11. Avery
Chapter 11
Avery
H arborstone Gallery was much quieter than I’d expected.
Then again, it was a Tuesday afternoon.
My shoes clicked against the polished floor as I walked, making my way toward my favorite painting to view it one last time as a partial owner.
I knew from insider information that the sale included all of the artwork currently on display, so I’d better get a peek at it while I could.
Still, the only thoughts running through my mind the entire day had been thoughts about Hunter. Our meeting on the dock the previous night had been strange if not heartbreaking. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something behind Hunter’s alleged desire for us to pump the brakes.
Betsy Westbrook had obviously meddled and ruined a perfectly good thing.
But if Hunter wanted to pretend that there was nothing between us, I wasn’t going to chase him down and beg him to change his mind.
Even though I had maybe thought about it already today. Twice.
I couldn’t understand how he could have had such a sudden change of heart so quickly.
As I approached my favorite painting, I pushed thoughts of Hunter out of my mind.
Charleston Harbor at Dawn had been my all-time favorite painting since I was a kid.
I’d even asked Santa for it when I was eight years old, not knowing the price tag, which was most recently appraised at three hundred thousand dollars.
Of course, my parents had chuckled at the time and instead obtained a print of the painting that I hung on my wall. If memory served me, the duplicate was probably still hanging in my childhood bedroom, but since I hadn’t visited my parents’ home in years, I couldn’t be sure.
Now, standing before the real thing, I was in awe once more.
The ultimate irony was that, if the sale were to be completed, I’d be able to afford expensive things for the first time in my life. However, the painting would then belong to Mr. Lockwood, who—from what I’d heard—planned to hoard the art to show off to his wealthy friends, hoping to improve his public image.
So, this would probably be the last time the public—and I—would ever see it.
It was a thing of beauty.
I sighed as I studied the effortless brushstrokes, the way the sunlight danced on the blue water, the lone fisherman on his boat.
It was the perfect painting, and soon it would be gone.
I crossed my arms and stared at it, trying to permanently capture it in my mind. A lump rose in my throat as I thought about Lockwood claiming it and hanging it in a soulless penthouse somewhere—the thought made me shudder.
A warm, familiar voice interrupted my thoughts. “Admiring the view, Avery? Or maybe plotting a heist?”
I turned and saw Dean Westbrook, Hunter’s cousin, approaching. His stride was as effortless as his Southern charm.
“Caught me,” I said with a grin. “Honestly, just saying goodbye. This one has always been my absolute favorite.”
“Betsy always says Charleston Harbor at Dawn is like the heart of the gallery. Kind of poetic if you ask me.”
“Poetic?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or tragic? Either way, it’ll all belong to Lockwood soon.”
Dean gave me a puzzled look as if he were trying to read my mind. But before he could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he sighed loudly when he looked at the screen.
“It’s Betsy,” he said, gesturing toward the back, “calling for me to help her move something. I better run before she starts typing in all caps—that’s when you know she’s really mad.”
I shook my head, amused. “Good luck.”
Dean disappeared, and suddenly Casey took his place.
I’d met Casey on occasion at a few of Betsy’s recent events. Hunter’s brother, Logan Westbrook, had originally hired Casey as nanny to his son, but the two had fallen madly in love and the rest was history. He seemed to be the friendliest of the Westbrook family, but maybe that was because he wasn’t a Westbrook by blood.
“Avery!” he said, pulling me in for a hug. “Fancy seeing you here.”
It was true that I never made an appearance at the gallery, in spite of my parents owning half the joint.
“Casey, it’s so good to see you,” I said, offering a warm smile. “What brings you to Harborstone today?”
He chuckled. “Dean!” he said playfully as he wiggled his finger in my face, a sleek engagement ring shining in the light. “Oh, I forgot, and this!”
“Casey!” I shouted, much too loudly for a gallery. “Logan proposed? That’s fantastic, I’m so happy for you.”
Casey beamed from ear to ear, practically bouncing. “Thanks! He finally worked up the nerve and you should have seen how anxious he was. It was as if he was asking for a loan instead of taking my hand in marriage.”
A tinge of jealousy coursed through me, but I pushed it away and focused on Casey’s happy moment.
“That sounds pretty on-brand for a Westbrook man,” I said with a wink, “stoic until the end.”
Casey paused, eyeing me up and down. “Okay, Avery… spill.”
My stomach twisted as I realized that Casey had detected my angst.
“Spill what?” I asked innocently, knowing him well enough to predict that I hadn’t fooled him.
“Avery,” he said with a dramatic pause, “don’t play coy with me. You’ve been staring at a painting like it’s about to pack its bags and ghost you—what’s the deal?”
I chuckled, but it came out forced. “I’m just thinking about everything lately. The sale, the gallery… you know, the future.”
Casey was clearly unimpressed with my deflection, crossing his arms and staring at me.
“Uh huh, sure,” he said with a scoff. “You look like you’re trying to keep everything together while screaming on the inside.”
“Maybe I am,” I said, laughing despite myself. “It’s a lot. I don’t know.”
“It’s Hunter, right?” Casey asked, leaning against the wall, and softening his expression.
I tried to sound casual. “Why do you ask?”
He grinned knowingly. “Because believe me, I’ve been there. The brooding silences. The emotional whiplash, will he, or won’t he? Trying to guess if they’re feeling any emotion at all—whether it’s mild irritation or amusement. They’re cut from a different cloth. The Westbrooks are a special breed of human.”
I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed, exasperated. “It’s not quite that simple, Casey.”
“Let me tell you something,” he said, leaning forward. “It never is. Trust me, it’s exhausting to try and decode their actions without asking. It’s worth it to talk to him, especially if you can do it in a frank and straightforward manner. You might be surprised.”
I didn’t know if I was ready for that kind of vulnerability. “I don’t know where to start, Casey.”
Casey placed a hand on my shoulder. “You can start by being honest with yourself, Avery—the rest will fall into place.”
He turned to walk away but paused and turned back to face me. “But if you do decide to spill your guts, don’t do it while he’s drinking. Those Westbrooks do not handle surprises well.”
I laughed quietly to myself as Casey walked off. His cheerful energy had brightened my mood and given me a lot to think about.
By myself at last, I turned back to face Charleston Harbor at Dawn , admiring the depth of the painting as the weight of Casey’s words settled over me.
Sure, talking to Hunter would be the right thing to do.
But opening up to a stoic Westbrook and showing my most vulnerable self? That wasn’t going to be the easiest thing in the world.
I knew that if I didn’t do something soon, I’d be left wondering what could have been. Just like with the painting.
But what exactly could I say to him?
Hey, I think I’m falling for you, but it’s really screwing up my ability to pretend date you. Thoughts?
I turned and walked toward the exit, trying to figure out the right path forward. I pushed the door open and let the crisp air hit my face. The world outside felt bigger than it usually did, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something major was about to happen—something significant was about to change.
If I wanted to see all of this through, I’d need to talk to Hunter.
The only question was, would he be ready to listen and hear me out?
Or was I about to crash into another Westbrook wall?
As I walked down the historic cobblestone streets of Charleston, I knew that there was only one way to find out.