Page 55 of Buying Time

The image was pulled in tight, showing the bust of a woman, the intricate white fabric, lace details, down to hip area. A gloved hand rested on the front, as though the woman had placed her hands there in surprise or happiness.

It was sweet, but a bit dull. The dress was well done, even with only the basic colors started. It was the sort of image where people would lean in, amazed by the carefully painted details on the dress.

“It surprises me,” I said. “I’ve never seen you do fashion work. Trying something new for the exhibit?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she did, a voice I didn’t recognize called from behind us, “Well isn’t this a surprise?”

I turned, placing myself in front of Kenz, annoyed at the fact that I wasn’t nearly as good at sensing danger as Hayden or Tor.

However, the man standing there didn’t strike me as someone preparing to hurt Kenz. He was tall and fit, though not nearly as heavily muscled as Hayden. He wore a pair of glasses, rimmed on the top in thick brown, but thin wire on the bottom. He had light brown hair with gray in it, despite not appearing older than forty. He wore a long-sleeved gray shirt and offered Kenz a smile that implied he knew her.

“Grisham,” she said and moved out from behind me.

The name let me know who this was. When I’d heard about her student adviser, I’d assumed he’d be some seventy-year-old man who had done this for more years than Kenz had been alive. I sure hadn’t thought I’d find him to be young and relatively attractive.

Or that he’d smile at her like that…

“Are you taking a look at the space?”

Kenz nodded, her gaze shifting over to me as though uncomfortable. “Vance rented it out so I could work here. He thought it might help me if I got to see the light and shadow and vibe of the space where the work would be shown.”

Grisham looked at me, his gaze far too smart for my liking. “That’s a good idea. It’s not one many people would think of, so I’m pretty impressed. Of course, what else would I expect from the very talented Vance Moore?” His words held an edge, something that nearly felt like jealousy?

Does he have feelings for Kenz?

I wanted to say that was insane, that he was too old for her, until I recognized that he was probably younger than Hayden and not all that much older than I was.

Talk about a double standard.

Not that I ever cared much about being fair, so long as I got what I wanted.

I gave him my best smile, the one I used when I wanted to warn a person not to push too far. “She seemed like she was having a hard time and I wanted to support her.”

“Well, isn’t that nice?” Grisham walked closer, and I found myself annoyed when I had to look up slightly into his face. Worse, his gaze moved to the painting, as though I were unimportant.

There hadn’t been many times in my life when people had treated me as unimportant.

Well, other than my family, of course.

“The lines on this are good,” Grisham said. He leaned closer, studying the piece with what was obviously a trained eye. “Why did you choose to close in like this? Some artists get lazy and do things like this so they don’t have to do so many details, but you aren’t that type.”

Kenz stepped over closer to Grisham and the work, which didn’t sit right with me at all. “I did it because that’s the area that’s important. Unless I did a much larger piece than is allowed, I couldn’t get the details I wanted. I wanted to show the lace, the pearl buttons, the shimmer in the fabric of the gloves.”

The way she spoke to Grisham set my teeth on edge. I didn’t care for this connection between them, the way she listened to him, the way she explained as though she cared about his opinion.

Why, though? Wasn’t that his job?

The distance between them, only scant inches, told meexactlywhy. I enjoyed her looking at me like that, hearing me, trusting me. Art was a way we connected, a way we understood one another where others didn’t. It felt likeourthing, but now here Grisham was, shoving his nose into it.

I crossed my arms, trying to keep my temper in check.

“And how do you think this is going to move people? Remember our last conversation? You have to make them feelsomething.What do you think they’ll feel from this?”

A line appeared between Kenz’s dark eyebrows as though she didn’t care for the criticism. However, being so her, she picked up her paintbrush. “That’s because I’m not done yet.”

Grisham shifted his weight to one foot, the stance of a man who didn’t plan to go anywhere. It gave her permission to keep going.

I expected Kenz to dip the brush back in the white and brown, to block in more shadows of the fabric, but she didn’t. Instead, she dipped the end of an angled brush into the red.

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