Chapter 13 #2
He laughed. “Oh yes, just more ammo for my Mother who had warned me about him. So I’ve given her no grandchildren and no prospects since I can’t seem to choose the right person to settle down with.
And her lack of faith in me extends to the company.
She thinks I’ll mess this up, or get bored and fly home early.
I need this to be perfect. I need you to know I have your back.
” His eyes were suddenly softer, less glossy and more real.
“I’ve already booked a room at the Victorian house on the edge of town.
The one with the wraparound porch. I want to help. ”
Something about the way he said it made my chest hurt. Not in a bad way, but in the way that happens when someone is unexpectedly on your side.
I reached over and touched his arm, just above the wrist. “Thank you, Lysander, really. I couldn’t do this without you.”
He glanced down at my hand, then back up, smiling for real. “Well, let’s make it legendary, darling.”
Inez finished her water, then looked at her phone. “We should leave soon. My flight is at two.”
Lysander perked up. “Let’s get going.” He stood, smoothing his shirt. “Brie, you’re amazing. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He offered his hand, and I shook it, trying not to feel like a fangirl.
After they left, I lingered in the echo of their voices and the citrusy-smoke smell of lunch. I gathered the plates and set them in the tiny gallery sink, then stood at the window for a long minute, just watching the light move over the floor.
I’d been so sure I’d mess this up, or that no one would take me seriously. But today felt different. It felt like I was building something that mattered, that had roots. Like maybe, for once, I wasn’t just passing through my own life.
I swept the crumbs off the table, tucked my notes under my arm, and started planning the mural for the alley wall, because why the hell not?
This was the beginning, and I wasn’t going to blink first.
Lysander met me at the gallery in the late morning.
We immediately continued planning where we’d left off yesterday.
We had to be precise when it came to the placement of certain paintings.
We chatted comfortably as we looked at mock-ups of the gallery on my tablet; our heads close together as we huddled around the folding table.
It was almost lunchtime when Finn showed up.
I heard the heavy tread of boots on the fresh concrete, and even before I looked up, I knew it was him: the way the sound settled in my gut, the way the air felt suddenly tighter.
He stood in the front doorway, backlit by the Texas sun, arms folded across his chest, eyes locked on me.
He’d worn a clean plaid shirt that stretched across his substantial chest. It was tucked into Wrangler jeans that fit his muscled thighs just right.
His cowboy hat sat low on his head with his auburn curls peaking around almost to his shoulders.
Damn, he looked good enough to eat. He took two steps in, then paused, scanning the room.
His gaze caught on Lysander, who was standing next to me, holding a tape measure across my shoulders to show how wide I wanted the spacing.
Lysander was close, not in an “I’m hitting on you” way, just the efficient, European “I do not care about personal space” way. Still, I saw Finn’s jaw go tight.
Lysander noticed him and broke into a wide, effortless grin. “You must be Finn!” He stuck out his hand, and Finn took it after a millisecond’s hesitation.
“Lysander,” the man said, “Hale and Marrow Arts Management. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Finn’s grip was probably painful, but Lysander didn’t flinch. “Brie’s told me you’re a legend around here,” Lysander went on, eyes twinkling. “The stories! I’ve been dying to meet you.”
Finn looked at me, then back at Lysander. “Yeah? What stories?”
I stepped in. “Don’t believe half of what he says.”
Lysander laughed. “Oh, I'll never tell.” He patted Finn on the arm, then went back to laying out the measuring tape.
I tried to shake off the tension, but it clung to me like the last sticky note on a refrigerator.
Inez was just here for the day and had arrived a bit after Lysander this morning.
I was glad for her help. She looked up from her end of the table.
“We’re finalizing display spacing. Is this your partner?
” She said it deadpan, as if the idea of me having a partner was as unremarkable as ordering lunch.
I shook my head. “He’s—uh—he’s Finn, my boyfriend.” It was the first time I’d officially introduced him as that, but I couldn’t very well call him my “mate” in front of humans. That might sound a bit odd to them. Thankfully, Finn rescued me from my awkward introduction.
Finn cut in. “What are you planning with the lighting?” His tone seemed interested, but I could hear the edge underneath.
Lysander explained, going into detail about the fixtures and color temperature, and even though Finn clearly didn’t care, he nodded along, every so often glancing at me as if to say, “You sure you want to trust this guy?”
We moved around the gallery, checking the height of the spotlights and talking about traffic flow for opening night.
I was acutely aware of every gesture, every word: the way Lysander would lean in, almost conspiratorial, to ask my opinion, the way Finn trailed after us, a step behind, arms crossed, lips pressed into a line.
Eventually, Lysander had to take a call. “Sorry—New York. I’ll be ten,” he said, slipping outside with a practiced smile. Inez went to check on her pieces in the car, leaving Finn and me in the middle of the gallery, surrounded by silence and half-finished work.
He waited a second, then raised a brow at me. “That guy always this… friendly?”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s an agent, Finn. He’s paid to be friendly.”
Finn grunted, glancing at the door where Lysander had disappeared. “Seems like he’s paid to do more than that.”
I bristled, folding my arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looked at me, eyes searching. “Just want to make sure you’re not getting played. You barely know him.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “I barely know anyone in this town. Lysander’s literally the only person besides you, Harper, and the girls who gives a damn about my future.”
Finn didn’t say anything, just watched me with that dark, unreadable look. The kind that made me want to squirm and scream at the same time.
“He’s gay, Finn.” I added, voice rising. “You’re going to ruin the one friendship I’ve built since I got back from Paris. Is that really what you want?”
He exhaled, the air going out of him all at once. “No,” he said, voice low. “That’s not what I want.”
We stood there, both breathing hard, both refusing to look away.
I changed the subject. “Can you help me move the ladder? We need to tape off the wall before the paint crew finishes.”
He nodded, walking over to the far corner where the big aluminum ladder stood. I watched him go, wondering how a person could be so strong and still seem so fragile.
The contractors started disassembling a tall scaffolding near the back wall, metal pipes clanking as they loosened bolts. I was setting out fresh blue tape strips, careful to keep the line straight, when a sudden metallic screech ripped the air. I spun around.
One of the workers had stepped back, wrench in hand, as the upper tier of the scaffold shivered, then started to tilt forward. The whole frame began to collapse, slow at first but gathering speed. I was directly in its path.
For a second, I couldn’t move. My mind registered the weight, the height, the probability of broken bones, but my body was rooted. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I thought I deserved to get hit. All I knew was I stood there, mouth open, as the scaffold lurched closer.
I heard Finn shout my name, but the sound was drowned out by the clatter of falling metal.
And then, just as the top rung clipped the air inches from my head, someone crashed into me from the side, shoving me hard to the ground.
The scaffold hit with a sound like thunder, pipes ringing off the concrete, sparks flying as the frame buckled and twisted.
I hit the floor, wind knocked out of me, arms tangled with someone else’s. I looked up. Lysander was on top of me, breathing fast, blood running down the side of his face.
He blinked, dazed, then smiled. “Darling, you have the worst luck.” Then he rolled off, clutching his forehead.
Finn was there in seconds, hauling me upright, checking my arms, my neck, my skull. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His hands moved over me, rough and desperate, voice barely controlled.
“I’m fine,” I whispered. My ears were ringing. I tried to stand, and my legs almost buckled. “I’m okay,” I repeated, and then looked for Lysander.
He was already sitting up, propped against the wall, blood streaking his temple and the front of his jacket. Finn grabbed the hem of his own shirt, tore it, and pressed it to Lysander’s head.
“You saved her life.” Finn's voice was raw. He looked Lysander in the eye, and for a second there was something almost like respect on his face.
Lysander grinned, wincing as Finn pressed the cloth to his skin. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’d played the hero. But it usually gets me better press.”
Finn let out a laugh, sudden and unexpected. “You’re a tough bastard, aren’t you?”
Lysander winked. “I survived art school. And my mother. This is nothing.”
Finn shook his head, and for a moment, the two of them were just men, breathing in the shock and aftermath, sweat and blood and relief pooling around them.
I tried to thank Lysander, but the words got lost. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and my heart thudded so loud I could barely hear myself think.
I heard Inez’s boots on the concrete, then saw her rush over, face pale. “What happened?” she demanded.
“Brie almost got pancaked,” Lysander said, gesturing at the mess. “I was her knight in shining armor.”
Inez didn’t smile. She reached into her bag and pulled out a gauze pack, then knelt and started to clean the cut. Finn stepped back, still watching me.
“You okay?” His voice was softer this time.
I nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”
He brushed my hair away from my face, fingers lingering on my cheek. “You scared the shit out of me.”
I wanted to say, “Me too,” but all I could do was grab his hand and hold on.
The contractors were already picking up the fallen pipes, muttering apologies and checking the damage. Lysander was laughing with Inez, even as she scolded him for being reckless. Finn wrapped his arms around my shoulders, holding me until I stopped shaking.
For a moment, everything else—jealousy, anger, fear—just vanished. We stood there in the middle of the chaos, the three of us tied together by the near-miss, the adrenaline, and the fact that sometimes the world keeps spinning even when you think it should stop.
I realized, as Finn kissed the side of my head and Lysander flashed me a bloody, triumphant smile, that this was my life now: complicated, messy, never exactly safe, but so much more real than anything I’d ever had before.
It was terrifying, and I loved it.