Claire’s gaze slid away toward the paintings. “I can sell them, but all that intensity may not appeal to my usual clients. I’m going to have to reach out to a different audience, one I haven’t been in touch with for a while.”
“So they’re not going to be as marketable as my earlier ones.” Julia felt the weight of her uncle’s judgment land on her shoulders like a lead shawl.
“That’s not what I meant,” Claire said, coming over to take Julia’s hands and squeeze them encouragingly. “You’ve done your job. You’ve made superb art. Now you have to let me do my job, which is to find the right buyers for it.”
“You don’t have to sugarcoat the truth for me,” Julia said, squaring her shoulders as she gently pulled her hands away. “If they aren’t good enough to sell, just tell me.”
“They’re more than good enough to sell.” Paul’s voice was firm. “I want one, and I’ve never bought an original artwork in my entire life.”
Claire’s eyes lit up. “If you’re planning to stay here in Sanctuary for a while, I have an idea. It’s a little risky, but it might make a big splash in the art world.”
“What kind of idea?” Julia wasn’t big on making splashes. Most of her life had been structured to avoid anything that might create unnecessary tension for her.
Claire shook her head. “I need to work out the details before I tell you.” She started toward the door. “Let me give you your advance, so you can buy lunch.”
“It’s my treat,” Paul said.
Before she could protest, he put his hand in the small of Julia’s back and propelled her firmly toward the door. Her shirt was so thin, it felt as though his palm was touching her bare skin. Little shivers of heat radiated out from his hand to skitter across her back.
Or maybe she was light-headed from hunger.
Chapter 4
JULIA TOOK THREE steps onto the Library Café’s open-air dining terrace and halted, gazing with delight at the town of Sanctuary spread out below them. “It’s like one of those perfect Victorian towns they set up around model railroads.”
“We try to keep it nice,” Paul said.
As they stood just outside the French doors, waiting to be seated, she glanced up to see him scanning the view with a proprietary air. “You look at it as though you own it,” she teased.
A shadow crossed his face. “Sometimes I feel more like it owns me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was mayor of Sanctuary for two terms, and some folks think I still am.”
“Best mayor we ever had.” A white-haired woman wearing a yellow apron embroidered with an open book beside a piece of cake walked up with two menus tucked under her arm.
“Can you tell Mrs. Bostic was my number-one supporter?” Paul’s smile was genuine as he leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek.
“Get on with you,” the café hostess said. “I may have told all my friends to vote for you, but I was just doing what was best for the town. Sunshine or shade for your table?”
“Sunshine,” Julia said, just as Paul said, “Shade.”
“I figured you might burn with that fair skin and red hair,” Paul said, as they followed Mrs. Bostic to a green metal café table set under a yellow-and-white striped umbrella.
Pleasure blossomed in her chest because he had noticed something about her, even if he should have asked where she wanted to sit. “Sometimes it’s worth the burn to feel the sunbeams on your skin.”
He pulled out the wicker chair. “It’s not good for you, though.” He sat down across from her, leaving the menu closed on the table as Mrs. Bostic pulled out an order pad. “I recommend the chicken salad sandwich and the sweet potato fries. And the pecan pie, if you have a sweet tooth,” Paul said.
Julia had declared her independence when she loaded her paintings in the Suburban to set out for Sanctuary, and she wasn’t about to give it up now. She opened the menu, scanned through it, and grimaced. He had ordered exactly what she would have chosen. She slapped the folder shut on the table. “And an iced tea, please.”
“You see. I let you choose your own beverage.” His pale eyes held an understanding glint.
Mrs. Bostic scooped up the menus. “I’ll have your drinks here in a jiffy.”
Julia waited until the woman was several steps away. “Are you always so bossy?”
“No, I just know what’s best for everyone.”
That reminded Julia of what her uncle had said when he told her he wouldn’t offer her new paintings to the gallery: I’m doing what’s best for your career. The pain of his rejection seared through her again. He had been like a father to her since her parents moved away. She turned in the direction of the view but saw nothing of its beauties.