Page 67 of A Small Town Spring

He glares at me, resembling nothing so much as a wrinkled toddler upset at not getting his way.Does no one in his life tell him the truth?I feel sad for him for a moment, and I’m sure I’ll be working through this interaction in therapy for the foreseeable future.But I’m still relieved when he says nothing else, just turns around and finds Sally.He argues with her for a moment, then storms out without a further word.

I hold my breath until Sally Fieldstone approaches me, an ingratiating smile on her face.“Look,Toby, I know your dad is a git, but his name still means something back home.We could dotremendousbusiness doing a father-son exhibition sometime next year.”

“I don’t think that would work for me,” I say, not hesitating for a single moment.“And by the way, Kingston’s portrait is not for sale.”

She wrinkles her pert nose.“Fernanda told me.Oh well.I picked up another one for my personal collection.Congratulations,truly.”She leans over and kisses me on both cheeks.“Take care.”

She’s gone in a sweep of feathers, and I sigh and look at my friends, who’ve all reached some level of achievement in their chosen fields.“Is this what success feels like?”

“Confusion, queasiness, bewilderment?Yeah, pretty much,” Pete says.

“Excitement, too, though,” Beck adds.“Look at all the red dots on these paintings—there’s hardly anything left.”

I realize he’s right and do the math in my head.Even with the gallery’s cut, and Fernanda’s commission, I’m looking at more money than I’ve ever had in my life.

“I’m glad you didn’t let her have my portrait.But who did buy it?”Kingston asks.

“What?”

“Who bought the painting of me?”he asks.“I saw the red dot on it.”

“Galia put those on the ones that weren’t for sale, too,” I explain.“Like the ones of Ivy and Beck.No, I couldn’t part with that one.”

“Really?”Kingston smiles, looking relieved.“That’s good to hear.Because I can’t part with you, either.”

Spring

Kingston & Toby

Thirty-Two

Kingston

The Bramble Streetcottage is dark except for the solar lights lining the gravel path to the front door when we arrive.

“What time is it?”Toby asks sleepily, rousing from where he’d been slumped sideways in the passenger seat.

“Two-thirty in the morning,” I whisper.

We’d stayed at the gallery reception for a while after the drama with Toby’s dad, but eventually Fernanda shooed us away, telling us to unwind, so Pete and Jack and Van and Beck and Toby and I went out for dinner—not at the fancy French place I’d scouted earlier, but at a greasy diner for which we were all delightfully overdressed.Toby had declared a craving for lemon meringue pie and French fries, and I wasn’t about to deny him anything at that point.We ate unexpectedly decent food and drank crappy coffee and talked until nearly midnight.

The four of them had booked rooms at a nearby hotel, but after Toby and I said goodbye and headed on foot back to the apartment, Toby looked at me, face shining and beautiful, and said, “Feel free to say no, but I’d really like to sleep at the house tonight.I miss Luna.I’ve had enough of the city for now.”

And I’d wanted to be back in Rosedale so badly it was difficult to stop by the apartment even long enough to grab a few things and retrieve Daniel.

I drove, and he dozed.We’ve made the same drive together a handful of times since he started coming to the city to promote his show, but this was the first time I could look over at him and know he was mine.

Best drive ever.

I open up the house and Luna comes padding to greet us, immediately meowing to express her displeasure at being left alone for several days, despite the cat sitter looking in on her twice a day when we were gone.Toby drops down to cuddle her, but she wriggles out of his arms and comes to butt her head against my shin.

“She’s got her favorite,” he grumps, then he slides all the way down to the floor and groans.“I’m just going to sleep here.”

I lock the door, put our bags in my room, toss Luna a few treats, wash my hands, and pour two glasses of water to take with us to bed.Then I return to the living room, where Toby hasn’t moved, his face still as if he’s truly sleeping, a mask of relaxation.I consider nudging him with my foot, telling him to get into bed, like I would have when I was trying so hard to only be his friend.But things are different now.I slide down to my knees next to him, lean over and kiss his mouth, just for being all beautiful and mine.

I lean back on my haunches, watch him flutter his eyes open like Sleeping Beauty.“I think you should come to bed.”

His lips curve up.“You do, do you?But I’m so comfortable here.”He closes his eyes again, the brat.“Kiss me again.”

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