Page 4 of Sawyer
Kyle lifted up his phone, grinning. “Speaking of… I have over forty missed calls already. God, we couldn’t have asked for a better opening—and trust me, I’ve opened a lot of restaurants.”
“I’ll bet people are clamoring to get in here to eat and see Sawyer’s paintings.” Dean extended his hand for a high five, which Sawyer could barely give since his arm was shaking.
Clamoring to see his art? What alternate universe was this? Then another thought hit. But could he keep creating at that level witheverypainting?
“Check this out,” Kyle called out, grinning and lifting up his phone. “We have a few callers listed as galleries. They left voice messages. How about we take a listen to one?”
He hit the button and suddenly a hushed female voice in French introduced herself as Valerie something-or-other from Galerie Adelard, noting her interest in seeing his paintings and speaking to him about a gallery show.
“She’s from Galerie Adelard!” The room was spinning again as his mind conjured up an image of him in a large room with the walls covered with his paintings. “One of the top galleries in Paris.”
Kyle gave a satisfied grunt and pocketed his phone. “Well, you wanted a career as an artist. Here’s your chance to go big. From the call list, there are more galleries calling you, Sawyer. Ones we will listen to later when your head comes back down from the clouds.”
The clouds was right! Although he didn’t want to come down. Everything seemed possible up here.
“Of course art people will be interested in Sawyer after this review,” Brooke said with a saucy wiggle of her dark blond brows. “Axel was right, although this might be sooner than even he expected. He’s going to be so happy for you, Sawyer. I’m texting him right now, although he and Jacqueline are probably off having a café while reading the review.”
“It would have been too crowded up here for the Plus Ones,” Kyle stated with a grin. “We’re expanding. When did that happen?”
In that same alternate universe Sawyer had fallen into.
“Proves everything is possible in Paris,” Dean added witha lovestruck smile. “I need to call my beautiful Jacqueline. We can have them come over for champagne, right? Because I’m not waiting to celebrate until Madison closes the restaurant. That’s going to be well after midnight if last night was any indication.”
“Past your bedtime, Dean?” Brooke quipped. “You’re getting old.”
He slapped his knee with a laugh. “You wish. You’d better call your beau. Axel will want to finalize his commissions with Sawyer. Everyone’s going to want a piece of Doc and his artistic brilliance.”
Commissions.
Art shows.
God, that was a ton of paintings.
And every one of them had to be brilliant. Freaking brilliant. He saw stars again.
“I wouldn’t say I feel sick since the news is awesome,” Sawyer said, tilting his head back against the sofa. “But…”
“Head between your legs,” Brooke instructed, ushering him gently into the position. “Someone grab a wet cloth for the back of his neck.”
Soon he felt a coolness there, and a gentle, motherly touch. He turned his head and looked up. Nanine was standing beside him, smiling softly at him, her elegant face surrounded by long, curly white hair. Dressed in a simple green cashmere sweater and black pants, she was Parisian to her core. Elegant. No nonsense. Passionate. More loving than anyone he’d ever met. And she loved him like he was her own son.
He’d never known what that feeling was before meeting her. He’d read stories about sons and daughters who were strongly bonded with one or both parents, but that hadn’t been true for him. Now he understood that such love was woven with gold, the threads so soft and bright they made you feel safe and cherished.
His own insides might have been covered in gold foil rightnow, they felt so warm and shiny. “You were the reason it was a masterpiece, Nanine. You and your quiet light. The Old Masters would have called you a Madonna.”
Of course he hadn’t told anyoneThe Women of Nanine’swere modeled after Thea, Brooke, and Madison. Given they were in Belle Epoch dresses in the painting, their features indistinct in his Impressionist style, he wasn’t sure the others had guessed. Except for Kyle, who had given him the idea.
Suddenly his whole frame went still. He could feel his inner critic standing in the corner of his brain, his mouth pursed in artistic disgust. Somehow his mother, his earliest critic, had morphed into a dark version of himself, and he hated that dude.
These paintings weren’t even original ideas, were they? Your so-called brilliant painting was Kyle’s idea, and Nanine practically told you what she wanted for the composition. And the colors! You might as well have painted by number. And her portrait? What was original about that? Sure, she didn’t ask for it, so you get a point there, but a portrait is obvious.
His heart withered in his chest. God, that was all true…
Nanine leaned over and kissed his cheek, bringing him back from sinking despair. “I would only do a wedding portrait with you painting it,mon Sawyer.”
Another original idea?his inner critic sneered.
But then she cupped his cheek, bringing his face up to hers. A soft smile was waiting, filled with love. Her brown eyes were luminous pools of earth, emerald and gold, colors that had given him fits when he’d tried to paint them. Thank God she hadn’t come out cross-eyed. There had been a few days when he’d feared that might come to pass.
