Page 90 of The Single Dad

I take another long look at the painting, wistfully imagining it on my wall—somewhere I could wake up and see it every day. I’ve been wistfully imagining a lot of things lately.

A lot of situations where I get to keep something that I want. A lot of futures where my experiences are steady rather than fleeting.

“I hope it goes to a good home,” I say.

“You sound like you’re talking about a stray puppy, or something,” Cole says, lightly teasing.

I grin and shrug, turning away from the canvas. “Artwork has to be taken care of. Whoever buys it… I just hope they appreciate it, you know?”

We continue along the line of easels. There are several beautiful pieces that I admire, but none of them are as striking as the abstract piece with the blurring strokes of blue.

After a while of looking, I notice Archie starting to drag his feet. Earlier, he was excited about a few of the paintings, especially the ones that had his favorite colors in them, or depicted animals. Now, though, he seems a little tired. As I watch him, he yawns and rubs at his eyes.

I nudge Cole. “I think Archie’s starting to get sleepy.”

“I think you’re right,” Cole agrees. “I can call a car for the two of you, if you don’t mind taking him home. It’s well past his bedtime, anyway.”

“I’m not tired,” Archie says wearily. “I can…” He trails off, interrupted by another wide yawn.

“You’ve got another big day tomorrow, buddy,” Cole says. “Besides, I think you’ve pretty much seen all the paintings.” He looks up at me with a nod. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” I say easily.

The businesslike look slides from his face for a moment, and a little bit of heat slips into his voice. “I’ll see you later on.”

I bite my lip as he walks away, returning to the table with his friends.

* * *

Cole

The event starts to wind down around midnight. All of the paintings have been sold, and the crowd has thinned out considerably as the auction comes to a close.

Sophie goes home shortly after Riley does, and I retreat with the guys to a private cigar room off of the main ballroom. Everything’s leather in here, and the air smells like smoke and whiskey.

“This place is very you, Dec,” Reed says, flopping down into a high-backed armchair.

Declan snorts, but doesn’t disagree, as he pours glasses of whiskey for the three of us. We light cigars and settle into the chairs, listening to the murmur of voices coming from outside the door.

“This has been an interesting evening,” Declan says quietly, after some time.

“Did either of you buy anything?” I ask, avoiding his gaze.

“I didn’t,” Declan replies. “Just made observations.”

That can’t be good.

“Well, who wasn’t making observations?” Reed says with a dry chuckle. He flicks some ash from the tip of his cigar. “I got a couple paintings for the new hotel opening in Miami. The PR guy seemed to think it would be a good idea to spend money at a charity thing.”

“You would’ve bought those paintings anyway,” Declan points out, and Reed sighs, nodding.

“Yeah, probably,” he agrees.

It’s silent between us for another few minutes. I puff at the cigar sparingly. They’re nice to have every once in a while, shared between friends, but I don’t want to make a habit of smoking them. Mostly, I just like the smell. Rich and savory, like burning spice.

Finally, Reed says, “So… are we gonna bring up the elephant in the room?”

“What are you talking about?” I mumble around my cigar.

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