Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Love was the most powerful force on the earth.
Sawyer believed that now in a way he could only describe as next level.
As he gathered Phoebe to him, awash in her lush scent, he knew he’d never want for anything.
He’d found his true passion for painting, and it could never be taken from him again.
Now he had the woman he loved by his side.
Every day, he’d see her smile. Hear her laugh.
Listen to her talk passionately about what mattered to her.
He’d awaken her with a kiss and end his day with her embrace.
God, he’d never imagined feeling so complete as a person, so happy.
“I just remembered it’s New Year’s Eve!” she exclaimed, lifting onto her elbow to stare down at him with her dazzling green eyes. “Oh my God. What time is it? I know we’d planned to hang out with your roommates at Dean and Jacqueline’s—”
“They know it’s an open invite, especially now.” He laughed as she swung around, reaching for her phone.
“It’s after seven o’clock! How did we not know this?”
“We were like horny owls last night,” he replied, making her smack him with a pillow. “Nocturnal loving until the sun rose, and then we slept forever, and then we—”
“Yes, we did. Don’t distract me. Where’s your phone? You need to text your friends. Tell them we’re still going to be there.”
“We can just show up,” he responded, rolling over and searching for his phone on the floor when she glared at him.
He found it amidst the scattered array of his clothing heading toward the bed.
God, he needed to paint that. He’d call it The Trail of Love.
She would be in the bed, of course, with a sheet, provocatively waiting for him to come back.
No, that could be in another painting. “You know. I just had two new painting ideas come to me. I’m awash with ideas. And it feels so damn good.”
“I’m so glad. Sex does inspire creativity, I’m told.”
Then he was set for life. “Whoa! Brooke and Kyle texted me saying they want to talk about something. That’s never good.”
Dean had also sent a pic of him wearing some feathery New Year’s crown that was probably supposed to be Jacqueline’s, telling him not to worry if he and Phoebe didn’t show. “Told ya. Dean says we’re off the hook.”
“But Kyle and Brooke want to talk?” Phoebe tripped on her purple boots on the floor as she headed to the bathroom. “We should still go. Your friends mean everything to you, and they’ve been really great to me. Even Madison breaking into my apartment. She did bring that awesome soup.”
She would see things in the best possible light.
“So the soup was that good?” he called, hearing her turn on the shower.
Her tousled head popped out of the doorway. “Of course it was. Like Madison said, she made it. I scarfed it down—when I’d thought I’d never eat again. But that was after hearing confirmation from your dear friend that I was totally wrong about things. Horatio, are you coming?”
He leaned back, content to sit on the floor and simply talk with her. “Where?”
She crooked her finger.
Sitting on the floor was overrated when he had a better offer. He hustled after her, only to trip on his pants. That should have been a sign. Because he discovered a truly depressing truth—Paris showers were terrible for shower sex.
“I don’t know how the French manage it,” he commented afterward, after banging his elbow on the wall for the umpteenth time.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” She slapped his butt and squeezed it. “Get dressed. We’ll have to swing by your house and find you more suitable attire. Let me blow-dry my hair.”
That would take a while with her long tresses, he knew.
“I’ll call Kyle,” he shouted as the roar of her hair accoutrement sounded.
Since it didn’t blow a circuit, she clearly had better electricity in her building than he’d had at Nanine’s with his electric shaver.
After putting on his day-old clothes, he closed the bedroom door and walked the short distance to the tiny kitchen to get away from the noise so he could make the call.
Kyle answered on the first ring, conversations sounding in the background. “Hey, Doc! Everyone wants you to know they totally understand if you two don’t show.”
God, that made him smile. “We appreciate that, but we’re coming. Phoebe is doing her hair as we speak. I need to swing by the house for some clothes.”
“Terrific! I’ll let our roomies know.”
Their roomies…
Yeah, that would be changing too. He’d watched as Thea’s time with them had changed,; then Dean’s; and finally Brooke’s.
The house hadn’t been as full, and he’d found himself missing the fun and chaos.
Dean showing up in the kitchen in one of his new comedic boxers.
Brooke telling them to put their dishes in the dishwasher like good boys.
Thea no longer singing in the kitchen while baking bread.
He'd missed them.
Now he was going to go on with his life, his home orbit becoming twinned with Phoebe’s. She loved her space, but she would probably need to move now that she wouldn’t be running the gallery beneath her apartment. He’d assured her they would find a space they both loved.
He planned to finalize his current slate of commissions, with Beverly’s help, so he could contribute to a down payment.
Phoebe would use her trust fund. Because they wanted their own place, something that reflected both of them, even though he planned to keep his atelier.
They’d discussed that after making love that first time last night, when they’d poured out the urgings in their hearts as freely as a waterfall.
Now Kyle and Madison would be alone…
“You said you wanted to talk.” Sawyer faced the small window, the golden streetlights shining on happy partygoers below. “Brooke did too. Is something up?”
“You sound worried, Doc. Don’t be. We were just thinking about your first show and wondering about some stuff.”
“Kyle, I could drive a truck through that. What exactly? That the site of my first gallery showing might end up being like a scene out of MacBeth?”
Even as happily exhausted as he’d been last night, he’d still had troubled thoughts on that score. It didn’t feel right, and he wanted to feel all-the-way good about his show.
“Sounds like we’re on the same page. We wondered about making it bigger so you can convince your agent to consider a new venue.”
“Tell me! Because I’ve been wondering what I could do to change things without pissing Beverly off.”
“Axel suggested pitching a full show and a longer time frame so a comprehensive marketing plan could be developed. We figured it could be in New York. Which is the art capital, right?”
Not London. His insides cheered. “I would think Beverly believes that, living there.”
“It will mean more paintings, but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for you now, is it, Doc?”
“No, I had two new ideas come to me just a few minutes ago. And they’re good.”
“I like hearing that swagger in your voice, Doc.”
He smiled as a cluster of partygoers came into view, each carrying their own bottle of champagne and drinking. God, you had to love Paris. He and Phoebe needed a bottle. They had so much to celebrate. “Me too!”
“Ah…since we’re talking and Phoebe’s off doing her hair, it might be easier for me to tell you that we talked about her too. We want to help her. Axel suggested a pop-up gallery after Brooke offered her space. We didn’t want to overstep, but she’s your Plus One now, Doc. Which makes her one of us.”
His throat clogged. “Thanks, man. You have no idea how much that means. To both of us. I’ll talk to her. She ranted a bit about everything last night, then assured me she’d figure it out. It’s all new, you know. We’re going to need to find a new place to live.”
“I’d wondered. You have commissions to cash in on—something Brooke and I talked about today. She also wants to buy the painting from last night. So Beverly is going to have some work to do for you. We wanted to make sure you were flush since you’d resigned. We’ve got you.”
His throat got all scratchy. “Thanks, man. I’m good, but you have no idea how much that means.”
He pressed his hand to the cold glass. Yesterday he’d feared his life had become a barren wasteland, as frozen as this windowpane. Now everything seemed possible. “You guys are the best. We’ll see you soon.”
“Friendly warning. Dean’s wearing a special New Year’s T-shirt that’s got a checklist, and he’s marking things off with a Sharpie.”
Sawyer spurted out a laugh. “I can’t wait. Later.”
He stored his phone in his back pocket and was walking back to the bedroom when he heard a knock on the door.
Since no one had called the apartment, he assumed it was a partygoer who’d stumbled to the wrong apartment.
When he reached the bedroom doorway, a more insistent knock stopped him.
He headed back to tell the person they had the wrong place.
When he opened the door, his mouth dropped.
“Oh my God, River Kennison!”
He stared in shock at the tall, lean man who had the same hair color as Phoebe.
“Phoebe assured me you weren’t an ignoramus when she told me about you. I’m glad you know who I am. Proves you aren’t a philistine. Sawyer Jackson, I assume.”
“Yes.” He was tongue-tied. “PhD.”
God, had he just said that?
River waved for Sawyer to move aside so he could enter. Dammit. He’d forgotten his manners completely. He hit the doorway when he moved before righting himself and resisting the urge to rub his shoulder.
“Where is my daughter?” the man asked.
“Ah… Getting ready. We were heading to a party.”
“Of course you were.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket, looking like Steve McQueen.
“It’s New Year’s. I was going to go to a party too, with a very beautiful woman as my date.
Until my ex called me and told me that Phoebe had launched a nuclear bomb, and they’re now at war. ”