Page 19 of Finding New Dreams

I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Before I could talk myself out of it, I did some cyber-stalking on Flynn.

His social media accounts had huge numbers of followers. Each picture he posted had thousands of comments, usually of the thirst variety even though I didn’t see the underwear pics Gina had mentioned. Not that I was looking or anything.

But he had a unique, carefree charm that translated even through pictures. And those piercing eyes combined with that sexy smirk to play with my imagination like they had the night before.

I was still mentally slapping myself for being so blind to who he was. Flynn wasn’t exactly a common name, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t put two and two together.

Or maybe I just hadn’t wanted to.

Tossing the thought aside, I dug deeper into his artwork. He had many pictures from art shows but none from a studio or work room—or lair, as he would call it.

The more I looked, the more I noticed a pattern. His style of art changed regularly—and usually because of whatever woman he was with.

He’d gone through a charcoal phase at a time when there were several pictures of him looking awfully close with a famous—and beautiful—charcoal artist. Same with watercolor canvases. And oil painting. Even wood carving, sculpting, and resin work.

The pieces were gorgeous. And he must be an extremely quick learner to pick up each of those mediums and produce such art. But I struggled to find a soul or a story to any of them. And he never stuck with a medium for long—only until the women who had inspired him disappeared from his social life.

He’d said he’d left something difficult behind. Was he struggling with his next project? With inspiration? Or…was it a woman?

My chest tightened as the conclusion hit me like a freight train. He wanted to be around me. He wanted to see my studio. Was he looking for his next muse?

I shook my head. That couldn’t have been it. At least not at first. He hadn’t even known about my studio until this morning.

But now?

Now it didn’t matter, I decided. I would keep an open mind about his artistic needs. But any other needs…absolutely not. I didn’t have the time or capacity to be somebody’s fling or muse. I was looking for forever.

Mind made up, I stuffed my phone back in my pocket, slipped on my shoes and socks, and said goodbye to the river.

After stopping by Furry Family, Louis’s vet clinic and animal rescue, to walk a few of the dogs, I hurried back to my apartment for a quick shower. I had no idea when Flynn would show up, but I wanted to be ready.

I dressed in a pair of my favorite black leggings paired with a lace-trimmed violet tunic top, then headed downstairs.

My studio—where I did all my painting—was in a private room at the back of the building. The white walls were covered with some of my favorite and most personal paintings. The ones that weren’t for sale. Easels, paints, a workbench, stool, and a sink were all for my use alone.

Through my studio was the gallery and entertainment area. It was a huge, open room with bright lights illuminating every inch. The paintings and portraits I had for sale decorated the walls or stood on easels in the windows. They mostly depicted places around Tangled River, because those were the most popular with tourists.

Long worktables covered in fresh butcher paper took up the bulk of the room. I used them for wine-and-paint nights, art classes, and other fun activities.

Tangled River was in a bit of a lull tourist-wise, with school still in session and our Lumberjack Jamboree not for a few more weeks. But even so, I had little time to spare for finding an assistant for the summer.

Frowning, I retrieved my tablet from the podium that served as a front desk. I tried to keep it to the bare minimum as far as equipment went, so this tablet with its card reader held everything from the gallery’s schedule to orders and receipts for purchases and classes.

Sitting down at one of the tables, I flipped through the schedule for the summer. The dozens of entries filled me with a twisted mix of elation and anxiety.

On the one hand, I was extremely happy and proud that Exquisite Moments would be hosting dozens of classes and fun nights for art lovers at every level. Not to mention my photography side hustle had a good many sessions booked.

But without an assistant, there was no way I could handle it all on my own. I’d only agreed to this many engagements because I’d found a college student excited for some hands-on experience. Then she’d signed up for an “unmissable opportunity” over the summer at her school.

Such is life.

The front door opened with a whoosh and a merry tinkle of its bell.

“Ah, so this is your lair,” said a deep, amused voice.

My heartbeat froze for a moment before picking back up in a scattered rhythm. I faced Flynn’s grin with a small smile of my own. He still wore the t-shirt and jeans from earlier but had added his black boots from the night before. And that black leather—no, pleather—jacket I’d guessed. My insides had done a happy little jig when he’d corrected me.

“Not quite,” I said, trying to keep my voice light as I rose to my feet.

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