And just one look made him realize he had two small Paige Jeffries originals sitting at his townhouse. He’d never known who’d left the paintings on his doorstep that had reminded him so much of the sisters he’d lost. If he’d had any time to research Paige’s art he would’ve recognized the style immediately.
Given the popularity of her art, they would probably commandeer a pretty price. Not that Brett would part with them for any amount of money.
He looked around at some more of her work. They were all just as vibrant. Captivating. Sometimes even difficult to look at.
And in the center of it all was some sort of 3D rendering of one of her paintings. It burst from the ground into the air, over ten feet tall, reds and oranges and pinks flowing like waves at the top. Breathtaking.
Each canvas encouraged conversation, not just about the painting, but about emotion, life, joy and pain. About what it was to be alive.
Brett never knew he was able to wax so poetic about art. But honestly, Paige’s work seemed to be beyond mere paintings to him.
The thought that Paige could’ve been killed in her attack two years ago ate at him. The world would’ve lost a truly great artist.
Brett would’ve lost the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind since the moment he’d met her.
“I wasn’t sure if you would make it,” Paige’s soft voice was right beside him.
Brett couldn’t stop himself, he pulled Paige into his arms. He just wanted to reassure his psyche that she was okay, unharmed, not in the clutches of some madman. Paige stiffened for just a second, then relaxed into his arms.
“Excuse me, Sir,” a security guard tapped Brett on the shoulder. “I need you to release Ms. Jeffries immediately.”
Paige looked at the other man. “It’s okay, I’m fine, Jacob.”
Brett let go of Paige. He hadn’t meant to make her nervous in any way, hadn’t thought about how his touch might cause her fear. He’d just needed to touch her.
She kept a hand on his arm. “Really, I’m okay.” She looked up at Brett first when she said it, then turned to her security guard. “Thank you for checking, Jacob. I appreciate it.”
The man faded back into the crowd.
“I wasn’t thinking,” Brett told her, trying, and failing, to force himself to ease back from her. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
She smiled up at him. “Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting a bear hug, but it didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
“It made Jacob pretty uncomfortable.” Brett tilted his head towards the security guard who was still eyeing them.
“Jacob knows I don’t like to be touched. Sometimes enthusiasts of my art can be a little fervent in their demonstrations of affection. It can be… overwhelming for me.”
And then he had to grab her in a hug as soon as he saw her. Way to go, jackass. “I’m sorry, Paige. I didn’t even think.”
“Please, don’t apologize.” Her hand still rested on his arm and she gave it the slightest squeeze. “It was nice to be able to call Jacob off for once. Is that normally how you greet people you were questioning a few days ago?”
Brett gave a short bark of laughter. “No, I can assure you it’s not how I traditionally greet suspects, victims, or witnesses.”
“Good, then I feel special. Can I show you around a little bit?”
Paige was a little shaken by her brief embrace with Brett but not for the reasons she would’ve thought. She knew what it was like to break out in a cold sweat every time she shook someone’s hand, to suffer full-on panic attacks when someone touched her shoulder from behind.
A full embrace? Paige could admit she hadn’t let a man anywhere near close enough for a hug in two years. It would have sent her running screaming for the hills.
And yet, here she was, walking with her hand linked in the crook of Brett Wagner’s arm. No running. No screaming. No hills.
Go figure.
She could still feel the imprint of his body —just the slightest bit— from when he’d been pressed up against her. Could still smell the manly scent of him. No colognes, just the vague residual scent of whatever soap he’d used. What it was had made Paige want to snuggle closer just for a second.
So different from her normal behavior, she knew it would catch other people’s attention. She saw Melissa’s surprised glance from across the gallery and knew she would have questions from the governor’s wife before the night was over.
“So what do you think about the show?” she asked him, turning away from Melissa’s gaze. She would deal with her friend’s inquisition later.
“It definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“In a bad way or a good way?”
His smile made something flutter in her center. “Definitely good. Although I have to admit, I don’t have much basis for comparison.”
Paige wasn’t surprised. “Not a normal art-show attender?”
“No, not really. I always figured they would be more…” Brett seem to struggle to find the right word.
“Boring? Pretentious?” Paige arched her eyebrow at him.
Brett laughed. “Well, actually I was going to say too intellectual for me. But yeah, I guess either of those others would work too.”
“Some art shows are everything you’d fear.”
“But not yours?” Brett leaned just the slightest bit closer and she was amazed again when she didn’t feel her normal need to draw back.
“My art is an extension of me. It’s just what I do. I think it’s crazy that people spend so much money for my paintings.”
“It occurs to me that I didn’t realize it, but I’ve had two Paige Jeffries’ originals for about fifteen years now.”
She blushed, she couldn’t help it. “I had drawn those with your sisters the year before. Always reminded me of them, so I wanted you to have them. Of course, it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t know that and you might just toss them.”
“I didn’t. They always made me smile. Even though I didn’t know who they were from or what they meant, I couldn’t get rid of them.”
She squeezed his arm. “I’m glad. I was so shy back then, talking to you would’ve been nearly impossible.”
“We talked in our class a couple of times.”
She grinned. “I don’t think, ‘there are quizzes in an art class?!?’ counts as much of a conversation.”
“I’m still scarred about that. You painted long before high school, right?”
“Yes. I painted for as long as I can remember. What do you think of them?”
It wasn’t a question she asked very often. Normally she didn’t put much stock in other people’s opinions, but she found herself studying Brett’s expression closely.
She knew she shouldn’t care if he liked her work, but she very much did.
She watched as he looked around the room almost 360 degrees before turning back to her. Her hand was still tucked in the crook of his arm as his brown eyes locked with hers. She took a step closer before she could help herself. Everything around them blurred into a background hum.
“I’m not great with words about stuff like this,” Brett said in barely above a whisper. “But your work is compelling. I never knew that art could make me want to keep looking at it.”
Paige felt a warmth spread inside her. Brett couldn’t have said it more perfectly if he had a degree in art.
“Thank you.” She squeezed his arm. “That’s exactly how I hope people feel about it.”
“And that centerpiece is amazing.”
Paige studied it. “It’s one of my pieces scanned then printed with a 3D printer. I never knew anything like that was even possible.”
“Me either.” They began walking around so he could see more. “How often do you have shows like these?”
“At least once a year. More if my agent can talk me into it.”
“Will all these paintings sell? There’s got to be, what, fifty or sixty in here?”
Paige shrugged. “Actually, most of them were already sold before tonight, I think.”
“Wow.”
Paige didn’t like talking about the business of her art. She had no idea why people bought her paintings, although she was glad they did. “I just paint. I realize I’m one of the fortunate few who is able to make a living from doing what I love to do. I wouldn’t know how not to paint. Even if I just had to stuff the finished pieces in a closet somewhere, I’d still paint.”
Brett tucked her hand a little closer into the crook of his arm. “These paintings stuffed in a closet somewhere would be an absolute crime. And you’ve got a room full of people here who think so.”
“Yeah, success is still a little surreal for me, even though it’s been over five years since my paintings started selling.”
They walked up some stairs of the converted warehouse that had been turned into the art gallery, further from the jazz band. Paige liked the big, open space of it all, and was glad for its largeness now. It gave her a chance to talk with Brett in relative privacy. She knew it wouldn’t take long until her agent, Hunter Barnes, was looking for her wanting her to converse with some of her more important collectors.