Page 65 of If You Never Come Back
“This is your new workspace, Shay. And your own gallery, too, if you ever want to display your work.”
I’m beaming so wide, my mouth throbs. But then logic hits and I lose my grin to a frown. “No, I can’t…I can’t accept this.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t afford this, Wes. I don’t have the money for a studio-art gallery combination space.”
A laundry list of real-life problems fills my brain. There’s rent for the space, then the cost of electricity and utilities. Then the cost of furnishing it.
“I mean, I’ve been making a profit from my artwork these past six months, but it’s nowhere near enough to justify an entirely separate workspace,” I babble. “And I don’t think I have enough in savings to cover the rent, the bills, what it will take to get this place up and running—”
Wes shakes his head, cutting me off. “You don’t have to worry about any of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had some savings from all my jobs over the years and I used some of it to buy this place.”
My eyes bulge. “Wes, that’s tens of thousands of dollars. Why in the world would you do that? What if there’s an emergency or you have to pay for an unexpected expense?”
His smile is soft, easy, unbothered. It’s like I’m pestering him about something minor, like forgetting to turn off the lights before leaving the apartment.
“Shay, it’s really okay. There’s nothing to worry about. Colin’s company bought this building earlier this year. He sold this space to me for a bargain. There’s no rent to pay. And I’m going to fix everything up and help you set it up exactly the way you want. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”
His explanation makes sense, but still, my head is spinning.
“That means you’ve been working on this surprise for months,” I say.
“That’s true.”
“Which means you were planning this even before we were back together.”
A hint of shyness flashes across his face. “I messed up big time. I wanted to do something to show you how serious I was about making this work with you a second time.”
The fog of confusion slowly dissipates, giving way to clarity. “You did all this for me.”
Even when I say it, doubt lingers in my tone. Because it’s just so beyond belief that someone would take such a gigantic risk for the person they love when they’re not even together. Wes seems to sense it because he pulls me against him. His face hovers in front of mine, our lips barely an inch apart. The beat of his heart thuds softly against my chest, amplifying the intimacy of this moment.
“Everything I’ve done these past few months was for you. I want to support your dreams and goals. I want to see you succeed. I want to be there holding your hand when you host your first gallery opening.”
His words hum against my ears. If I weren’t holding his body, feeling his breath on my skin, gazing into his rich brown eyes, it would sound too good to be true. But it is true. And it is so, so good.
I yank him by the collar of his jacket and pull him to me. “Okay. But we do this together. Everything is fifty-fifty. Every remodeling project we work on, I help you. I know you’ve got construction experience and I don’t, but as long as you tell me what to do, I can help. And if I do decide to do a showing of my artwork—”
“Not if,” he corrects. “When.”
I kiss the tip of his nose. “WhenI decide to do a showing of my artwork, we split the earnings.”
His thick eyebrows wrinkle together. “No way. That’s your artwork that you created. You keep anything you get from that.”
I start to object, but he stops me. “I earn enough with my job at Colin’s company.”
“Fine. But if I do any more paintings or sketches of you, we’re splitting the profits.”
He chuckles. “Deal.”
I turn back to the framed paintings. “Except for those. They’re not for sale.”
He pulls me into a hug once more. “Deal on that too.”
