Page 27 of Finding New Dreams

“Say hi to Rose for me!” he whisper-called to me as I walked out.

Behind the treeline, the sunset lit up the sky in fiery streaks of color. I stopped on the sidewalk to pick them out: coral, violet, cerulean, and dandelion. All colors I could mix and layer on a canvas…if only I were allowed to create something so mundane as a sunset. But my client wanted “inspirational,” “one of a kind,” “a piece that made you think for days.”

A glorious sunset in Tangled River wouldn’t do.

My feet ached a bit as I trudged around the square back to Rose’s studio. My boots weren’t exactly good walking shoes, and I’d done a lot of that today.

But I’d enjoyed it, more than I’d thought I would. Even so, the homesickness hit me differently. Like I’d left all these threads of a life behind when I’d moved to L.A., and those threads had picked up and stitched themselves into something new. Without me.

Of course, I was proud of my friends and what they’d accomplished. Had I expected them to sit around wallowing in my absence, to lead less interesting lives simply because mine was the most interesting? Maybe subconsciously.

I rounded a corner, and Rose’s studio stood before me like a beacon of shining light. I could see her through the windows, talking to an older couple by one of her large photograph prints. Her smile was brighter than any light, more glorious than any sunset.

If only I could capture that.

But I wasn’t supposed to be capturing anything of Rose’s. My friends and my town had moved on without me, and they’d moved on with her. She was more a part of this town than I was, and she was right. I’d be leaving again. I didn’t belong here. I had a life back in L.A.

A gnawing hunger that may or may not have had anything to do with my need for dinner scraped at my gut.

I needed to leave Rose and Tangled River the way I’d found them. I just didn’t want to.

8

ROSE

My fingers trembled around the paintbrush in my hand.

The pleasant rumble of my students chatting as they found their seats at the long workbenches and set up their supplies did nothing to soothe my nerves.

I loved paint nights. And pairing them with wine eased the tension of those who feared looking foolish in front of their friends. But I only ever sipped mine, so as not to give my students a show they didn’t pay to see.

But right about now, looking out from my position at the head of the class, I wished I could chug the whole glass of ruby-red wine Gina had brought with her.

Rolling my paintbrush between my fingertips, I smiled at each person who made eye contact with me.

About a dozen people had shown up—pretty good for a first night. A handful of townspeople I recognized and nodded hello to. Several newcomers looked around my gallery with wide eyes, taking selfies. Gina and Sarah had also shown up.

Chloe hadn’t, which made guilt niggle at my conscience. I’d tried to get a hold of her earlier, to tell her the truth about me and Flynn. But she’d been too busy at the lodge. She agreed to a date tomorrow, though, so I only had another twenty-four hours to sweat.

But even all that—none of it compared to the tall, muscular man weaving his way around the tables, introducing himself and helping people get situated. He wore his usual dark jeans and boots with a heather-gray V-neck shirt.

Flynn.

He was a natural at this. So friendly and at ease, an instantly calming presence. Or an instantly swoon-worthy presence for the many women in the crowd. I didn’t miss the way their faces lit up when he talked to them and smiled down at them as though he wouldn’t want to be any other place in the world.

I know the feeling, ladies.

Last night, after his delivery job, he’d stopped in and made sure there was nothing else I needed before he headed out to Tall Tales to meet the guys.

Of course, I’d let him go, only telling him to come in tomorrow morning. And he had, promptly at opening. I’d taken him through the schedule for the next couple of months, demonstrated how to make a sale, and gave him the quickest tour possible of my modest gallery in case people had questions.

He’d been courteous and attentive through it all. The perfect gentleman.

I almost wished he hadn’t been. Flirty Flynn was fun…alluring…addictive.

As if he could feel me thinking about him, Flynn’s eyes found me across the room, and he smirked.

Feeling my cheeks warm, I tipped my head in his direction as if we were simply passing cues.

---