Page 35 of Someday You Learn

“So, we say we met on the plane like we did, skipping the part about the sex, obviously.” My eyes dart up to hers, and she licks her lips as her eyes dip to my mouth. And I’d bet good money we’re thinking aboutthe same fucking thing right now. “But, uh, maybe we say we exchanged numbers and kept in contact, and that’s when I realized you worked with my dad.”

Clearing my throat, I nod while silently telling my dick to stand down.Fuck, this is going to be a long four months.“Okay…”

“We didn’t want to say anything and get him riled up if this”—she gestures between us—“didn’t amount to anything. But after you visited me in Philly a few times, we realized this wasn’t just some casual thing—it was real.”

I swallow roughly. “Sounds good. I’ve had a few trips out of town here and there over the past year, so that’s believable.”

“And on your last trip, you popped the question and suggested I move to Carrington Cove to start our life together, and to be closer to my dad.” She winks. “I figure it might give you some brownie points if it was more your idea.”

I turn and grab two plates from the cupboard, setting the finished sandwiches on them. Sliding one across the counter to Cashlynn, I say, “Not sure brownie points are enough to get me back on his good side.”

“My dad’s toughest on people he cares about,” she says. “Believe me, it’s why I’m not telling him what I’m actually up to yet.”

I take a bite of my sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Let’s go back to your gallery idea for a second.”

“So you can criticize it?”

“No, Cashlynn.” I pin her with my stare. “I want to know more about it. Truly. If you were willing to quit your job and move down here to pursue this, then it must mean a lot to you.”

Her eyes fall to her plate, but when she looks up, there’s determination in her eyes. “It is.”

“So, tell me. What are you envisioning?”

Shewipes her mouth with her napkin before taking a deep breath like she’s been preparing for this. “I don’t just want to open an art gallery or studio, I want it to be a full experience, and maybe even offer design on the side, like for décor or graphic arts. I want it to offer a full art experience—classes for all ages, showcases for up-and-coming artists, a space for locals to sell their own art, paint nights for kids and families, birthday parties, or girls’ nights. I want people to be able to come in and tap into their creativity, whether it’s through sculpting clay, painting, or just appreciating the work of others. I want to help people find their spark.” She finally pauses to take a breath. “I have so many other thoughts, but basically, I want a space that anyone can walk into and find a creative outlet in, or an appreciation for the world around them.”

I blink a few times, trying to process everything. “Wow.”

She chuckles. “Wow?”

I cross my arms and lean back against the fridge. “Everything you just described is a far cry from practicing law, that’s for damn sure.”

“Ha. I know.”

“But your eyes lit up when you were talking.” I tilt my head. “You didn’t look like that when you talked about your job on the plane.”

She shakes her head, a small, bitter smile playing at her lips. “I was good at it, Parker, but it didn’t make me feel fulfilled. Not even in the slightest. My dad wanted that for me, so I did it to make him happy. When you’re raised by a single father after your mom dies, there’s a part of you that’s terrified of disappointing him.”

“Why would he be disappointed in you for this, Cashlynn?” I ask, not fully understanding everything. “If this is what you want to do with your life, why wouldn’t he support that?”

She takes a deep breath as her eyes fill with tears. “Because my mother was an artist, and it was her love for art that killed her.”

“Fuck,” I say, my voice low as the last piece of the puzzle snaps into place. “How?”

Her eyes drop down to her plate. “It was a car accident. A gallery three hours away from our home in Florida wanted to showcase her art. She was so excited. I remember her dancing around the kitchen with me and my dad toThe Chicken in Blackby Johnny Cash, joking she’d no longer have to rob a bank for us because we were going to be rich once she sold her art.” She laughs lightly at the memory, but then her smile fades again. “She left the next morning…and never made it to the gallery.”

I push a hand through my hair, hating that this is something else that connects us, but now’s not the time to get into that. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I was sixteen,” she says, sniffling as she reins in her emotions. “It was a life-changing moment, for sure. And up until then, I was open about my creative spirit that mirrored my mother’s. I was always drawing, painting, or building something with my hands. But when she died, my dad changed completely. He packed up all of her things, including her art, and pretended she never existed. I knew he blamed her love of art for her death, so I hid that part of myself from him. I didn’t want him to hurt any more than he already was.”

I nod. “I understand that more than you know.” She stares back at me, waiting for me to elaborate, but I don’t. “So he pushed you to be a lawyer instead?”

“He wanted me to go to college and study something logical, something stable. Basically, the complete opposite of what my mom did. And I was always eager to work hard in school, so it made sense. But I just never loved it. I continued to draw and paint on the side, but over the past few years, I’ve grown resentful of the career I felt I was forced into.”

“So, why Carrington Cove? I mean, you could open a gallery anywhere.”

She inhales deeply. “Because no matter how scared I am to do this and what my father might think, he’s here. And over the past year, I’ve researched the town. Beth keeps me in the loop about things too, so I knew that nothing like this existed here.” She shrugs. “It just felt right.”

“Now that you’re here, why can’t you just tell your dad?” I think that’s the piece I’m having the most trouble understanding. This is her father, the one person who should support her no matter what.

---