Page 91 of Sawyer
Damn, he had great friends.
He shouted, “I’m going painting, Kyle. I’ll see you later.”
As he was opening the front door, he heard quick steps behind him. “Good, but you should probably put a coat on.”
Right! He hated to put his wide load down, but itwascold out. “I must be an artist. Totally forgot about practicalities.”
Kyle was tugging at his lip, fighting a grin. “Good.Consider me your practicality helper. In fact, why don’t I help you carry some of this stuff?”
“I’ve got it, man.”
Kyle’s response was to shrug on his coat and pick up his canvas tote. “Paint is heavy.”
Sawyer snorted at the joke. “Your hundred push-ups a day is failing you.”
“Bite your tongue, Doc. I do five hundred. Since coming to Paris, I haven’t been going to the gym.”
“That’s because no one goes to the gym in Paris unless they’re looking to hook up.” He grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around his neck. “Did you know?”
“Nope. But I’m not looking to hook up.”
“No, because you’re in love with Madison. Let me say again that I hope you’re going to do something about that beyond the odd song at a wedding.”
“That’s the plan—although it’s a work in progress given the way she stormed off.” Kyle opened the door for him. “Where are we going, Doc?”
“To Nanine’s,” he told him as they braved the cold, because God itwascold. But there was the hint of chimney smoke from someone’s fire in the air and the waning afternoon light was so freaking glorious in its cream, blues, and pinks that it had him pausing and looking up.
“I’ve found my reason to paint, Kyle,” he confessed softly, as if he were in a sacred space. “Deep down.”
His friend—this amazing dude who’d been the prom king and played football and who would probably never have crossed his path in school if they’d gone together—squeezed his shoulder and grinned. “I’m happy for you, man.”
“Me too!” He took off, Kyle behind him. “And I’m going to get Phoebe back somehow.”
“Good for you, Doc. You’ve got my help there too—should you need it.”
“I might.” He sidestepped some pedestrians and turnedright. “She was pretty angry. She hasn’t answered my text yet.”
“You’ll work it out.”
Yeah, he suddenly knew they would. Which was crazy. When had he ever been a positivist? Something had changed inside him. Because of his friends. Because of Phoebe. Because of himself.
Sure, he’d never subscribed outright to the school of pessimist, but he’d always figured life existed in an in-between place. Sometimes light and dark. Sometimes painful and joyous. Finding a way to exist through it all had been his guiding philosophy.
Now he realized all he wanted was to seek out the good things in life rather than stumbling upon them. He wanted to let in more light, like the skylights did in his studio. To enjoy more happy times with his friends, his found family.
And Phoebe…
He wanted to collect a whole lifetime of happy moments with her that they could share in Drink and Divulge with their friends.
Yes… Now he understood it all. He might as well have written his own personal treatise on the universe and the existence of men. And women. Because he wasn’t a sexist.
When they opened the back door to the kitchen, the chandelier gave arat-ta-tatof a chime. The scents of onion and warmed red wine reached his nose, chased by the lingering smell of baked bread. Little sister was on her honeymoon, but she hadn’t forgotten about everyone else. She’d made the dough and frozen it to be used in her absence.
The kitchen staff gazed at them as they continued to chop and stir and do other prep things. What time was it anyway? He hadn’t checked. Well, he would set up and stay out of their way.
Only, the kitchen lighting was atrocious! God, how could they work in this harsh cool white light?
When he went up to Nanine’s apartment to ask if she would indulge him and come down and make bread so he could paint her into the scene, he would bring a few of the lamps from upstairs.
