Page 31 of Fresh Canvas
The amusement in his tone caught me off guard. I watched Val cautiously dip his hand into the murky bucket like an alligator might be holing up inside it, then dripped his fingers over his ugly vase.
Baffled as I was, it didn’t stop me from retorting, “It is, in fact. Thanks for noticing.”
Stirling approached my station with an eager smile and exclaimed, “Whoa! That’s some talent. You should be proud!” He high-fived my clay-crusted hand.
I smiled down at my masterpiece. It was short, round, and frankly adorable with curved lips at the top.
“Thank you!” I said. But before the artist could move on, I stood and caught his attention. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Amantha Adams.” I shook his hand. “I’m here representing Blythe Barlow with the Chicago Legacy Museum of Art.”
The name seemed to spark recognition as he said, “Oh! It’s nice to meet you. My agent thinks you guys would be great for my first exhibition before we move on to galleries.”
I offered a warm smile. “We think so too. I’d love to set up a time for you to come in and tour the museum with us, maybe feel our team out to see what you think?”
“That sounds awesome! I’ll have my agent call Blythe and set it up.”
“Sounds great! We’ll be in touch. Thank you again for a great class!” I said.
Stirling shot me a thumbs-up before stopping short at the sight of Val’s heap of clay.
“Oooh. That’s rough. Keep trying, my man.” He clapped Val on the shoulder and walked away before Val stood, crumpled his apron, and stormed from the building.
As I watched the door slam shut behind him, confusion muddled my thoughts. I felt triumphant, for sure.
A guy like Russo didn’t deserve my pity.
But if that was the case, why did I feel a slight echo of it in my chest?
nine
AMANTHA
“So what? You’re single!” Kate whispered, exasperated. She again waggled her fingers toward the hot waiter as he approached our neighboring table.
“Kaaate. Stop!” I sank down in the booth like a sack of potatoes. The soft pink cotton of my t-shirt probably only contributed to the flamingo pink my face had turned. While the waiterwasattractive, I didn’t want to have this conversation over French toast.
“Let him ask you out already! He’s been eyeing you this entire time,” Kate said. “Besides, you owe me for driving all the way out to the suburbs. As repayment, you must let Mr. Biceps buy you dinner.”
“Mr. Biceps?” I snorted.
“Oh don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. His eyes are up there, Amantha.” She winked.
I flushed deeper before adamantly shaking my head.
“Ugh. You’re impossible.” Kate took a sip of her kale smoothie, scanning the trendy bistro. “You haven’t dated in over a decade!”
My foot met her shin under the table. “Say it louder next time,” I grumbled.
“Ow! Jeez! All I’m saying is Ryan is history, and you’re hot. It’s time you own it.”
The clattering forks and chatting people beside us suddenly sounded deafening. I shoveled a bite of syrup-drenched breakfast into my now dry mouth.
“What makes you think I’m not owning it already?” I asked.
“Cause you’re still wearing jeans from a decade ago,” she said. Kate drained the last of her kale smoothie and slapped some bills on the table. “Brunch is on me.” She stood, tossed her long black hair over her shoulders, and readjusted her green strapless top and wide-legged jeans. “Becauseyouare about to spend a lot of money.”
I scrambled out of the booth after her. “A lot of money on what?”
With no answer or choice but to follow, I soon met dressing room mirror after mirror as Kate dragged me through stores. Shoving my legs into the millionth pair of jeans, I tried to fight them over my curvy hips. Not going to lie, it was giving me PTSD from those stupid shaping shorts.
