Page 96 of The Fake Out

Bits and pieces of the conversation I’d had with her about selling my work floated through my brain. She’d asked…

But what if no one wanted them? My heart hammered in my ears, and my chest felt tight. A warm palm pressed to my cheek and Emerson tilted my head, forcing me to focus on him.

“Trust me. You are talented.” His green eyes were flooded with nothing but open honesty. “Trust yourself. And your own skill. Gi, the auction house was swamped with so much early interest that they upped the starting bid for the painting of Puff.”

“What?”

“She listed each one for five hundred originally, but they got so many calls once she displayed them on their website that she raised the price before they even moved to the block.”

My body had gone numb, and though I could hear his words, I was struggling to comprehend the meaning. This couldn’t be real.

“You are amazing and talented,” he pleaded with me. “Trust yourself.”

Stunned speechless, all I could do was stare at the page in the book. Three of my paintings were listed there. Up for auction. I swallowed, thinking about all the hours of painting and sketching that had gone into each one. The hundreds of pictures I’d made. My breath caught when I zeroed in on a name. Four simple letters. Gano. Listed as an up-and-coming artist in the Boston area.

“I believe in you. But if you don’t want to do this, then let’s go.” He pulled me toward the door.

Finally finding my wits, I yanked back, holding us in place. “It’s always been a dream,” I whispered.

Head tilted, he angled in closer. “What?”

“This has always been a dream.” One that I only voiced to my mother. One that seemed more like a child’s daydream than a possibility, so it had lived deep inside.

Breaths coming quickly, I studied him. This gorgeous man in front of me. No one had ever been as excited about my painting as Emerson was. He was more passionate about every single work of art than even I was. I hid them away. He framed them and put them on display. He gifted them. He offered them up for sale when I was too scared to do it myself. He was the support I never knew I needed.

“Thank you.” I choked out the words and leaned into him.

Automatically, he wrapped his arms around me. “So we are going in?” He sounded so unsure.

But I nodded.

“Hell yeah we are.” He held me closer for another moment, and when he released me, he put a hand to the small of my back and guided me down a hallway.

We’d barely made it through the next set of doors when Hannah appeared.

“Let me grab a picture,” she said. The directive was clearly a demand, rather than a suggestion.

“Here?” I asked, my voice still shaky.

“Yes, I like to document it when our boys look cultured. Posting pictures of them at events like this one and other formal shit. Makes them look like they know more than just how to throw a ball.” She held up her phone. “So hop over there by the art and smile.”

“Dance, monkey, dance.” Emerson clapped his hands and spun in a circle, making Hannah laugh.

I rolled my eyes. He was such a ham.

“Come here.” He tucked an arm around my waist.

“Me?” I asked, rearing back.

Hannah stepped back and held up her phone, nodding. “Pose with the handsome baseball player.”

“Wait, you’re posting this on social media?” I asked, my feet locked on the floor. “I’m not sure I should be in the picture.”

“If anyone should be in a picture tonight, it’s you.” Emerson yanked me by the waist and positioned me where Hannah wanted us to be. Lowering his head, he whispered, “I don’t give a shit about the social media post. I don’t give a shit about seeming cultured. But I give a lot of shits about you. And that’s what tonight is about. You.” As he stood to his full height, his green eyes shone bright. “So smile,” he said, tucking me into his body.

Giving in, I placed a hand on his chest and smiled for Hannah.

“That was perfect.” She smirked at her phone’s screen. “Culture achieved. Thanks, Em.”

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