Chapter 7
Dax couldn’t believe that Ivy had agreed to allow him to see her paintings. This woman intrigued him. He didn’t think she usually shared much of herself. He was looking forward to seeing what she had created on canvas.
They left Blackwood BBQ, and he walked her to the vehicle she indicated.
“My studio is on the square. In fact, it’s above the hardware store,” she told him. “Just follow me over there.”
“I’ll park at Java Junction since I live above it,” he said. “I’ll walk over from there.”
“Then take the stairs at the rear of the building. They lead directly to the apartment. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Ivy climbed into her car and started the engine, giving him a wave before pulling out of the parking lot.
Dax went to his truck and drove down Main Street, turning onto the square where the mural was taking shape. He left his truck and quickly ducked inside Java Junction. Only two customers sat on a sofa in the back corner of the coffeehouse. He made his way over to Sean.
“Any way you could close up for me tonight?” he asked. “Just lock the doors. I’ll pull the cash from the register and do any washing up and the floors.”
Sean shook his head. “We’re not crowded. All the dishes are already done, except for those two and their coffee mugs. I can sweep up and mop before I go.” His eyes twinkled. “Are you extending dinner?”
“Yes. Ivy is going to show me what she’s been painting,” he revealed. “I’m about her, Sean, and I really want to see her work.”
“I can close anytime you need me to, Dax,” the barista assured him. “Go enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you.”
He left the coffeehouse and cut across the square, going past the mural to the alley. Spying the staircase, he raced up it and knocked on the door.
Ivy opened it, and he was struck anew by her natural beauty. Most women piled on the cosmetics, hiding any flaws. Ivy only wore a little color on her lips and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, but she would outshine every woman of his acquaintance.
As he entered, Dax said, “Thanks again for letting me glimpse into your world. I know art is very personal, and I appreciate you sharing yours with me.”
She closed the door. “I used to be confident about my paintings. I didn’t mind anyone seeing them. I was proud to show them off. The long hiatus which I’ve been on—albeit it unintentional—has had me second-guessing myself. I think any artist has doubts about the work they produce, be it a painting, a book, or a song. I had really thought I would work at the gallery and paint in my free time. I’d hoped to eventually make a living from my paintings, but the gallery was so all-consuming.”
She shivered involuntarily. “I worked long hours, days and nights, and most weekends. The little free time I had was spent sleeping or catching up on laundry. I had no time to see friends. Read a book. Go to a movie.”
“It sounds as if your boss was too demanding,” he said. “I know the type.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I won’t bore you with the stories, but you’re right. I’m glad I resigned and came home. Just getting in the car and driving around for half an hour, seeing the scenery, helps me clear my head and inspires me. Come see what I’ve been working on.”
Dax followed her to a standing easel, where a painting was almost completed. He recognized Lost Creek Lake, a place he’d visited twice. His eyes roamed the canvas, recognizing the exact spot.
“I know this place,” he told her. “I’ve been to the lake a couple of times.” He paused, drinking it in. “You’ve really captured the varying shades in the water. And your detail regarding the trees is incredible.”
“Those are Texas live oaks,” she said, pointing to a grouping of trees. “And these are Ashe junipers. They’re the predominant trees found in the Hill Country.”
He gazed at the painting. “I feel such a sense of peace looking at this,” he shared. “It’s as if I’m enveloped in calm.”
“That’s exactly the feeling I wished to convey.”
He turned to her. “You hit the mark on this one. How long will it take you to fill in the sky and clouds?”
“Not long. That’s the last bit of housekeeping I have to do on it. Here, let me show you the finished one.”
Ivy moved to a corner of the room, where a painting sat propped against the wall. She lifted the canvas and set it on an empty easel. He followed her, studying it carefully, noting even the brushstrokes.
“I’ve never really contemplated a painting,” he admitted. “But it’s almost like viewing a glass of wine, now that you’ve educated me on that. I have a finer eye and appreciation. I took in the overall picture first, but now I’m looking at little things about it. Trying to absorb the details with all my senses.”
“That’s a wonderful way to observe a painting,” she praised. “I’ll be quiet. Just look.”
She stepped back, allowing him to be alone a moment, which was a good thing. Standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Ivy, he had caught the scent of vanilla wafting from her and wanted to explore more of it. More of her. Instead, he turned his attention to the painting—and extension of her—and focused on it.
After a few minutes, he said, “It’s as if you’re telling me a story.”
“I think a painting should do so. That’s intuitive of you to pick up on that. I read something once which said the Texas Hill Country was like a piece of paper God crumpled up and straightened out again. It’s crooked. Rolling. Has tons of dips and creases. It’s as if nature took a paintbrush to the landscape and went wild.”
He nodded, turning from the painting to her. “I like that quite a bit.”
“I’m happy to be back here,” she said softly. “The topography is like a playground for an artist. The region has plains, cliffs, mountains, meadows, and valleys. The terrain is full of color in its exposed rocks and boulders. The vegetation is wild and free. We’ve got abundant water in creeks, rivers, and lakes. We’ve also got a pretty large number of caverns. And the wildflowers, especially in spring with the bluebonnets, lend such wonderful color.”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “I heard about the bluebonnets, but I didn’t see any this spring.”
Ivy looked astonished. “How could you not see any bluebonnets? They are scattered along roads everywhere in the Hill Country.”
“I got to Lost Creek before they bloomed. Once they did, I was deep into renovating the shops I’d bought, knocking down walls and painting and putting in new flooring. I wore a path from Java Junction to the hardware store, picking up things I needed. I had a ton of help from Scott Bartlett, a cop I met.”
“I remember Scott. He was several years ahead of me. A big football and baseball star.”
“He recently divorced and needed something to occupy his time so he wouldn’t go stir-crazy. Scott is handy with about any task you give him.”
“His dad was a carpenter,” she told him.
“No wonder. He never mentioned that. But we got along well, and I’ve hired him as my weekend manager at Java Junction. Cop on the weekdays and coffeehouse king on the weekends.”
She laughed. “That’s nice. It gives you a break. I know too many owners of stores in town have to work seven days a week.”
“I don’t mind the work. It’s different from what I used to do.”
“What was that?” she asked.
“I was an accountant,” he admitted.
Ivy burst out laughing. “No way. I think of accountants as laser-focused, silent types, crunching numbers. You’re so outgoing and personable.” She glanced up and down at his attire. “And I don’t picture an accountant wearing distressed jeans and a snug T-shirt.”
“I got rid of most of my work clothes,” he shared. “Saved a couple of suits and two ties. Just in case I needed them for a wedding or a funeral. Not that I will be going to either anytime soon.” He paused. “I was ready for a change. I wanted off the hamster wheel of the business world. I wanted a place where I could breathe and relax. I hit upon the coffeehouse idea because I wanted to provide a place for people to come in and do the same. Sip their coffee. Read a magazine. Meet a friend. Or just daydream. A place to chill.”
“I like the atmosphere you’ve created at Java Junction,” she said. “It’s laid-back. Comfortable. I can see it becoming a place to meet.”
“Mind if we sit and talk?” he asked, seeing the dilapidated sofa.
“Sure.” Ivy went and sat on the couch, sinking deep into it. “Sit at your own risk. It came with the place. I gather the last tenant left it behind because he didn’t want to pay to move it.”
Dax took a seat beside her. Not too close. But close enough to hopefully show he was interested in her.
“I’ve noticed as business has picked up that I have different groups coming in. The people going to work show up first, needing their jolt of caffeine to jumpstart their day. Then moms who’ve dropped off kids at school show up next. And there’s also a group of old-timers. They gather in the back and stay a couple of hours.”
“They used to hang out at the diner,” she said. “Your chairs and sofas are probably more comfortable.”
“It’s not busy for several hours after that, just a few drop-ins. But I’m starting to see a bit of an after school crowd show up. Kids with books opened, working alone on an essay or talking about a group project. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when summer comes and if that changes the dynamics being established now.”
“Why Lost Creek?” she asked, turning more to face him, placing her arm on the back of the sofa.
He shrugged. “I wish I could put it into words. I wanted out of the big city. I was born and raised in Dallas. While I love it, it’s so busy now. The roads are full of traffic no matter what time of day. I got in the car and drove around, not wanting to leave Texas. I’d never visited the Hill Country, and it sounded intriguing. I got here, already knowing I wanted to open a coffeehouse. I wanted a town big enough to support one but not too big.
“And then I stumbled upon Lost Creek. I liked everything about the town. Its layout. The people. When I saw the sign indicating some spaces for lease, I peeked into the windows and my dream started forming. I knew it could become a reality here. I called the number on the sign and met with the owner. Offered him cash to buy the two spaces instead of renting them. He was taken aback but quickly decided to accept my cash offer. Then I moved in and started making the spot my own.”
“You have a lot to be proud of, Dax. I think you’ll find yourself a part of the community. Have you joined the Chamber of Commerce? You should.”
“No, not yet. Good idea.” He hesitated and decided to open up to this woman. “I write songs.”
“You do?” she asked, looking intrigued. “What kind?”
“Rock and pop.”
“No country?”
“Nope. I never knew enough about it to get into it.”
“I’ve showed you my paintings. Maybe you can return the favor and play me a song sometime.”
He gazed at her, a deep yearning filling him. “I’d like that. I’m thinking of playing this weekend at Java Junction. Saturday night. Shouldn’t be too many people there. I’ve never played before an audience before, though. I’m nervous as a cat dancing on a hot stove.”
“I’ll be there,” she promised. “If you’re unsure, you can look at me for encouragement. I know what it’s like to put yourself out there. I’ll be your friendly face in the crowd.”
He’d told himself to wait. That Ivy would need more time.
But Dax knew if he didn’t kiss her now, this moment might never come around again.
Leaning in, he brushed his lips softly against hers. His hand cupped her nape, holding her steady. He applied just a bit of pressure, loving how soft her mouth was. How sweet the vanilla wafting from her skin smelled. He kept the kiss gentle, though, not wanting to scare Ivy off.
He broke the kiss, lifting his lips from hers, his hand still on her nape. Her large, hazel eyes had gone almost totally green, causing desire to shoot through him.
Without a word, she took his face in her hands and pulled him back to her. Their lips touched, and this time the kiss caught fire from the start. His arm went about her waist, pulling her to him as he hungrily drank her in. He teased open her mouth, his tongue seeking her sweetness.
She pushed her fingers into his hair and responded to his kiss. Soon, their tongues warred playfully, as they tasted one another, searching for a connection.
Dax wanted more from her. Much more. But his gut still told him not to rush her. Because of that, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers because he didn’t want to completely lose contact with her.
Her hands went to his shoulders, and he realized she was steadying herself.
“That was nice,” she said softly.
His hand, still on her nape, tightened slightly, his thumb stroking her satin skin. “Yeah. It was.”
He lifted his head, withdrawing his hands from her, sitting back, taking a deep breath. She did the same, studying him carefully.
“I haven’t done that in a long time,” she said, her voice shaking.
Dax reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I couldn’t tell. I really liked kissing you, Ivy.”
She smiled, a smile that was like sunshine warming his back on a summer’s day. He reached and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, gazing at her, trying to memorize her face.
“Why did you really leave Dallas?”
Her question caught him off guard.
“It was more than wanting to leave accounting and traffic on the streets, wasn’t it?” she asked, clearly picking up on things he hadn’t revealed.
He sat back, releasing her hand. “I divorced my wife,” he said abruptly. “I needed to get away. Make a fresh start.”
This time it was Ivy who took his hand. “I don’t mean to pry, Dax. It’s just not every day a person leaves a lucrative position and turns his life upside down by moving to a place and starting a business so different from anything he’s ever done.”
Her tone soothed him. It was like a balm poured over him. Dax linked their fingers together.
“I wanted to be a musician,” he told her. “I taught myself how to play the guitar when I was a teenager. I wrote songs. I didn’t know if I might be any good, though. I never performed in front of a crowd. Instead, I became a DJ.”
“A DJ?”
“Yes. I worked a lot of fraternity and sorority parties in college. Also did a ton of weddings and bar mitzvahs. Some Sweet Sixteen parties. I just love music. The energy it can bring to a room. How it can make people feel good about themselves. Make them want to get up and dance. Or tenderly hold one another as they sway to the beat of a ballad.”
“Then why didn’t you pursue it? Is it because of the way you grew up, not having a lot? I know being a musician can be pretty dicey. You can be immensely talented, but a lot of it is being in the right place at the right time. Artists go through much of the same thing.”
He raked his free hand through his hair. “I gave up everything linked to music because my wife wanted a steady income. In fact, she was all about the money. I wanted to please her, so I shelved the music dreams.”
Dax fell silent, looking away, but he could feel Ivy’s steady gaze on him, as if she were seeing into his very soul.
“She betrayed you. Maybe not physically, but she didn’t let you be who you needed to be.”
His gaze met hers. “I also wanted kids. She didn’t.” He left it at that. Dax wasn’t ready to get into Shailene’s lies. Her affair with Alex.
“If she truly loved you, she would have helped you find a compromise regarding your career,” Ivy insisted. “Maybe keep your accounting job—but play on weekends.” She paused. “The issue with children, though? Either you want them, or you don’t. Maybe it was better things ended between you when they did, Dax.”
He swallowed hard. “I don’t think she ever loved me. At least, that’s what she told me at the end.”
Immediately, she cupped his cheek. Dax leaned into her palm, finding her touch soothing. He savored it a moment and then said, “It was the push I needed. It helped me to see how different we always had been. That there would be no compromising on her part. I realized we’d always done everything her way, and I never got any input. The divorce went quickly, like ripping a bandage off a still-bloody wound. It hurts like hell. And then, it didn’t. I felt… empty inside.”
He tamped down the feelings roiling through him. “I wanted a clean break and got it. Left Dallas and everything in my past behind. I wanted to become a new person.” He smiled wryly. “Or maybe discover the true me buried deep inside, hidden for so long that I couldn’t remember who I really am. I’m hoping to do that in Lost Creek. I already feel lighter. Less burdened. I’m ready to play my music and see if it’s something I should pursue. I also have thought about maybe forming a band. Just a group who plays on the weekends. I’ve even been debating names for the band.”
“Like what?” she asked, and Dax saw Ivy was truly interested. She showed more curiosity and cared about him and what he wanted to do with his life than his wife ever had.
“Either the Rural Rockers or the Lone Star Rebels. Either sound good to you?”
She cocked her head, repeating both names, giving them each consideration, before saying, “I like both, but I think you need to pull this band together first. Play together. See what you’re like as you interact with one another. The name you choose will become obvious. It might be one of those—or something else.”
Ivy looked as if she wanted to say more. “Go on,” he encouraged.
“Well, I know you said you write rock and pop songs, but you’re in the heart of Texas, Dax. If your band—or you—is going to please a crowd, I think you’ll need to sprinkle a little country music into your repertoire. Country music gets people up on their feet and dancing. There’s something really liberating about it.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, nodding to himself. “I know zero about it, though.”
She smiled brightly. “Then I’m the one who can teach you all about it. I grew up listening to it. I know all the classics which you should learn to play, as well as what’s hot today.”
Dax would be happy to learn from his woman. No matter what she was willing to teach him.