Page 58 of Muddy Messy Love

She turns to me. “Do you take commissions?”

“Commissions?” I gulp, recovering it.

“Yeah.” She taps a finger against her chin. “I think I’d like an Avery Masters original in my gallery.”

I huff out a laugh. “Real cute, Beth.”

“What?” she says. “I’m serious.”

I flop my arms over her shoulders from behind and kiss her cheek. “I appreciate the support, but you don’t need to do that.”

She unhooks my hands to turn around. “Is that a no?” She arches a brow, and I laugh again.

“My work won’t fit in with your Hesters and Boyds.”

Beth gathers my hands in hers. “It will when it’s done. Even I can see that.” Over her shoulder, she regards them again. “What are you planning to do with them all, anyway?”

Blank-faced, I just stare. That’s a question I hadn’t considered. “Um, nothing?”

“Nothing?” Beth says incredulously.

“This is therapy more than anything else. You know that.”

“But they’re so good. It would be a waste not to share them.” She squeezes my hands, and I scrunch up my nose.

“Who would want to see them?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Freeing my hands, I step away. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe so, but these are something else. Surely you can see that?”

I stare at the six pieces all lined up in a row. They’re next level for me, but by professional standards I’m not sure they’d even rate. In any event, the thought of showing them feels akin to posting my naked photos online or publishing my darkestsecrets for all to read. I’m not ready for that and doubt I’ll ever be.

“Just think about it, please?” Beth says.

I nod purely to appease her, then gather up my tools from the floor to lay them on the bench. Murky water spills over the side of the bowl as I set it down adjacent. My stomach growls for the twentieth time, sick of being ignored, but this time it registers. “Is dinner here yet?”

“Fifteen minutes. Enough time for you to shower and clean yourself up.”

“What are we watching?” I ask, blotting up the mess with a rag.

“Dirty Dancing.”

I grin. “Classic.”

Beth nods. “Especially on VHS.”

“Can we do the end dance?” I ask.

Beth smiles. “Do we ever not?”

The addition of a human aeroplane ride instead of the famous lift is our best modification. And balancing Beth on my feet while she pretends to fly is the most fitting send-off ever.

“I see you have a new fascination with elevator doors.”

I snap my gaze away to meet Hannah’s smirk. There’s no point denying it. What started as a glance whenever they dinged yesterday has progressed to checking them every ten seconds, desperately willing Cole’s presence. Add that to the fact I’m doing the same with my phone and you have a beautiful concoction of pathetic. I’m my fucking mother, but not knowing where he is or where I stand is torture.

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