Page 57 of Love Finds Home

With those words, he helps me off the counter and we go into the bathroom. After getting cleaned up, I grab us each a bottle of water, and we stand in the middle of the studio, looking at the chaos.

“These are amazing, Elle,” he tells me, walking the circle of canvases I have laid out.

“They don’t work for the show.”

“Why not?”

“It’s supposed to be pop culture in abstracts, not,” I wave my hand around, “these.”

“What would you call these?”

“Noir.”

He nods. “I can see that. Kind of dark, mysterious. But aren’t you the owner and featured artist?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then you make it whatever you want. Are you close with the other artists in the show?”

“Some of them, why?”

“What if you changed the progression? Find out if they have something they can submit that isn’t as bright or abstract and lay the show out that way—from crazy colorful to this. Put these at the end.”

“But they aren’t pop culture,” I point out.

“So what? Who gives a fuck that you didn’t paint Bennifer 2.0 or Taylor and whoever she’s dating now? These are amazing and need to be seen.”

“Why…why are you being so nice?” I ask, completely dumbfounded at why he cares.

“I know I’m an asshole, and I hate the personal shit, but this is professional stuff. This is your livelihood, just like tattoos are mine. And these are amazing works, Elle.”

I preen under his compliments, not realizing how much I needed them. And I work out in my head who on the artists list would be the best to contact. “Jorge is going to kill me.”

“No, he won’t. And if he does, well, I’ll be there to save you.”

I don’t think he realizes what he just said, that he’d basically take care of me, and I’m not going to bring it up, that’s for sure. He continues talking me through adjusting the show, going over the issues we might encounter, and before he leaves, it’s with a promise that he’ll be there Wednesday night to help Jorge and me set up. There’s no goodbye kiss, no acknowledgement of what we just did. Not that I expected one, but I still feel the emptiness when he’s gone, and I wonder if he feels it, too.

Chapter 21

Ranger

It’s been three dayssince I crashed Elle’s freakout and if I close my eyes, I can still smell her. She’s leaving for the Cove today, and every ounce of my being wants to follow her. But I’ll be there in two days, promising her I’d help them finish setting up everything Wednesday night so that her show can open on Thursday. She’s walked through the shop several times, waving as she goes and on the phone each time. I don’t think she’s slept much, but she doesn’t look like she’s on the verge of a breakdown anymore, either.

I know it must suck to change a show around at the last minute, but people deserve to see that art. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about it. Like two lost souls in the night. It’s a romance novel on canvas. Something about it seems familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I’m looking forward to seeing them again on display so I can get a better look at them.

“Boss, your girl’s man is here,” Barbie calls from the front desk, where she’s been working on the schedule for most of the morning.

My blood boils for a minute before I realize she must be talking about Jorge, and I put down my tablet and walk to the back door, calling over my shoulder, “She’s not my girl.”

“If you say so, boss!” Barbie cackles. She thinks she’s hilarious.

When I open the door, my blood pressure spikes again for a minute because there he is, standing next to the big van, Elle wrapped around him like a koala bear, both of them laughing.

When he notices me, he tilts his chin. “I hear I have you to thank for the extra work this week?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” I grimace, my hand automatically going to the back of my neck and squeezing.

“Rather have extra work than Elle freaking out. So, thanks for that.”

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