“Mmm…I’ll have to do something about that.” He set down his pencil and came over to me, lifted my fingers to his mouth and kissed them gently, one at a time.
Delicious shivers worked their way up and down my spine. “I think maybe you need to take a break, too.”
“Great idea.” He took my hand and started to lead me toward the door so we could go over to the apartment, but then his phone, stuck in his jeans pocket, started to ring. Ignoring it, he pulled me out to the landing.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“Not important. It can go to voicemail.”
I wasn’t about to argue, not with the heat coiling in my belly, needing release. It wouldn’t be the first time we shared a little afternoon delight, and obviously he didn’t think it was going to break his concentration too much. Maybe it would even help.
His phone went quiet, then started up again. We looked at each other.
“Go ahead and answer it,” I told him. “If they’re calling back this quickly, they must have a reason.”
“Or it could be telemarketers,” he argued.
“I’ve never once heard you have to deal with a telemarketer. I figured maybe you’d put some kind of Wilcox whammy on your phone so only people you want to talk to get through.”
“Very funny,” he said, but he did pull the cell out of his pocket and look at the display, then frown a little as he lifted the phone to his ear. “Joelle? Is there a problem?”
Silence as he listened to what she had to say.
“What? No, that can’t — ” He stopped; apparently Joelle had cut him off. “Okay, well, yeah, I can be down there in a few minutes. Just hang on.” Shaking his head, he ended the call and shoved his phone back in his pocket.
“What is it?” I asked. “Something wrong?”
“No.” Incongruously, he began to smile. “Something right. Really right. Joelle said a man came in and asked about my paintings, said he was really impressed.”
“That’s awesome!” I exclaimed, and reached out and pulled him to me.
“There’s more. Apparently he owns one of the biggest galleries in Sedona, and he wants to do a show of my work. He’s down there, waiting to talk to me.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Go!” I let go of him, laughing at his obvious befuddlement. “I’ll still be here when you get back…promise,” I added with a wink.
That seemed to spur him to action. He hurried down the stairs, and I watched him go, smiling and thinking how well our lives seemed to go when we didn’t have to worry about Damon sticking his nose into them.
* * *
Everything seemed to go on fast-forward after that. The owner of the Sedona gallery, one Eli Michaels, came upstairs to see the rest of Connor’s paintings, both in the studio and in the apartment. Thank the Goddess that both places were reasonably clean, and that I was more or less presentable, since Connor and I tended to go out for lunch a good deal and I tried to make sure I was ready to go at a moment’s notice. To tell the truth, I was pretty sure Eli barely noticed I was there; he was far more interested in looking over all those canvases.
“Impressive,” was his evaluation. “I’d like to do a show at the end of the month, if you can be ready for that. We need to get your work out there as soon as possible.”
Connor sort of stammered out a “sure,” sounding very unlike his usual confident self.
“Excellent,” said Eli. “I’ll be in touch. If it’s not asking too much, I’d prefer that you take down the pieces in your own gallery. I’d like this to be a proper debut.”
“No problem.”
“Very good. I’ll let myself out.”
And that was that. Connor and I looked at each other, and I let out a little squeal and flung myself at him. We celebrated properly, upstairs in the big king-size bed, and then went out for a decadent dinner at the Cottage Restaurant, where I had what was probably one of the best meals I’d ever eaten in my life. Then of course I had to call Sydney and tell her the good news, promising her that as soon as I had a firm date for the art opening, I’d let her know.
When I hung up, though, I realized that I should have been calling my aunt to tell her about it — if things were different. If we hadn’t avoided speaking to each other for the last month and a half.
I also realized that Connor hadn’t called anyone at all. “Shouldn’t you at least let Damon know? He might surprise you and actually be proud.”
“I doubt it,” Connor replied, his expression grim. “I’ll let Lucas know. He’ll spread the word.”