Page 97 of Make You Love Me
“Incredible,” Jordan finishes for her, bringing a smile to my face.
“That’s not quite adequate enough, but since I’m speechless, we’ll go with that.”
“I was going to say the same about you. That dress is exquisite on you,” I gush, while she spins to give us the full view. The back, a web of ribbons matching the pattern on her shoes, is even more intricate and eye-catching than the long strings of diamonds dripping from her ears and neck. “How’s the show going?”
She glances between me and Jordan. “It’s only been an hour, and I’ve already sold two pieces.”
“And I bet that’s only the beginning,” Jordan reassures her. “Speaking of selling paintings, you better get back to it. Grant is getting anxious.”
She turns to find him waving for her from the end of the corridor.
“He’s relentless,” she says on a long exhale. “But I love him.” Turning back to Jordan, she takes his hand and squeezes it between hers. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She scurries off, and Jordan nods his greeting at Grant. “That’s her agent.” He explains and we watch Grant circle his arm around Josie and drag her toward a group of people examining a framed piece of art, presumably Josie’s.
“He looks like a piece of art himself,” I say, taking in the bright blue and pink plaid suit, long white scarf, and pink shoes.
“That’s Grant for you. Big, bold, and in your face.”
“Not a fan?” I ask, using his piercing tone as evidence.
“He’s good to Josie.”
“But…”
“That’s all I care about.”
“Got it.” As a waiter scurries toward us with a tray of full champagne glasses, I wave him over and take two before he moves on to more important customers. “Come on. Let’s go ogle the masterpieces.”
The featured artists all have unmistakable talent, but Josie’s paintings are the talk of the show. She has a gift of making you feel the emotion she pours into each painting as if you’re there in the meadow, on the mountain, at the beach, or on the balcony overlooking the city at dawn with her as she painted it.
There’s one piece, a white house in a field of wildflowers, that takes my breath away. I lose myself in it while art enthusiasts disregard and move around me. Although the house is older andin need of repair, it still welcomes you in as if filled with love. The large tree to the left held a swing with two thick ropes tied to a limb. Two black rocking chairs sat on the porch, flanking a lazy dog lounging in the sun near the steps.
“This reminds me of the good times. When Mom and I would bake cookies on Sunday afternoons or play tag with Dad in the field. One fall, I asked for a swing for Christmas, but Dad made and hung one up that same day. It makes me want—” Emotion clogging in my throat blocks the words from escaping. “It’s so beautiful.”
I stare at it a while longer until someone bumps into my arm. Concentrating on not splashing the bubbly liquid in my glass on the painting and myself, I hold the flute out in front of me until it resettles.
“My sincere apologies, miss,” the man says, placing a hand on my elbow.
“It’s fine.” I flash him a smile and step away to look for Jordan who, I realize, has disappeared.
“There you are,” I say after locating him at a table across the room. “What are you up to?”
“Supporting my sister and buying something for the woman I love.”
“What?”
“Congratulations, Mr. Jones.” A dark-haired woman with thick-rimmed glasses passes him a receipt after stamping it paid.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Bought the house painting.”
His proud grin makes my insides quiver. “You didn’t.”
“I did. Thank you, slot machines.”
Taking his face in my hands, I plant a lingering kiss to his lips. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
