Page 65 of Illicit Illustration

Grinning, I nodded at him before I pulled on my gloves, opening the door out into the frigid parking lot. “I hope she does, too.”

Because nothing worth truly having came from taking the easy route.

It was dark bythe time I got home from the distillery, the lights in the shop were dimmed and only a handful of cars parkedoutside the bar next door. It wasn’t time for last call yet, but clearly people were waiting to come out to drink their sorrows away or find someone to hook up with until Valentine’s night.

The reveal party tomorrow was invitation only at the beginning of the evening, but the bar would open a few hours later to the public. I was sure the parking lot surrounding the bar would be packed tomorrow, along with all the spaces around my shop.

Holidays had a way of making people lonely or horny, but either way, it was good for business.

I’d spent the afternoon rearranging disgruntled clients, because my cousin Jayden was going to be out of town for longer than just a night. His older brother Tristan—who was a smoke jumper employed by the national forestry service—had been injured responding to a planned burn by the park service that had spread uncontrollably. He was apparently stable but in critical condition, so I was covering all the tours and tastings on the books for tomorrow.

With plans for his restaurant in the works for next year, Jay didn’t want to risk the negative feedback if he closed without notice. He was already under scrutiny from the chamber of commerce board since one member wasn’t a fan of him expanding his business without her son doing the architectural planning. Politics in a small town could be wild, but I was proud of him for bringing in a commercial architect to run the project for him. Even if it was one of his friends from college.

Reid: Are you still awake?

It was late, but I also knew Hazel didn’t exactly keep a regular sleep schedule. She never had. That was part of how our friendship had formed when she was still in high school. She’d sneak into the basement, where I often spent the night when I was back in town visiting. Quietly curling up into her favorite chair, she’d bury her face in a sketchbook until she drifted off.

After the first time she’d done it while I was there, I’d started keeping the door of the guest roomopen so I could go cover her with a blanket and save her sketches from being crumpled or smeared when she inevitably fell asleep on her work.

Each time, I’d tried to resist looking at what she’d been drawing, knowing sometimes a sketchbook was a very personal thing for an artist, but eventually I’d end up seated on the couch across from her, watching her sleep as I flipped through the pages. I’d been stunned each time as I took in the progression of her skills, and it still stunned me even when she shared her work with me to this day.

She didn’t know it, and I never told her, but sometimes when I was feeling unsure of myself as an apprentice in someone else’s shop with no formal artistic training, I drew inspiration from her determination and started sketching whenever I had free time.

They say practice makes perfect, and I could honestly say I wouldn’t be where I was in my career—running my own shop with a waiting list of clients—if it weren’t for a teenage girl with a sketchbook sneaking into a basement late at night to draw when her brain wouldn’t quiet enough to sleep. She’d saved me in ways I’d never told her about, and once she’d realized I was the one covering her up when she fell asleep after her nocturnal drawing sessions, she’d started trying to stay awake to talk to me.

We’d spent hours sitting across from each other talking while we sketched, and while it had been completely innocent—at least on my part—I could honestly say that it had stuck with me in a way spending time with someone of a different sex never had before then, and still hadn’t to this day.

My feelings for her hadn’t shifted until last summer, but once I realized that the skinny teen with wild red hair, braces and huge glasses had turned into one of the kindest and most beautiful humans I’d ever met, I couldn’t stop my feelings for her from developing.

Even when she fled the room whenever I stepped into it the last few years, I was still charmed by her from a distance, only now it was in a way that had me wanting to kiss her breathless.

It probably wasn’t healthy how much time I’d spent watching her from across a room, but I was tired of just watching from a distance now that I knew what it felt like to hold her in my arms.

Hazel: What do you think?

Reid: Someone must be feeling better if they’re resorting to sarcasm. I felt that eye roll through the phone.

Hazel: Quit pretending you know me.

Reid: Not pretending, kitten. I do know you. Gonna grab another shower and then I’ll be headed over.

Hazel: Wasn’t aware working in the tasting room required a shower afterward. Women throwing drinks at you instead of panties today?

Reid: Considering today was filled with lovers-themed couples’ tours, no panties were thrown. At least not at me. And I don’t smell like alcohol. I smell like mash. Not sure if you’ve ever smelled it, but fermented Barley isn’t a stink I want to share.

Hazel: There are stinks you want to share? Doesn’t being stinky make you want to not share it by nature?

Reid: Are you going to continue busting my balls or are you going to let me shower now so I can come put on a show for you?

Hazel: It’s not for me. It’s for my client.

Reid: You planning to film it and share? Not that I’m opposed to a little exhibitionism, but an introduction would be nice first.

Hazel: Maybe Gray accusing you of having an Only Fans wasn’t far off the mark.

Knowing I shouldn’t be sending it, I grinned as I typed out my response, locking the screen and leaving my phone on the counter while I stripped down so I could get the sickly sweet smell that had clung to me all afternoon off my skin.

Reid: There’s only one subscriber I want to watch that kind of private show. And I’m sure she’s currently trying to figure out if that comment was aimed at her. Yes, Hazel, it was. You’re the only person I’m interested in putting on a show for.

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