Page 29 of Fresh Canvas
Dropping Anthony off at Ryan’s, luggage in hand, was one of the hardest things I had ever done. It was wild how the earth continued to spin this morning, even as my heart broke. I would cling to the memory of his sweet, shy wave until he was back. For now, work served as my main distraction.
My phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans.
KATE: Blythe and I aren’t going to make it! We ran out of gas and we won’t be there before the class is over. You can do this! Go get us Stirling!
I clapped a hand to my forehead. Of course Blythe would forget to put gas in her car. And now, I was on my own.
The gravity of the situation pressed down on my shoulders.
I couldn’t screw this up.
WeneededStirling.
And I didn’t want to give them any reason to fire me, just like I didn’t want to give the judge any reason to reconsider joint custody with Ryan. Taking a deep breath, I rolled my shoulders back and held my head high.
The door to the venue was heavy, made of thick wood planks and metal screws. The large warehouse-turned-event space looked modern, but full of character. Rustic wood paneled the walls. Pottery wheels were scattered across the cement floor, each station harboring its own materials. A stage spanned the front of the building.
Among the milling crowd, I spotted a tall, handsome man wearing a tailored navy suit and a sour expression. Val leaned against the back concrete wall, avoiding anyone and everyone.
Irritation flared in my chest. How had he known about the class?
Ignoring Val felt tempting, but something about him made me irrational. While I dreamed of ruthlessly avenging myself for our plane conversation, my new being-the-bigger-person rule meant I’d have to settle for merely annoying him. So, I slinked around the crowd until I was close enough to smell the fresh, masculine scent that seemed to emanate off him.
“You know that pottery is made from clay, right?”
Val jumped and spun toward me. His dark glittering eyes narrowed.
“You.”
I smirked. “Me.”
“I’m well aware of how pottery is made,” he growled. “Why?”
“Oh.” I lifted and dropped my already paint-splattered shoulders. “I just can’t wait to see your expensive suit covered in it, that’s all.”
Resuming his position against the wall, Val fiddled with his sleek cuffs. When he spoke again, he sounded bored.
“I’ll have you know I have no intention of participating in this class.” He trained his gaze forward. “Did youreally think your psycho boss would be the only curator after Stirling? Or that an artist like him might need a curator with more than one brain cell?”
While he droned on, listing all the ways Blythe and I would screw up, I tuned him out and studied him instead.
Russo obviously took pride in his appearance. He had an impeccable, albeit stuffy, sense of style. Everything he wore fit perfectly. His muscles looked like they abused a gym membership on a regular basis. Only the slight lines edging his eyes betrayed his age. Thirty-five? Thirty-six maybe?
Fine.
Val was super hot.I could admit that, but it seemed like such a waste. If only he could get a personality transplant. Or a full lobotomy.
“What?”
This time,Ijumped. I hadn’t registered the end of his rant. He was now watchingmewatchhim. A cocky, knowing smile curled the corner of his lip, a rogue eyebrow peaking.
“Can I help you?”
Anger and embarrassment flushed my cheeks.
“Get over yourself, Russo.” Storming away, I flung myself down at one of the pottery stations. My neck prickled with the sensation of his following eyes.
Lance Stirling entered to a round of cheers and applause. His auburn hair was arranged into spikes, and a tiny golden hoop glinted from his freckled nose. The pinstripe baseball jersey he wore was so oversized, it fell almost to the knees of hisfrayed jean shorts. After the waiting class quieted, the seemingly twenty-year-old flashed us a dazzling smile.
