Page 86 of Saving Grace

I hand over the portfolio that has my resume tucked into the first clear slip pocket. “It’s my resume and my art portfolio, from when I was practicing. Not everything I’ve ever done is in there, only the better pieces...”

I twist my hands in my lap, hiding them beneath the desk, as he flips through the oversized pages in the black folder. “I’m used to working in most mediums, but oils are my favorite.”

He holds up a hand. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, lass.”

Shit.

Damn, trust me to mess this up. A lump rises, obscuring my airways. My button-down shirt, slacks, and jacket are suddenly far too tight. Too hot. Every second drags as he starts from the beginning and goes over each page again. Slowly. Painfully slow.

I don’t know what to do with myself. Sitting across from the man who is charge of whether I land a job in a place I have wanted my entire life. Granted, it’s not the MET, but it’s still art, and it’s close to Mackinlay. And his family.

“Hmmm.” Don closes the portfolio and clasps his hands, elbows resting on the arm rests of his chair. “I’m afraid?—”

The air in my lungs burns.

Calm down, Grace, it’s simply the start of the process.

But this job wasperfect.

Spots filter into my peripheral, and I grip the seat of the chair. Hanging on like I’m at the bow of the Titanic. That moment before Jack tells Rose to breathe in and hold her breath.

“Miss Weston, are you alright? You needin’ a glass of water or some air?” Don’s voice slips through the ringing in my ears that I don’t remember starting.

I force myself to relax. Noting the things around the room, like Mack had when he had the episode the day I dropped the plate in the kitchen. Ruby’s words filter through.Three things you can see, Mack; three things you can hear.

A heavy hand presses to my shoulder. I glance up to the worried and weathered face of Don.

Oh god.

If the floor could open up and swallow me now, that would be fantastic. He sits on the edge of the desk and grips the edge with a soft smile, and my breaths come a little easier.

“Now, I know you didn’t just have a conniption about gettin’ this job.”

“Maybe a little. I need this. I will work hard and I’m a fast learner. Art is my dream, my life?—”

“Grace, you have the job. And if you had let me finish, I was going to say, I’m afraid you’re far too qualified for this small town and this hack of a job. But it’s a start. And we would be thrilled to have you as part of the Lewistown Arts Center team.”

My jaw hangs slack.

“Honey, it has been a long time since this old place has seen new blood. Can you start Monday? I’d love to revamp both the kids’ and adults’ classes and, if you’re up for it, a daily gallery tour—pending numbers of course—and staff the shop front during business hours?”

“I would love to!”

“Great! Any other ideas you can come up with to generate interest in this relic of a community center are appreciated.”

He leans and collects my portfolio up and hands it back to me. “Impressive, Grace. Somewhere down the track, you couldpaint something to hang here. Gauging by the response it gets, a commission spot on the wall could be yours.”

I’m speechless, again.

“Shall we?” He heads for the door. Stunned, I follow him out and shake his hand as we say our goodbyes. Don walks back the way we came as I follow. With a brief goodbye, I push through the doors and spill onto the street. The first thing I see is the black hat. The cowboy leaning on Blue. The bouquet of pink flowers that dangle from his hand.

Deep blue eyes track me as I close the distance, his grin matches the fireworks currently flying around my body. I got the job! I actually landed an art job.

“You got it, didn’t you?” He rests the flowers on Blue’s roof and picks me up the second I’m close enough. My feet swing as he twirls me around. I squeal and his hearty chuckle sends the warmth that rose in my chest moments ago spilling over. My feet hit the ground, and his hands are on my face. “I knew you’d get it, gorgeous girl. Your work is brilliant. Now to celebrate, name it, it’s yours.”

“You been sneaking into my yoga room, Mackinlay Rawlins?” I chuckle and brush a kiss over his lips. “Anything I want?”

His hand lifts my chin a little higher. “Absolutely anything.”

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