Angelson, who owns the bakery, but I don’t think she uses it for anything.