Page 88 of Hard to Love
Half an hour later, he was showered, freshly shaved, and packed in the single bag he’d pulled into town with. The tiny apartment was spotless, dishes in the cabinet and bed made. He stared at the patchwork quilt, remembering what it felt like to be with Greer in that bed.
Not just what it felt like to touch her, be inside her. But what it felt like to hear her laugh, to see her smile, to know she had feelings for him. Alex Villanueva, a man who didn’t deserve her but wanted her so bad that he’d considered, if only for a few minutes, letting his brother find a way out of this mess by himself.
But that would break his mamá’s heart, drown Alex with Catholic guilt, and eventually cost Nicolás his life. And that he couldn’t do, even for Greer.
Inside the main area of the barn, he headed straight for his booth without stopping to chat with any of the artisans. Who the hell was he kidding? He hadn’t made it a habit to get to know any of them. Good damn thing they weren’t voting among themselves. He’d lose for sure.
His space was bare of his tools, but he’d set up a display covered with ruby-colored fabric to best contrast with the black full-grain leather he’d used. Rather than craft the piece into a bag as he’d imagined, he’d left it flat and showed pictures of it as a soft-side briefcase, an over-the-shoulder messenger bag, and a small carryon. He wanted people to be able to imagine it suited to their life, their needs and wants.
He adjusted a small spotlight arcing over the display to best highlight each hill and valley in the leather. He smoothed the piece again, trying not to linger over the design, a subtle carving of a horseshoe with intricate flames licking the leather all around it, but he was unable to helphimself. Would Greer recognize that she’d inspired this piece too? Would she realize just how much she made her own luck, how truly on fire she was here at Wild Card?
Hell, she’d inspired everything he’d done since he hit this town. The man who’d needed no one now relied on a wild-haired, blue-eyed muse.
He looked up to find his beautiful muse with her back to him, chatting with another artist. Today Greer wore a cream halter dress that left her shoulders and upper back bare. He’d kissed that spot. The one at the top of her spine. A spot he’d never touch again.
He flexed his fingers, trying to drive away the need. He’d become a master at denying himself. Convincing himself he didn’t need a family. Didn’t need someone else’s love.
But God, he wanted Greer’s and wanted to give it back to her a hundredfold.
She turned and caught his gaze. For a blip in time, her smile went even wider and her eyes lit with something warm and private. With a blink, she snuffed it out and strode toward another booth, obscuring her from his line of sight.
Better. It was better this way. And maybe if he kept repeating that bullshit to himself, he’d finally swallow it.
For the next few hours, people strolled by, inspected the piece of leather that had become his hope. His fucking salvation. They picked it up, rubbed its surface, inhaled the scent of quality and hard work.
Then they checked or scribbled something on the judging sheets being passed out at the front door.
“Listen up, y’all.” Greer’s voice echoed through the barn. Alex spotted her standing on top of a worktable with a bullhorn held to her mouth. “The artisan booths will stayopen for another ten minutes. If you haven’t visited all of them, you’ll have to step it up. Any judging forms without comments on each piece of work will be excluded from the final judging.”
She hopped down, and people went into overdrive, darting all over the place to check out the offerings they hadn’t yet seen. A line streamed by Alex’s booth. Some people nodded. Others barely gave his work a passing glance.
The ball of stress that had been forming in his gut since he woke this morning was now one huge mess of tangles.
Just as Greer’s voice boomed out again, Delaney made her way to Alex’s now-abandoned booth. She picked up Alex’s leather and studied it. “Not bad.”
“Good enough to win?”
“What’s most important—winning Greer’s competition or working with PBC?” Delaney turned her attention from the leather to gaze directly into Alex’s face. “She said you’re planning to leave, so I have to assume that means you’re not interested in tooling for me.”
That was so far from the truth, Alex couldn’t even see it from where he stood. “It’s complicated. Maybe once I—”
“I thought you were a smart man, an insightful one, but I guess I was dead wrong. She’s the most talented, most determined, most generous women I know, and yet you’re just going to walk away?”
Everyone in this town should’ve been dancing a fucking polka at the idea that the tattooed and pierced Latino was leaving their darling Greer alone. “Look, Greer and I had a thing, and now…”
Delaney shook her head and tossed the leather back on the table. “Do you have any idea what you might be walking away from?”
Other than Greer, he and Delaney were the only two people left in the barn by this time. But Greer was a good thirty yards away, so Alex didn’t worry about her hearing their conversation. “I know exactly what I’m walking away from, and believe me, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to.”
“Everyone has choices,” she said. “Some of them—the ones that are most important—are damn hard.” She checked over her shoulder toward where Greer stood, her back to them. Then she cautiously pulled something from her pocket and slid it across the table toward Alex. It was a thick cream-colored envelope. “So Alex, don’t do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life. Please don’t make the wrong decision.”
Alex quickly palmedthe envelope and watched Delaney stride outside. The look she’d shot Greer said she didn’t want her to know she’d just given it to Alex.
“Alex,” Greer yelled from near the door, “aren’t you interested in hearing the winner’s name?”
He lifted his chin and called back, “Right behind you.”
She rolled a shoulder as if saying it was no water off her back what he decided to do.
