Page 35 of Finding New Dreams

Flynn seemed angry. Or disappointed. At me or Chloe?

Chloe still seemed a touch confused…or concerned.

I felt like I was missing several things.

Desperate to soothe the energy, I asked, “Do you still want to meet for a late lunch, Chloe?”

“Sure. How about we invite Sarah and Gina too?”

“Absolutely! I’ll text the group. How did you get in here, by the way?” I asked, suddenly realizing that I’d never opened the gallery.

“It was unlocked.”

“Oh…” I glanced over at Flynn just as he shut off the water and reached for a towel.

“Yeah, I forgot to lock it behind me when I came in earlier.” His fists clutched the towel, and he finally looked at me, his sapphire eyes piercing me through. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

My breath caught at the frostiness of his words. He was definitely upset with me. But why? I did everything I’d said I would when we made our agreement.

Chloe cleared her throat, breaking our locked stares. “Well, I need to head out. Lots of work to do. Building cabins, fixing plumbing, counting toilet paper rolls, smiling at guests. You know, the glamorous life.” She gave an awkward laugh and a wave. “See you later, Rose! Um, bye, Flynn.”

He gave her a chin nod and no smile.

As soon as she left, I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong and if there was anything I could do.

But he simply walked out after his sister, muttering over his shoulder, “I’ll watch the gallery.”

Alone in my studio and still covered in paint, I stared at the canvas we’d painted on together. There was no rhyme or reason to the finger strokes, but I wouldn’t call it ruined. No, this was something else.

Maybe it was what he’d been trying to say last night about my squiggly brush stroke. It was a memory captured in paint. No one else would know, but we would both know what each of those streaks and splotches meant.

Without bothering to wash my hands first or question my actions, I took the canvas off the easel, carried it upstairs, and stored it with the rest of my paintings in my apartment.

Then I scrubbed all the paint from my skin, remembering how I’d done the same after kissing Flynn that night.

As I wiped the last traces off my face, I caught myself smiling in the mirror.

* * *

After triple-checking with Flynn that he was fine watching the gallery for me, I texted the group and we met up for a late lunch at Tall Tales.

I was the last to arrive at the rustic bar and grill.

The log cabin aesthetic was fairly cozy even with the traditional neon signs announcing beer, fishing, and good eats. The large bar took up the center of the restaurant, with TVs hanging over towering racks of booze. Only a few of the stools were taken up with people on a lunch break catching up on sports or getting their ear bent with a tall tale from the owner and occasional bartender, William Pierce—or Pierce, as he preferred.

No one had any idea how old the man was with his smooth, dark skin and tall, fit frame. But there wasn’t a person alive who could resist his wide smile and velvety voice—one that would make a fortune in audiobooks. Except he liked telling his own stories right here in Tangled River.

He shot me a signature Pierce smile and nodded to where Gina, Sarah, and Chloe were waiting for me in a booth near the pool tables.

I nodded and smiled back then hurried over and slid in next to Gina.

Some tortilla chips, salsa, and guacamole already sat on the table, so I helped myself.

For a few minutes, the four of us caught up with each other and ordered our meals and drinks.

Then Sarah, in her typical blunt fashion, spoke up. “So, Rose, I hear that you made out with Flynn a few days ago.”

Heat shot from my cheeks to the tips of my ears. I glanced at Chloe, who looked a little sheepish.

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