Page 29 of Finding New Dreams

Swallowing against my dry throat, I adjusted my smock over my pink-and-yellow striped dress and went back to my painting.

I stared at that small, squiggly brush stroke for much longer than I should have.

* * *

It was close to nine o’clock by the time the last person—Gina, of course—left the studio, carrying their new artwork. I’d made sure to talk to each person and compliment their paintings.

Everyone seemed very pleased with their experience and wanted to repeat it and tell their friends and family. I had to hold myself back from doing a little victory twirl each time. Instead, I planned a solo dance party for myself in my apartment later.

Sarah had left after pronouncing the wine to be better than her painting and shooting Flynn’s back a peeved look.

I’d asked Gina what that was about, but she’d merely shrugged. She’d hung out for a bit, reluctant to go home until Dom was back from his friend’s house.

And I was reluctant to let her leave with the new tension that had risen between Flynn and me.

But alas, the door closed behind her, and charged silence filled the void.

Flynn started folding easels like it would save lives, so I grabbed a wooden tray and loaded it with everyone’s murky water cups and empty wine glasses.

I moved slowly, hoping he would stop and talk to me when I hovered near him. But he quickly switched tables, leaving nothing but his rich scent behind.

A storm of thoughts had been brewing in my head since he’d asked me not to make him paint. Questions chased by ideas of how to fix it hummed behind my lips.

After clearing the tables and stacking the paint palettes, I cleared my throat. “Um, Flynn?”

He paused in the act of pulling on his jacket by the front door. After shrugging into it, he faced me, his expression wary. “Yes?”

I took a few steps toward him. “Thank you for your help tonight.”

A ghost of a smile appeared. “Just doing my job.”

I edged another step closer. His eyebrows pulled together as his eyes flicked up and down my body. He had his hair pulled back in a low knot—something I liked very much.

“I was thinking,” I said, reaching into my dress pocket for the hard little object I’d stowed there, “that you should have this.”

I held it out, waiting until he opened his palm underneath my fingers before dropping it.

His expression went from wary to heated in a flash. “A key?”

My breath hitched as I realized what he might think the key meant. “For my studio. Well, the whole place really. The gallery. Not my apartment. Because I live upstairs, which is technically part of the building.” I bit my lip hard to stop the embarrassing word vomit.

He rubbed his thumb over the key, smiling at me. “You’re giving me the key to your lair? You haven’t even shown it to me yet.”

“Oh. Well, I can. If you want. You didn’t seem to be in the mood to…stick around.”

“If you’re offering, I’m accepting.”

“Okay.” Suddenly, he was too close, so I backed up a step. “Right this way,” I said, gesturing like a tour guide.

His heavy footsteps followed me to the door of my studio. My heart hammered in my throat as I opened it.

I’d tidied it up a bit, preparing for when I was going to have to let him use it per our agreement. But I hadn’t planned on it being so soon. A few of my paintings that I hadn’t moved upstairs were still on the walls. The paints were freshly stocked and stowed under the workbench, and the large easel was empty.

Holding my breath, I stood to the side while he roamed around my space.

“A bit less…you than I imagined.”

I crossed my arms, wrinkling my nose. “How did you imagine it?”

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