Page 25 of Now That It's You
“Don’t be an idiot, don’t be a stranger—anything else you’d like to command me not to be?”
“Sorry. Stop being sorry.” She gave him a sad little smile and a nudge toward the door. “Go on, get out of here. You said you’re going to Bend tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Some Hollywood producer commissioned a piece for his vacation home there. I’m driving it over in the morning, making sure it gets set up right in the media room.”
“Drive safely.”
“I will.” He turned and walked away, then hesitated at the door. “Thanks again for everything, Meg.”
“Maybe we should keep in touch?”
Kyle nodded. “Maybe we should.” He twisted the doorknob, not sure if that was the best idea in the world or the worst.
Chapter 5
“Nice work, son!” The famous TV producer whose name Kyle kept forgetting pumped his hand with surprising ferocity as they gazed up at the metal sculpture of a walrus holding an umbrella. It wasn’t the weirdest piece Kyle had ever been commissioned for, but it was damn close.
“I’m glad you like it.” Kyle stared at the sculpture, since that seemed more tactful than staring at the mole on the guy’s temple that looked vaguely like an avocado.
“It’s perfect there next to the window, don’t you think?” The producer gazed up at it with such a reverent expression, Kyle couldn’t help but feel proud.
“Absolutely. I designed it with all this natural light in mind.”
“You know, I’d love to have something for my place in Pacific Palisades.”
“I’d be happy to work with you again.” Kyle ignored the swell of his own ego. “I’m a little booked up at the moment, but why don’t we chat next week? Maybe look at some photos of the space, talk about what you’re envisioning.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got anything that’s already finished?”
“Maybe a few things.” He tried to think of something that could fit.
The guy grabbed his phone off the table. “Where do I find your online gallery?”
“Yeah, I don’t really have one.” He really should remedy that. “I’m a little old fashioned.”
“Okay, so . . . where can I see more of your stuff?”
“My gallery in Portland.” But that was a dick move, asking the guy to drive all the way over the mountains. “Hang on. I think I have a hard copy portfolio out in the truck. Got a few finished pieces in there you could take a look at. Want me to go to grab it?”
“I’ll follow you out there. I could use some fresh air.”
They trudged together through several long hallways that were the approximate size of Kyle’s entire house. He followed behind the producer, trying to remember the guy’s name. Chuck? Chad?
Chase, that was it. Chase Whitfield. He’d have to remember that when he told Meg about this later. She’d always been thrilled by celebrity gossip.
The thought of seeing Meg again filled him with something warm and liquid, like sipping Scotch in a hot tub. He’d spent the whole drive out here thinking about kissing her, about what might’ve happened if the damn oven hadn’t beeped. The fantasy had been a welcome distraction from thoughts about his brother. What would Matt think if he knew Kyle was having illicit thoughts about Meg?
At least she’s not his fiancée anymore. It would have been worse if he’d known it when she was.
But now Matt was dead, and Kyle would never have to worry again that his brother would peer into his ear and see his most shameful thoughts. Thinking of Matt made his throat feel achy and he closed his eyes for a moment to make them stop stinging.
He opened them again as Chase led them through the slate entryway and out into the bright sage-scented sunshine. Kyle breathed deeply, amazed by the difference 170 miles made between Portland and Bend. The air felt drier here in the desert, and the towering basalt cliffs of Smith Rock jutted like orange-red claws on the horizon.
Kyle popped the door on his truck, wishing he’d had the foresight to get rid of all the McDonald’s wrappers and vacuum the dog fur off the seat. He shoved a Coke can onto the floor and grabbed a leather-bound book from under an old flannel shirt. He flipped it open and held it out so Chase could see.
“These are photos of some of my finished pieces.” He pointed to one on the first page. “This one’s currently in a gallery in Portland, but the show is up next month. It’s called Shadow Dance.”
“Nice. Great lines. I really love the copper running through there. How big is it?”
