Page 30 of Dr. Stone
I raised my coffee mug to her. “On my fifth cup now and already feeling better,” I smiled.
Ash breezed out of the gallery, and an hour later, as I adjusted the lighting above the new coastal exhibit, I heard the soft chime of the front door, followed by a low, familiar voice that made my stomach tighten in response.
I glanced over my shoulder, and there he was—my one night of utter satisfaction and the first contestant on my personal show,The Billionaires’ Bachelorette.
I had to clear my thoughts and steady myself. I watched him walk in, wearing a tailored suit, no tie, and top button undone like he’d just left surgery and seduced someone in the hallway.
Unfortunately, I knew from experience that wasn’t a stretch. Our eyes locked, and instead of having all the weird feelings I’d had about him since I was told he had some interest in me, I felt the opposite.
His blue eyes locked on mine—clear, steady, and so quietly intense they felt less like a gaze and more like gravity pulling me back to that night as I watched him come deep?—
Fucking stop it. Now’s not the time to think about that,I thought, snapping out of it and pulling down the front of my blazer before I approached him.
“It’s been a minute,” he said in his casual and cocky tone that I remembered from our night together.
“It’s been a bit longer than that,” I chuckled. “I must say I’m quite shocked to see you here. I wonder what it is with you billionaire types buying art suddenly? Are you trying to redecorate your egos?” I said, folding my arms together and arching an eyebrow at how he so confidently walked in here, unaware I knew why he’d come.
His mouth curved, slow and amused. “No ego redecorating today, thanks,” he said, looking around the place as if he ownedit. “Jake Mitchell told me his wife painted something here that reminded him of my sailboat. He said I should check it out.”
Ah, okay. Jake was already on Team Jace. Well, this should be interesting.
I led him toward the back of the gallery. “You’re not the first man with a yacht and a perfectly timed art purchase. Titus Hawk was in here last week doing the same thing you’re doing now.”
“Yeah?” he asked, too lightly.
“Instead of a boat canvas, he picked a sunset. Said it reminded him of something worth remembering.”
Jace’s jaw ticked. It was subtle, but it was enough. It was adorable.
I eyed him. “You strike me as more storm than sunset,” I added.
We stopped in front of Ash’s recent piece—a single sailboat knifing through a moody, churning ocean. Beautiful and unsettling, like it didn’t belong but refused to leave.
“Ash painted this one right after she and Jake were married, and since Jake referred you, perhaps you should consider a piece that represents your good friend as well.”
“I just might have to do that,” he said quietly.
I watched his demeanor change as he became absorbed in the painting.
“Damn, Ash is a phenomenal artist,” he said. “This painting pulls you into every emotion about being on a sailboat and how it feels while sailing. But not the calm way, you know? Not the picture-perfect way.”
“Oh?” I said, studying him.
He stood there, gripped by the painting, his jaw tight and hands in his pockets as if he were holding something back. The assumptions I’d made about him coming in to hit on me like Titus had begun to fade, and in their place was a quiet curiosity about this man.
A kind of appreciation, maybe. The kind that comes when you realize someone might understand a part of you. He seemed to know about sailing, more than just buzzwords to sound cool, and for someone like me, who’d grown up on boats instead of playgrounds, that meant something.
“Yeah,” he continued. “Everything about this painting speaks my language and captures my style.”
I grinned. “How so? I’m curious…”
His eyes darkened to match the stormy sea in the painting as his gaze held me. “It’s raw and alive.” Looking back at the painting, he said, “And these days, barely in control.” He chuckled as he looked back at me and locked eyes with mine, “Sailing on unpredictable waters, such as that boat is, I feel the tension in my body, leaning into the gust utterly terrified but loving it, feeling both resistance and surrender simultaneously.”
I didn’t know what to do with that. So, I thought we should probably keep it light.
“You sail?”
“I certainly hope so since I have the damn boat in my marina,” he chuckled, the intensity of his stare becoming lighter.
