Page 30 of Finding New Dreams

He smirked at me over his shoulder. “To be honest, I don’t know. Indoor garden with fairies flitting about, lighting up your art? Laser projectors, EDM music, and paint-splattered walls?”

I laughed. “Either one sounds lovely, but I’m afraid I have much simpler tastes than that.” I gestured at one of the pieces I’d left behind—a black-and-white watercolor of a tower amid thorn bushes. “Usually, I just have my personal pieces on the walls—the ones that are just for me.”

He scanned the nearly blank walls. “And you moved most of them because of me. Hiding them?” he asked lightly.

I shrugged as if that wasn’t mostly the reason. “I wasn’t sure what kind of space you were used to working in. Some artists prefer zero distractions.”

He hummed, his eyes never leaving mine. “I, however, love distractions.”

Heat prickled over my skin, but I refused to look away. “Maybe that’s your problem then.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He turned to one of the blank walls with a sigh. “Maybe this is exactly what I need.”

I bit my lower lip, hesitating. “Why haven’t you painted in so long, Flynn?”

His shoulders tensed. Then he sighed again. “I dabble in other mediums from time to time, as I’m sure you’ve seen by now. So there’s that, but…to be really honest, I haven’t created anything in months.”

His confession hung in the air like a dark cloud. I could sense the same frustration and bitterness I had picked up on earlier.

I almost reached for him. Maybe just to touch his broad shoulder. Offer some solidarity. But I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. We could be friends, colleagues…but nothing more.

“Why?” I asked.

A dry laugh burst out of him as he swung around to face me. “Oh, many reasons, I suppose. The biggest one is that I haven’t got a single damn clue as to what to create. My mind”—he made an exploding gesture by his forehead—“is a blank. Has been for months. And I’m contracted to this L.A. millionaire who wants some one-of-a-kind piece of wonder art, and I’ve got nothing. Nothing,” he whispered.

He looked so miserable and forlorn, my body moved of its own accord and carried me around the workbench to stand in front of him. I kept my hands clasped in front of me in a last-ditch attempt to at least keep from touching him.

“I’m sorry, Flynn,” I whispered, craning my neck to look up into his beautiful eyes. I wanted to paint those eyes. The colors, the emotion, the oddly magnetic pull they had on me. Could I ever transmit such feelings onto a canvas?

Boxing those thoughts up for later, I said, “That’s what the key is for. So you can come in here whenever you’d like to try to work. And I’ll help any way I can.”

He edged a little closer to me, his heat like a cozy bed I could burrow into. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you, Rose. Don’t feel like you have to help me.”

“I want to,” I murmured. He was so close. Too close. No, not close enough.

“Why?” he whispered, and I felt the breath of that word against my parted lips.

I closed my eyes, my thoughts battling my desires.

Just a touch, just a taste, that’s all. Then, I swear, never again.

But you know you won’t be able to stop at just one. Hell, you’ve already had one kiss. You’re already hooked. This would be making things so much worse. Remember Chloe.

Inwardly groaning, I pulled myself back a few inches. I swallowed hard at the heavily hooded look he was giving me.

“I want to help because…” I swallowed again to keep my words from sticking together. “Because I’ve been where you are, and it’s awful. The thing you love doing most in the world provides no solace anymore, and you can’t figure out why. So if I can help you, I will.”

Some clarity returned to his gaze as his eyes searched mine. “Then I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.”

A shiver trickled down my spine. But surely, he only meant for his work.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Flynn. Please lock up before you leave.” I slowly backed away from him toward the back exit. He stood still, watching me go. “Goodnight.”

As I pushed the door open, I heard him say, “Goodnight, Rose.”

After the door shut behind me, I hurried up the outside stairs to my apartment and locked myself in for the night.

My deposed art lay scattered around the apartment, but I didn’t have the energy to organize it just yet. Or to throw my pre-planned dance party. Instead, I made some sleepy tea and, after changing into my comfiest pajamas, curled up with a romance book on the couch.

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