After eating, I take my time walking over to the garage, half-hoping he’s not there. But I’m sure he will be. When I round the corner and hear the soft country music and the clinking of metal, I know I’m right.
He sees me right away, and I feel him tense. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey, yourself.” I lean against the wall, and give him a small smile.
He picks up a grungy rag and starts polishing a silver box-looking thing. “How’re you feeling today? Not too hungover I hope.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good.” Then I look down the front of my dress. “But it’s the weirdest thing… I seem to have a whole bunch of hair on my chest now!”
He looks down and chuckles, and when he turns back to me, there’s a small smile on his face. It’s not even ten in the morning, and he already looks like he’s put in a full day’s work. He’s the only guy I’ve ever met who makes dirty look so good.
“Thanks again for bringing me home last night.”
“My pleasure.”
I give him a sheepish look. “The truck is still at the bar… I was wondering if you’d mind taking me over sometime today when you’re not busy so I can get it?”
Colton looks up at me, sending shivers running down my spine. I bite my lower lip. I may have been drunk last night but I remember every tiny detail, like how good it felt to kiss him, how every time I look at him he just gets cuter and cuter… and how badly I want him to kiss me again.
He sets the rag and the silver box on the bench. “I have a better idea,” he says in his slow drawl. “I have to drive out to Savannah to pick up a part I need. Wouldn’t mind the company, if you’re game.”
I stare at him. “Are you asking if I want to go to Savannah with you… now?”
“In an hour or so.” He shrugs. “If you want. I remember you saying how badly you wanted to see it after reading Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. It’s only about an hour and a half away.”
“Uh… yeah. Of course. I’d love to go. But, um…”
He tilts his head.
“I mean, if you’re just going out there to pick up a part, how much am I really going to get to see?”
He gives a playful smirk. “Well, we don’t have to come rushing right back. We can spend some time. As much as you want. I’m pretty familiar with the town so I can show you some spots.”
I lift my chin and peer down my nose at him. “Colton Lassiter, are you asking me and my hairy chest out on a date?”
He laughs. “Well, maybe I am. So does your hairy chest want to see Savannah or not?”
I smile. “Definitely.”
An hour later I’m sitting in the passenger side of the Bel Air, and the top is down. Colton is fresh from his shower, wearing a clean white t-shirt and jeans, of course. I can still smell traces of his soap.
It’s another great day for a drive, and like most of the highways out here, the one taking us to Savanah is nothing short of spectacular. I just want to lean my head back, feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, and have Colton by my side as I watch the beautiful scenery go by.
This is perfect. This is all I need. All I want. I would never exchange the happiness I feel right now for any amount of money. It would mean draining my soul. I’d be a shell, an empty façade.
Nothing is worth that.
Colton and I make easy conversation about nothing in particular. There are things I want to ask him about, but we seem to be forming a sort of fragile bond, and I don’t want to push it. When he wants to know about the woman I was with at the restaurant, the subject leads to my mother.
“Was she just visiting for the evening?” he asks, when I tell him who she was.
“Yes, fortunately it was a quick trip.”
“I take it you two don’t exactly get along?”
“That’s an understatement.” I grimace. “We just want really different things out of life, and have very different ideas about what’s important.”
He nods. “I know what you mean. I had some tense times with my father for a while too. There were a few years where we couldn’t seem to agree on anything. We were still pretty close, but it was really rough on both of us.”
“I wish I could say it’s only been a few years with my mother, but it’s been this way practically my whole life,” I tell him. He reaches over and gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I glance back up at him. “How are things with you and your dad now?”
A shadow crosses his face. “Both my parents have passed on,” he says quietly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry… I didn’t know.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was tough, though, ‘cause I hadn’t really spoken with them for a while before they died. Never really had a chance to set things straight with the old man. Wish I could’ve.”
He grips the wheel and his eyes darken again.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, softly. “I’d feel terrible if something happened to my parents. But I don’t know how to make it right with them. I never have. To be honest, the best thing I’ve done is just to get away from them.”
“But your mom came out to visit you… she must care.”
I roll my eyes to myself and shake my head. “No. Believe me, that visit was all about her. What she wanted. It had nothing to do with what I wanted or my actual happiness.”
He glances over at me. “What do you mean? What did she want?”
I like opening up to him, and the fact that he’s being receptive to having an actual conversation. But this is dangerous territory.
“She just wants me to go back to California and… take a job that I don’t really want.”
“What kind of job?”
I bite my lip. “Um, it’s like, kinda like in public relations.”
“And you don’t want to do it?”
I shake my head. “No… I really don’t.”
“Why does she want you to take it then?”
Oh, God this sucks. “Well, because it pays a lot. A lot. And it would sort of give me a secure future, I guess. Plus, it would really help her out with her social networking.”
“Hmm. So why don’t you want to take it then?”
I have to think a moment about the answer. “Because it will be an extremely lonely and unfulfilling job. Long hours, and little personal satisfaction. No real room for any advancement. I would basically be forced to stay in the same position for many years… maybe the rest of my life… and it would be very, very depressing.”
“Well, that’s quite a convincing argument. I assume your mother didn’t understand your reasoning.”
“You would be correct in your assumption,” I mutter, and he cocks an eyebrow.
“I can certainly see why you two wouldn’t see eye-to-eye.”
I shrug and gaze out the window again. “Can’t pick your family.”
He gives my hand another comforting squeeze. Despite the depressing turn our conversation has taken, I’m thoroughly enjoying the drive to Savannah with Colton by my side. And a short time later, I’m just as excited when we finally arrive in the charming, historic town. So far it’s just as beautiful as I thought it would be. More so, even. I feel like I’m driving through the movie set of Gone with the Wind, as I gaze out at the old oak trees that line the boulevards, dripping with an abundance of Spanish moss, and the stately and colorfully picturesque colonial houses that are tucked away behind manicured gardens.
Colton quickly wraps up his business, and then we embark on a walking tour of the downtown historical district. As we go along, he points out different landmarks, including the actual house from the Good and Evil book where the murder took place.
“That’s so wild to see it in person,” I gush.
He turns to me with an impish grin. “Wanna go inside?”
“Can we?”
He nods, and we take the quick tour of the house, and listen as the guide tells us the history of what supposedly happened in this storied Southern mansion. Then we make our way to the Cathedral of Sa
int John the Baptist. I’m in sheer awe of the breathtaking artistry… it looks like it was decorated by the fingers of God Himself.
After a carriage ride around the town, we head down to River Street for a late afternoon lunch at the Chart House. Our table is on the balcony overlooking the waterfront, and we sit and watch the lively tourists as they jostle along the walkway below, drinking beer and eating fresh saltwater taffy. A cruise ship sounds its deep, resonant horn as it slowly passes by.
It’s a perfect day that gets even better, as we walk along the river and Colton reaches over and takes my hand. Suddenly he pulls me beneath a shady oak and kisses me gently on the lips. This isn’t like the manic, intense kisses of last night. This is sweeter, more tender. But in no way any less passionate.
I catch my breath, as he pulls back and kisses my nose.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he murmurs.
“So what took you so long?” I give him a flirty smile.
He just shakes his head and grabs my hand again. Then he glances at his watch and gives me a mysterious smile. “Come on… there’s a place I want to show you.”
A little further on, Colton stops in front of an art gallery. “Too bad it’s closed,” I murmur, as I stand back and admire the paintings in the window.
He looks at me with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Let’s just check.” He starts knocking on the door.
“What are you doing?” I laugh and grab at his hand. “It’s almost six on a Sunday. The sign says they closed nearly an hour ago.”
He just grins, and a moment later a bell jingles as the front door opens. A short, rotund gentleman with thinning hair and thick glasses beams out at us and flashes a wide smile.
“Colton, great to see you, lad… Come in, come in!” Colton shakes his hand warmly, and the man enthusiastically ushers us in.
“Good to see you again, Marko. Thanks so much for accommodating us.” Colton turns to me. “May I introduce you to Cady St. Claire— Cady, this is Marko Fellini, the owner of the gallery, and an old friend of my parents.”
“A dear, dear friend, God rest their souls,” Marko murmurs. Then he holds out his hand to me. “So this is the talented young artist? You never told me she was so beautiful!”
Flustered, I glance at Colton, then smile at the kindly older gentleman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fellini. You have a wonderful place here.”
“Thank you, thank you. And I insist you call me Marko.”
I reach out to take his hand, then glance at Colton again. Did he arrange for some sort of private viewing?
Colton seems to read my mind. “Why don’t you be the one to tell her why we’re here, Marko?”
Marko lights up. “Certainly… but let’s walk while we talk, shall we? I can see this young lady’s eyes roaming around already.”
I laugh and return my attention to the two men. “I’m sorry. You just have so many incredible pieces here, it’s hard not to admire them.”
He waves his hand. “Please don’t apologize. I’m happy for you to take a look.”
We start casually strolling through the rows of elegantly framed artwork. “We specialize in original oils that portray the richness of our Southern history and landscape, especially from local artists,” Marko says. “That’s why when Colton sent me a picture of your painting, I knew right away I must have it for my gallery.”
I freeze in my tracks and stare at him. “You… what?”
Marko smiles. “It’s an enchanting piece, dear, and one that would fetch a fair amount for an unknown artist.”
I glance back and forth from Marko to Colton, who is looking at me with a satisfied grin on his face. I can’t help but wonder if somehow this isn’t all a big joke.
“What are you saying?” I ask quietly.
“Well, naturally I offered to buy it off Colton on the spot, but he refused. Said that it wasn’t his to sell, and that I’d have to ask you.” Marko’s eyes take on a slight glint. “He also added that if you did decide to sell, he’d immediately buy it right back from me, whatever the price.”
I laugh, confused, and shake my head. “So wait… what are you trying to say?”
“I’d like to carry your pieces. If you can create work on the level I saw in the picture Colton sent me, I will find space in here to sell it.” He peers closer at me and grins. “And it will sell.”
I stand there with my mouth hanging open for several moments before I finally manage to regain my faculties. “I... I don’t want to sell the one I painted for Colton.” My face immediately flushes at my slip of the tongue. I hope he didn’t catch it. “But I have tons of more ideas for paintings I want to do.”
I feel Colton’s eyes on me. “That’s wonderful,” Marko says. “I do like the fountain element, and am a big fan of the architecture and landscape blend. Most people can only do one or the other well, but you have a rare and unique touch. I’d love to see anything else you produce. And while I can’t officially guarantee that I can offer space and a buyer for every single piece, I will tell you that as long as you create paintings like the one I saw, you have a very, very good shot.” He gives me a kindly wink.
“I… I can’t believe it,” I murmur. “Thank you so much!”
Marko shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’m the lucky one to have first crack at such a talented local artist!”
He glances at Colton and gives him an appreciative nod. “Don’t you be getting any ideas about a finder’s fee, son… you’re already getting my painting!” He chuckles.
I look around the room in awe, unable to believe that one day one of my paintings might actually be hanging on these very walls. My gaze lands on one particular piece, and I blanch when I see the price tag.
“Um… I hate to even ask, because this is not about the money at all… but about how much do you think it’d go for if you had to guess?” I hope I don’t sound greedy, but now I’m curious.
Marko glances at Colton, then back at me. “It’s hard to say exactly without seeing it in person, but I got a good look from the picture Colton emailed me, and based on the size, and the fact that you are more of an emerging artist than an established one, I’d estimate between four and six. But that also depends on the frame we use.
“Between four and six hundred dollars?” I murmur, amazed that anyone would pay that much for something I did just for fun.
“Thousand.”
“Between four and six thousand?” I repeat. “Are you serious?”
He chuckles. “Quite. But don’t forget, we take a commission— 40 percent. And the prices per piece will vary by size and popularity. But that’s a pretty fair starting point.”
Holy shit. I feel like I just won the lottery. Somehow this few thousand dollars feels far more valuable than the offer my mother made to me. This one I can feel proud about.
I impulsively hug Marko, and he laughs and embraces me back. “Thank you! I’ll be working on more and send them your way!”
“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” he says.
I catch Colton’s eye and smile. “Neither can I.”
Chapter 23.
During the drive home we settle into a comfortable silence, interrupted by occasional small talk. Most of the time Colton has his hand resting on my hand, or on my leg, and I hate it whenever he moves it away. He’s like a drug. Now that I’ve had a taste, I don’t want it to stop.
I can’t stop thinking about today… last night… so many things. Everything seems to be changing, and my emotions are in a whirl. Last night Colton was kissing me, and then pushing me away. But today he seems so different… more open. Despite my best efforts to keep my heart guarded, he keeps finding ways to sneak through my defenses. I couldn’t keep him out if I tried.
But I worry… am I setting myself up for even more heartbreak? It’s not like he has the greatest track record when it comes to women. I’m just one of many, the latest in a long line, I’m sure.
Why does being with him make me wa
nt to abandon my common sense? Ignore the red flags of his erratic behavior? Is it because, like Vivi said the first time I met her, we all like to think we’re ‘different’, that maybe the rules don’t apply to us?
But whatever this is between Colton and me… it does feel different. I don’t understand it, and I can’t explain it… but there’s a powerful, immutable force that seems to want to pull us together no matter how hard we might try to ignore it. Already Colton has shown more interest in me and done more things to let me know he cares than Brandon did in all our years together.
And maybe that’s it. Maybe my bar is set so low that the first guy who comes along and treats me with any kind of respect will steal my heart away.
I don’t know. All I do know is that if I think about this too much I’ll drive myself crazy. So I’m just going to let myself feel good for a little while. I’m tired of feeling bad.
“Thanks for setting that up today with Marko,” I say as we head into Sweet Oak. “I’m really honored that you’d go through the trouble of getting him to sell my stuff. You really didn’t have to, but thanks. I appreciate it.”
Colton laughs. “Marko’s a friend, true, but trust me, the only person who decides what gets sold in his gallery is him. I just simply asked him…”
“What?” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.
“I just wanted to see if the painting was really as good as I thought, or if I was just being biased,” he finishes, his mouth tight.
“Biased… because you like the fountain so much?”
He sort of shrugs and cocks his head. “That… and maybe the artist.” Then he gives me a charming little grin and looks back at the road. “Honestly, I was surprised when he offered to buy it on the spot. Just from seeing a picture I took on my phone and emailed him. But he loved it.”
“It’s so flattering… and humbling. I just hope he likes other stuff I might make.”
Colton looks at me and smiles. “I’m sure he will.”
We turn down Main Street and stop next to Colton’s truck. The parking lot for The Dirty is nearly vacant, but it is almost ten o’clock on a Sunday night.