Page 33 of Sawyer
He swung his gaze at her, but she only shrugged sheepishly.
“I rather like that she made the most of their unusual visit,” Axel continued. “Shows she’s smart as well as tenacious. That she came down and served them coffee and assured them that her interest in you both personally andprofessionally is genuine. I must meet her soon and form my own opinion. When are you going out again?”
Leave it to Axel to get to the point. “I haven’t…ah…directly asked yet. Two days ago, I wasn’t sure how fast I could go.”
Axel finally turned around and faced him, his strong blond brows knit with deep thought. “How fast do you want to go? Because seeing this painting, I have a sense.”
“Fast,” he admitted. Where was his phone? He still needed to text her.
“Then make the date.” Axel turned back around. “You are going by American rules of dating. They are ridiculous if you ask me, waiting at least three days before contacting someone you like. Games seem so foolish. Then again, my country is different. Why would you not express your desire to the person who has lit you up inside and gotten you excited about the feelings in your heart and body? Don’t you want her to know you yearn for her? Is that not what true romance is?”
Axel did have a way of cutting through the nonsense with his Nordic practicality. “I’ll text her right now.”
“Call her.” Axel waved a hand. “I fear texting will take over everything. Sex even, God help us. Why share intimacy when we can send an emoji in the safety of our own space?”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Brooke marched over and took Axel’s arm. “Operation Sawyer is supposed to lift people up. Not depress them.”
“Who am I depressing?” Axel traced her cheek. “Would you prefer for me to text my sentiments about your body with an eggplant emoji than make real love to you?”
Sawyer was trying not to laugh as Brooke shook her head. “I wouldn’t, so the world isn’t lost yet. Sawyer, I also love this painting so far, although I know Axel’s take counts for more. And I can see youdoreally like Phoebe. I do too.”
More relief rushed through him at her praise. God, whatwould Beverly think? He was going to be a mess when she arrived. He pushed his glasses up farther on his nose before realizing he had paint on them. Well, he’d just have to clean them fast. Or get a new pair and leave these for painting. “I’m glad you do. She’s a lot like you in some ways. Bold. Decisive. A go-getter.”
Brooke blew him a kiss as she walked to the door. “Thank you. Axel, my love?”
“I can hear the invitation to come in your voice,min elskede,but I am not yet ready.”
“I’ll see you later, Sawyer.” She gave him a radiant smile. “Axel’s right. Call Phoebe. Women do like to know they are irresistible to the man they like.”
When she left, Sawyer turned back to his painting and Axel. His friend finally fixed him with a serious look. His heart gave another lurch. Dude had more to say. Okay…
“You are painting faster than usual, I think,” Axel began. “Wet on wet works for you.”
So they were talking process and execution. He reminded himself to breathe. As he studied the painting, he could see what Axel meant. Before, he’d painted with a single color mostly and then let it dry. The process not only took longer, but he realized it had interrupted his flow. His passion in the moment. “Maybe it’s having less time to think. And doubt myself, honestly. I dive in, and then there’s nothing but the painting.”
“Standing around and thinking about what to create and how to create it often produces artistic agony.” Axel patted him on the back. “Speed seems to be your friend. Go with it. And let Phoebe Anderson be your muse. It seems to be working.”
Axel’s footsteps faded, and so did the rest of his studio when he was alone. Insane, indescribable relief flooded him, and for that moment, its power overtook him. Yeah, he saw black spots for a second, but when he sank to the ground tofind his balance again, he could feel a happy smile on his tingly lips.
It was working, his friend had said. He was working. Him! Sawyer Jackson the artist had a process at last.
He pushed himself up finally and walked toward the painting and called Phoebe. She didn’t answer, so he left a voicemail. Then he picked up his paintbrush and touched up the outer edges of her eyes and got to work again, a delighted grin on his face.
Someone banged on the door, jolting him out of his reverie. He ate the pho Brooke brought him straight out of the container as he sat in front of the painting, studying where he needed final touches.
Time kept flowing like water until he became aware of hunger pains and thirst in his dry mouth. The skylight windows no longer showed a bright blue sky but a dark one shot with stars.
God, what time was it?
It had to be late, but he didn’t want to clean up just yet. God knew it would take an age since he’d used three paint palettes and nearly every paintbrush in his arsenal. Since he’d started, he’d thought of nothing else but painting the scene in his head, seeing Phoebe come to life from his imagination, from his own hands.
No wonder so many artists had muses. Bringing a beautiful woman he was interested in to life was intoxicating. Almost as good as foreplay.
Almost.
He peered at the painting, taking in her aqua coat, that sexy, all-knowing feminine smile on her face, the one she’d had before she sauntered over to him. The colors she’d worn were the punch of the painting, sure, but so was her face. The way her green eyes were locked on him—although he wasn’t in the painting. He’d captured that first initial glimpse of the person who made your heart speed up.
He wanted to punch the air because dammit, he had nailed it.
