Page 75 of From Our First

I didn’t smile. I didn’t do anything. I only remembered the hurt of when I’d walked away before, when my parents had ruined everything.

They had broken Nate and me before, and my mother had threatened us again.

What would they do this time?

And what would we believe?

I put away my phone and went back to work, telling myself that I would call him later. That I would pretend that everything was okay.

But that was my fear, that I was only pretending.

What would happen when reality crashed in, and I had to face what was there, and what clearly wasn’t?

Chapter 18

Nate

I stood in the studio,looking around at the art pieces, my heart racing. “I knew you were talented, baby, but I didn’t know you had this in you. I should have, but wow, I’m speechless.”

Myra blushed, even though she had her back straight, the rest of her unflappable, but that little blush told me I’d connected to something.

And, damn it, that’s what I’d wanted to do.

“I’m glad you feel that way, because my art show is coming up soon. I’d better have a good basis for what needs to go on those bare walls.”

I shook my head and took a couple of steps towards her. I cupped her face and met her gaze. “There’s enough talent in your little pinky finger to take my breath away. I’m honored that you showed me these before you showed your agent.”

She shrugged, her eyes downcast.

She had done that a lot over the past week. Pulling away slightly as if everything was a bit too much for her. I didn’t know why. We had been doing well—at least I’d thought. But she had been pulling away ever so slightly, and I didn’t know how to make her stop.

“Anyway, I have eighteen pieces, but they want twenty. I can’t decide between what I have or if I have time to figure something else out. Maybe eighteen will have to do.”

“You’ve been working your ass off for how long now? Eighteen should be plenty.”

She shook her head and went over to her easel area, looking between two pieces that I knew were nearly done. I didn’t know how she could work on more than one thing at once. I could only work on one project at a time, but she put what was at the front of her mind out on the canvas, and if it happened to be something she had started on six months ago and needed a little more work, that’s what she did.

Myra was a fantastic multi-tasker. It was a little scary.

“This whole project has been mostly portraits, although a little more abstract than usual. I’ve been harsher with my brush strokes recently, and I have a feeling it has more to do with the stress of my family than anything else. I’m not a fan of the way that’s seeping into my work.”

I looked at the two portraits, one of an older woman, someone I’d never met before in my life. She looked sad, at least until you saw her eyes. There, you saw a life long-lived, one filled with a past and perhaps hope for whatever future she held in her hands.

“This one’s stunning. You can see every year she’s lived.”

“She is one of Dakota’s regulars. I asked if I could sketch her for this project, and she readily agreed. She’s always wanted to be in a painting, especially after the movieTitaniccame out, and she kept joking with her late husband about him drawing her like one of his French girls.”

I laughed and shook my head. “How many times have people actually used that line on you?”

“Mostly, it’s been you,” she said dryly and then laughed before I turned to see the other canvas.

I blinked, looking down at the man lying on his stomach on a soft bed, the angles of his back shown, a sheet covering enough for modesty but the rest on display.

His eyes were closed in sleep, a peaceful expression on his face. But there were scars, too, ones that would never go away, not after the accident.

“I didn’t know you drew me,” I said, my mouth going dry.

Myra twisted her fingers together. “This one’s probably for me. Or you. I didn’t ask. You were sleeping one day, and I got the urge to draw. And then I started painting, and here we are. You don’t need to even look at this. I’m not going to show it to anyone.”

---