Page 19 of Back to Me

I breathe in a sudden rush of warm air through the small space between my lips.

He shakes his head. “I thought it was over, and he would lose interest in working with me at all. It’s happened before.”

I think back to all the times where Graham would come home, crushed, once again being turned down for another job just because he never went to college.

“So, what happened?”

“He said it didn’t matter because he already knew how great of an artist I was,” he smirks. I press my thighs together, pushing away the feeling his mouth gives me with a single glance.

“That’s great,” I choke out.

Lifting his glass to take a sip, he nods and slowly places his glass back down on the small, white napkin.

“Then I offered to show him my portfolio.” His voice is deep and smooth as he matches his eyes with mine. They shine, causing a twist of pain to form in my chest. I breathe in a sharp breath, the sound of the subtle acoustic guitar filling my ears.

Resting his arms on the table, his voice grows deeper. “He was thumbing through my drawings and the pictures I had taken of my paintings.” He pauses, and my heart races thinking of every possible scenario. “He stopped when he came across the painting we had done together.”

My heart sinks, and I feel it as it drops into the pit of my stomach. “What?” I breathe out. “You included it in your portfolio?”

“Of course. It’s my favorite painting I’ve ever done. Well, that we’ve done,” he corrects.

My throat burns when I realize I haven’t even taken a single sip from my drink. Lifting the glass, I drink nearly half of the cool, minty concoction in one gulp.

The painting Graham and I had worked on all those years ago flashes before my eyes. If I’m honest, I agree with him. It was and still is my favorite piece we’ve ever done—the only piece we’ve ever done together. I can’t believe a curator from the Dallas Museum of Art has laid eyes on it.

He’s still staring at me, his deep blue eyes searching mine. As much as I’m confused about where this conversation is leading, I somehow find a smile hidden behind them. Resting his hands on the table, he intertwines his fingers and leans forward, assuring I will be able to hear his voice over the music.

“Okay, I want you to hear me out.” He pauses, searching my face for reassurance.

“Of course,” I whisper.

“Okay because I know you were about to bite my head off when I came home earlier. So, I just want to make sure.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t say a word when you walked in the door. But yes, I promise,” I reassure him.

Swiping his tongue across his lips, I fight to keep focused on our conversation.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat. “He loved our painting so much, he wants us to do a collaboration.”

Yeah, there goes my heart, plummeting to the depths of my stomach. I swallow again, widening my eyes in shock and confusion.

“What?”

He lets out a small laugh and rubs his hands together.

“I’m not joking, Sara. He saw the painting and asked if I had painted it because it was so different from my others. I told him you had done the outline, and I had done the watercolor. He loved it so much, he wants us to work on a few pieces together.”

A grin spreads across his face, anticipating my reaction.

My mind draws a blank as a million thoughts run through my head, wondering how this is even a possibility. Then those million thoughts turn into a million questions.

“Wait, I don’t think I understand what you’re telling me. Is it no longer your exhibit?”

His smile fades, but only slightly. “I’m still the featured artist, but he wants us to collaborate on about five pieces. I have to design the other fifteen.”

I open my mouth, then close it again, not quite sure what to say. Instead, I look away, watching the two guys continue to play and sing their fifth song of the night—I’ve been counting.

As I get lost into the music, I realize this is why he wanted to take me out to the Jealous Abbot. This is why he didn’t speak to me when he walked through the front door. He wanted me to have time to cool down before explaining how the interview went. Because if there’s one thing Graham knows about me, it’s I tend to over-dramatize situations before hearing the whole story. He’s the calm to my storm. My heart swells, willing to disregard his abrupt ending to our phone call earlier today.

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