Chapter 11
11
“ T his place is so cool!” Aaron says, stepping into the studio. I immediately notice that he is, unfortunately, all bundled up today, wearing a hat and jacket with jeans and boots. He’s still all man, looking sexy as ever.
“Thanks.” I smile, noticing how the green hat amplifies his light brown eyes while my eyes linger on his amazing bone structure.
“These pieces on the wall. They’re yours, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, a bit surprised he knows it’s my art.
“You have a point of view. I don’t know all the fancy art words. But that’s clearly a Sarah Anderson .”
“Too self-promotional?” I ask, although I’m blushing a little.
"Too self-promotional?” he repeats, looking up at me from the watercolor kit he was just examining. “This is your studio. Of course you should have your art for sale.” Aaron is taking in the craft kits before saying, “You’ve always been so talented.”
Our eye contact is too intense, and I break away. “This is our bestselling kit.” I gesture to the needlepoint pattern of Geneva Lake. “The tourists love it.”
He smiles. “Remember that pointillism piece you did of the school mascot? I always thought that was the coolest painting I’d ever seen," Aaron reminisces.
I blush slightly again, my heart fluttering that he remembers that painting. “It was my first commission. So, yeah, this is the space,” I say, feeling a little nervous. “I teach classes, sell art kits, and also use it to craft and paint after hours.”
"That’s great to hear you’re still doing art."
I deflect, not knowing how much I should read into Aaron Olson lobbying to be the president of my very small fan club. “My parents are thrilled I’m putting my MFA to work. This is probably one of the best-case scenarios for my degree.” I laugh.
“Running a maker's studio? Why downplay it? You’re so impressive.”
I shrug, loving that he thinks that.
“I’m mad at myself for not coming in sooner,” he says, walking toward me. We’d been at a very safe and casual distance before, but now he is standing right in front of me.
“I’m sure you’re a bit of a vampire, working at the bar.”
He chuckles. “Between the bar and renovating my house, I’ve been very busy.”
“A fellow DIY-er,” I say, surprised to learn this little detail.
“I’ve never really thought about it like that, but yeah. Lots of sweat-equity gutting and rehabbing. You might know the place. It’s the old Victorian near the beach.”
“The one on the lake?
“Do I look like I have ten million dollars?” He laughs.
“You can never judge a book by its cover. Look at Nicholas.” We both knowingly laugh. “Who would have ever thought Santa had millions in the bank?”
“Or that he’d want to be semi-retired in Lake Geneva,” he says, and we both smile.
“Where is your house?” I ask, curious to learn more.
“A block and a half from the public beach, toward the elementary school.”
“Oh yeah! That house is going to look so good with some love.”
“It was a bit of an impulse purchase. But I think I’ll make out whenever I finish it. Hoping to flip it or have it be a summer rental.” He tugs the fabric of my coveralls at my hip. “This is so cute.”
“You like the paint stains?”
“Yes. Very authentic.” My heart rate is telling me that I’m loving this flirting. I’m still reeling with the fact that I’m flirting with Aaron Olson. I need to get over my preconceived notions about him, like him being too “small town” for me. I am back to being a small-town person too, I remind myself.
“The house,” he goes back to his earlier conversation. “I thought it would be a one-year project.” He laughs. “I’m quickly approaching year two.”
“As a fellow property owner, I understand your rehab grievances.”
“Oh? Where do you live?”
“Here … upstairs.”
“You own the building?” he asks, shocked.
“It sounds more expensive than it was,” I deflect. “My parents helped me with the down payment. It was the money they saved for a wedding. They’ve lost hope.” I chuckle.
“And the mortgage is less than the rent I was paying on the West Coast.”
“There’s still hope.”
“Cupid would know.”
“Look at you,” he says, leaning on the communal table in the middle of my studio. “Artist, property owner, business owner, town hottie. You’re a catch.”
Town hottie? I laugh and can’t help myself. “Look at you: Cupid by night, carpenter by day, and secret fitness model.”
He bites his lip, and fuck does it send a million ideas through my head. “Those are nice,” Aaron says, gesturing to the bouquet of flowers on the table.
“Hey!” I yell, maybe too loud. “You never told me who my secret admirer was.”
He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Valentine’s Day is in four days. I think you should let the season run its course.”
“I don’t like that you know who it is and won’t tell me.”
“If you weren’t so cute when you’re frustrated, I might tell you.”