27. Lincoln

27

LINCOLN

I pulled back from Arden, the taste of cherries still clinging to my lips and stared down at the little boy. He looked about seven or eight, but his stance was decades older. He had his arms crossed over his tiny chest and glared at me.

“Your girlfriend, huh?” I asked.

“Yes,” he huffed. “Miss Arden has my painting on her fridge, and I let her have half my cookies at lunch break.”

I glanced at Arden as she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Painting and cookies? That sounds serious. More than I can compete with,” I said.

The boy let out something that sounded almost like a harumph an elderly man would make in a cartoon as he pinned me with a warning stare. “You should remember that. I’ll be watching you.” He stalked away.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “You didn’t tell me you were already involved.”

Arden let out a laugh that was more giggle than anything, and something about the lightness of it eased some of the weight of our earlier conversation. “I’m sorry. Would you believe it slipped my mind?”

“Vicious. Now, I need to start working on a painting and find some damn cookies,” I muttered. “It’s hard to keep up.”

Arden laughed harder.

“You got the smackdown from Benny, didn’t you?” Isaiah asked as he strode up, his eyes dancing with humor.

“Oh, I’m dead in the water.”

Isaiah barked out a laugh. “He kicked my a—” Isaiah glanced around. “My, uh, butt for bringing Ardy coffee one day.”

Arden rolled her lips over her teeth, trying to stifle her remaining laughter. “What can I say? I’ve got high standards.”

Isaiah shook his head. “Heartbreaker. Just leaving a trail of trampled shards in your wake.”

“Hey,” Arden argued.

“I don’t doubt he’s right, baby,” I said. “You have no idea of your power.”

“She really doesn’t,” Isaiah said, shaking his head.

Arden’s cheeks reddened as she glared at Isaiah. “Don’t you have something important to do?”

He just grinned at her and then clapped me on the shoulder. “Yeah. I gotta put your boyfriend through his paces.”

Boyfriend. The term was ridiculous for a thirty-seven-year-old man, but I couldn’t deny that I got a surge of pleasure from any link to Arden. Any claim. Because the truth was, I’d do anything to be hers.

I sat at the ridiculously tiny table, my knees coming up so high they were practically at my ears. It was a miracle the minuscule chair I sat on hadn’t simply given way under my weight, but the three kids at my table had no such issues.

The little girl to my left had brown hair and freckles, her lip tugged between her teeth as she went after her paper with a gusto I admired. There was no hesitancy in her at all, no second-guessing. Isabella was ready for whatever came her way; no challenge was too big.

To my right was a girl named Gracie. She was much more timid. Her dark hair hung in a way that mostly hid her face from view, and each brushstroke she made was thoughtful and deliberate. Her worn clothes and shoes made my heart clench. Suddenly, I knew I’d be asking Arden if there was anything I could do to help.

There was nothing timid about the energy coming at me from across the table. Benny glared at me with a hatred fueled by a thousand blazing suns. He only moved it away to paint little pieces of his creation at a time.

I studied my piece. The assignment had been to paint something that made us happy. I’d wanted to paint Arden, but I didn’t think ole Benny would be too happy about that. Plus, my art skills were fairly limited. So, I’d gone with a simple landscape: the view from the plot of land that had officially become mine two days ago.

I leaned slightly to my right and peeked at Gracie’s paper. “That’s so pretty.”

Her head lifted for the barest moment, just long enough for her to give me a hint of amber eyes before it ducked again. “Thank you,” she whispered.

That invisible fist ground against my sternum again as I studied the picture. It was of three people in front of a Ferris wheel. “Is that your mom?” I asked, pointing to the tallest figure.

Gracie shook her head. “That’s Hay Hay. My sister.”

“And who’s this?” I asked, pointing at the second tallest.

“My other sister. Mom doesn’t like the fair.”

Something about that set me on edge. I got that fairs and carnivals might not be someone’s thing, but you sucked it up and did it anyway if your kids loved them. Memories of escapes to Coney Island with Ellie and our mom swirled in the back of my mind in smoky tendrils I couldn’t quite grab hold of.

“Looks like you had fun,” I said softly.

Gracie’s head lifted again. This time, I got a smile. It was brief but dazzling. “It was my best day. ”

“I love best days.”

Benny made a sound of protest opposite me.

I turned my focus to him. “What’s your painting of?”

He grinned, and there was a cocky air to it, even at age seven or eight. He held up a portrait of a woman with dark hair and purple eyes. “Miss Arden. She makes me happy.”

That little shit was one-upping me.

Benny’s grin only widened in challenge. “What’s yours?”

I help up my landscape. “The mountains.”

Benny’s face screwed up. “Mountains make you happy? Dumb.”

“Benny,” Arden’s voice cut in, a sternness to it I hadn’t heard before. “We don’t talk to others that way. What’s our motto around here?”

Benny ducked his head, his cheeks flushing. “Everyone’s art is beautiful. Everyone has their own path.”

“That’s right.” She patted his shoulder. “And yours looks awesome.”

Any embarrassment disappeared as he lifted it to her. “It’s you.”

I swore Arden melted. Dang that kid for stealing my moves . “I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me.”

My gaze cut to her. “Better than cheeseburgers when you haven’t eaten all day?”

Arden choked on a laugh. “Just a little.”

Benny sent me a smirk and mouthed sucker .

I pushed to my feet, stretching as Arden encouraged each tiny artist, giving them pointers as she made the rounds. When she got to me, she stopped and glanced into my eyes. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Mr. Pierce.”

Fuck.

My dick twitched, and now was so not the time. I thought about the disgusting smell of a hockey locker room after a game, sweaty gym socks, anything but Arden’s sultry voice calling me Mr. Pierce.

I snatched up my painting and handed it to her, waiting for her assessment.

“He needs to work on his shading,” Benny said from across the table.

Arden looked up at me, her eyes dancing with mirth .

“Everyone’s a critic,” I muttered.

“He’s not wrong,” she said, pointing to an area of the mountains. “If you add some shadow here, the mountains will look more three-dimensional.”

I leaned in closer as I took the painting back. “I’ll work on it, Miss Waverly.”

Arden’s lips parted on a sharp inhale, those berry-stained pillows just crying out for a kiss.

“What about mine, Miss Arden?” Isabella demanded, thrusting her paper out. “It’s fireworks.”

The painting was like the kid: wild and full of color. The paint was layered on so thick the paper had wrinkled and curved in places.

“Izzy,” Arden said, grinning at her. “I love it! I think it’s your best one yet.”

“Yes!” Isabella did a little boogie in her chair, fists and painting raised.

“Show-off,” Benny muttered under his breath.

Isabella’s gaze narrowed on him. “Just because Miss Arden got a new boyfriend doesn’t mean you get to be all grumpy.”

“She didn’t,” Benny yelled.

I might not have kids, but hockey players were kind of like overgrown toddlers at times, so I knew the start of a brawl when I saw one. I went for redirection. “Who can help me make my mountains not suck?”

All three pairs of eyes came to me, their tiny jaws dropping.

I winced, glancing at Arden. “Is suck a bad word now?”

She struggled not to laugh. “It’s borderline. But we don’t talk about our work that way. Right, guys?”

“Right,” Benny said quickly.

“Mm-hmm,” Isabella agreed.

Gracie just nodded.

“But it’s always okay to ask for help, right?” Arden pressed.

Another round of agreement.

“Who can help Mr. Linc?” she asked.

Everyone volunteered. Even Benny .

As I eased back in the chair that would likely leave me permanently injured, all three mini artists dove in with suggestions. But my gaze followed Arden as she wove between the tables. She had a way with the kids. The crowd of tiny humans didn’t seem to faze her. It was the adults she was wary of.

Denver strode out of the gallery doors, crossing the space and heading straight for Arden. My teeth clamped down, and annoyance rose. I didn’t like him. It wasn’t altogether logical, but the man irritated me. Likely because of how he looked at her.

There was an attraction for sure, but it was more. He appraised her like a blank check, just waiting to be signed.

He bent and whispered in her ear. Arden’s expression turned hard as she shook her head.

“Mr. Linc,” Isabella prodded. “Are you paying attention?”

I was not.

“Sorry, Isabella,” I said, trying to refocus.

Benny glanced over his shoulder and scowled. “I don’t like him either.”

Suddenly, I was united with my little nemesis.

“He looks at Miss Arden wrong,” Gracie whispered, darting a glance at Denver before turning back.

The quiet ones usually saw more, and Gracie was definitely that. But the fact that she could pin down the wrongness made me edgy.

My annoyance burned brighter as someone new entered the courtyard. Quentin Arison, the douchebag from last week. He strode directly toward Arden, looking ridiculous in his tailored suit and dress shoes when it was over eighty degrees outside. His over-the-top watch peeked out from under his sleeve, and the diamond ring on his pinky finger was absurd.

“I really don’t like him,” I muttered, pushing back my chair and stalking toward the douchebag.

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