Chapter 1 #2
The art show part had Sawyer’s insides shifting like tectonic plates.
This was the Janus coin of dreams. One side: ultimate dream.
The other: ultimate nightmare. Every time he picked up his paintbrush, he agonized over whether he could create anything meaningful.
Then upon completion, his only thought was whether it was good enough, a legacy from his mother.
Now he had a few trusted people who knew art telling him that it was.
His euphoric buzz was bursting like an overfilled helium balloon.
“I’m so crying.”
Thea’s heartbreaking announcement spurred his inner gentleman to dig into his pocket for his cloth handkerchief. He held it out at the exact same time as Jean Luc made the same offer. The two of them shared a wry smile as Sawyer returned his handkerchief to his pocket.
“This review is everything we could have ever wanted,” Jean Luc stated, putting his arm around Thea as she dabbed tears. “The French are not usually so vociferous in their praise.”
“I know!” Thea wobbled a bit as she stood and leaned into her fiancé. “But for him to add in Sawyer…and me! We have so much to be grateful for.”
Even Brooke was sniffing now. “I know Jean Luc said it, but it’s so rare to get a review like this in Paris, where critics can eviscerate the best—”
“No negative talk today.” Kyle gave one of his Golden Boy smiles, no trace of his earlier stress over the restaurant opening evident. “We’re going to celebrate this win! Hard.”
Madison finally stood, letting go of her death grip on the newspaper but tucking it with crisp efficiency under her arm. “No, we get back to work. We have to cook again tonight, remember? One night does not make a restaurant.”
Jesus, no denying she was right. “Sometimes I think your work is harder, Madison. You have to create hundreds of masterpieces every night. Plate by plate.”
Everyone turned to regard her. She gave a lengthy eye roll, but while her smile might be spare, it had a Mona Lisa quality. “You know how it is, Doc. One masterpiece at a time. We do it because we love it.”
Dean slapped his forehead. “That’s it? This restaurant—you, Thea, and Sawyer—get a review that takes you to a new level, and you’re all stone cold—”
Madison only cocked her black eyebrows, a long line of lean badass. “I didn’t say it wasn’t great, Dean. I’m thrilled for all of us. It’s a terrific bonus, Thea’s new bakery and Sawyer’s art being mentioned. But the pressure will be even greater after this. And doors open at seven.”
Kyle sidled up to Madison. “Good thing you’re up for it.”
“Yes, me and the staff.” She tugged on the end of her black chef’s jacket as if preparing for the next battle. “Speaking of. I need to wake Pierre from his nap. We have a lot to do. Nanine, would you like to come with me and tell the staff about this review?”
Nanine gave a soft smile as she finally lowered her trembling hand to her thigh, her high cheekbones flushed with emotion. “No, chérie, you are chef de cuisine now. It is your right. I will join later.”
Madison nodded and took off toward the front door of Nanine’s apartment.
Dean gestured passionately toward her. “We’re not even popping the champagne? We’ve been working since August to reopen the restaurant—”
“I’ll have one later, Dean,” Madison called over her shoulder. “After we close tonight. But you should all have a toast. Maybe grab something stronger for Sawyer, though. He looks like he’s going to stroke out.”
Someone gave him a brotherly smack.
“You still breathing, Doc?” Kyle asked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it on.
“Barely.” He wanted to gather up the article to his heart and absorb its words into his very flesh—or glue it to one of his easels to remind him in a doubt-riddled moment. “My whole life just went whew!”
“Yes, it did, Sawyer.” Brooke grabbed Kyle’s former seat and enveloped him in a hug. “Big-time. You’re going to have people ringing your ears off.”
Kyle lifted up his phone, grinning. “Speaking of… I have over forty missed calls already. God, we couldn’t have asked for a better opening—and trust me, I’ve opened a lot of restaurants.”
“I’ll bet people are clamoring to get in here to eat and see Sawyer’s paintings.” Dean extended his hand for a high five, which Sawyer could barely give since his arm was shaking.
Clamoring to see his art? What alternate universe was this? Then another thought hit. But could he keep creating at that level with every painting?
“Check this out,” Kyle called out, grinning and lifting up his phone. “We have a few callers listed as galleries. They left voice messages. How about we take a listen to one?”
He hit the button and suddenly a hushed female voice in French introduced herself as Valerie something-or-other from Galerie Adelard, noting her interest in seeing his paintings and speaking to him about a gallery show.
“She’s from Galerie Adelard!” The room was spinning again as his mind conjured up an image of him in a large room with the walls covered with his paintings. “One of the top galleries in Paris.”
Kyle gave a satisfied grunt and pocketed his phone. “Well, you wanted a career as an artist. Here’s your chance to go big. From the call list, there are more galleries calling you, Sawyer. Ones we will listen to later when your head comes back down from the clouds.”
The clouds was right! Although he didn’t want to come down. Everything seemed possible up here.
“Of course art people will be interested in Sawyer after this review,” Brooke said with a saucy wiggle of her dark blond brows.
“Axel was right, although this might be sooner than even he expected. He’s going to be so happy for you, Sawyer.
I’m texting him right now, although he and Jacqueline are probably off having a café while reading the review. ”
“It would have been too crowded up here for the Plus Ones,” Kyle stated with a grin. “We’re expanding. When did that happen?”
In that same alternate universe Sawyer had fallen into.
“Proves everything is possible in Paris,” Dean added with a lovestruck smile.
“I need to call my beautiful Jacqueline. We can have them come over for champagne, right? Because I’m not waiting to celebrate until Madison closes the restaurant.
That’s going to be well after midnight if last night was any indication. ”
“Past your bedtime, Dean?” Brooke quipped. “You’re getting old.”
He slapped his knee with a laugh. “You wish. You’d better call your beau. Axel will want to finalize his commissions with Sawyer. Everyone’s going to want a piece of Doc and his artistic brilliance.”
Commissions.
Art shows.
God, that was a ton of paintings.
And every one of them had to be brilliant. Freaking brilliant. He saw stars again.
“I wouldn’t say I feel sick since the news is awesome,” Sawyer said, tilting his head back against the sofa. “But…”
“Head between your legs,” Brooke instructed, ushering him gently into the position. “Someone grab a wet cloth for the back of his neck.”
Soon he felt a coolness there, and a gentle, motherly touch.
He turned his head and looked up. Nanine was standing beside him, smiling softly at him, her elegant face surrounded by long, curly white hair.
Dressed in a simple green cashmere sweater and black pants, she was Parisian to her core.
Elegant. No nonsense. Passionate. More loving than anyone he’d ever met.
And she loved him like he was her own son.
He’d never known what that feeling was before meeting her.
He’d read stories about sons and daughters who were strongly bonded with one or both parents, but that hadn’t been true for him.
Now he understood that such love was woven with gold, the threads so soft and bright they made you feel safe and cherished.
His own insides might have been covered in gold foil right now, they felt so warm and shiny. “You were the reason it was a masterpiece, Nanine. You and your quiet light. The Old Masters would have called you a Madonna.”
Of course he hadn’t told anyone The Women of Nanine’s were modeled after Thea, Brooke, and Madison. Given they were in Belle Epoch dresses in the painting, their features indistinct in his Impressionist style, he wasn’t sure the others had guessed. Except for Kyle, who had given him the idea.
Suddenly his whole frame went still. He could feel his inner critic standing in the corner of his brain, his mouth pursed in artistic disgust. Somehow his mother, his earliest critic, had morphed into a dark version of himself, and he hated that dude.
These paintings weren’t even original ideas, were they?
Your so-called brilliant painting was Kyle’s idea, and Nanine practically told you what she wanted for the composition.
And the colors! You might as well have painted by number.
And her portrait? What was original about that?
Sure, she didn’t ask for it, so you get a point there, but a portrait is obvious.
His heart withered in his chest. God, that was all true…
Nanine leaned over and kissed his cheek, bringing him back from sinking despair. “I would only do a wedding portrait with you painting it, mon Sawyer.”
Another original idea? his inner critic sneered.
But then she cupped his cheek, bringing his face up to hers.
A soft smile was waiting, filled with love.
Her brown eyes were luminous pools of earth, emerald and gold, colors that had given him fits when he’d tried to paint them.
Thank God she hadn’t come out cross-eyed.
There had been a few days when he’d feared that might come to pass.
His heart started galloping. He was going to have to do it again—paint—something he loved as much as he loathed.
No, not loathed. What he felt was fear. Fear that he couldn’t come up with something original enough, and if that miracle happened, that he couldn’t paint like he wanted—with excellence.
Again and again. Because if he wanted to succeed, he would have to paint masterpieces—and a lot of them.
How was he going to do that when painting one was so hard?
Suddenly he couldn’t breathe, a panic attack looming.
Nanine smoothed his wild black curls from his forehead, as if sensing his distress.
“You will paint with as much brilliance as you do everything else. Because your true greatness comes from inside this great heart of yours. No one could quote the philosophers the way you do without passion and deep understanding. I named you Fourth Course, a course that is filled with both subtlety and undeniable complexity, because you see and appreciate traditions most people do not.”
He could hear his inner critic scoff. You were named for the salad course!
Sawyer only clenched his eyes closed and leaned into her touch, wanting to believe her every word.
“But most of all, Sawyer, you must remember your heart. It gives you the key ingredients to any work of art, whether in the kitchen or on the canvas.”
Her brown eyes holding him, he could take a breath finally.
He told himself he must remember this moment when the doubt came.
Every philosopher or artist worth his salt spoke of moments of epiphany.
That Nanine would be his eagle, his mountain, or his burning bush was not surprising.
She had always spoken to the heart of him.
He gave in, took her hand, and kissed the back of it. “Thank you, Nanine.”
“It is nothing,” she said in that very French way of hers.
He knew the truth, as if it were a law of the universe: her words were everything. They would be his North Star in this scary, vulnerable territory he found himself in.
Nanine touched his cheek one last time before she glanced around the room at all of them, her Chanel Number 5 perfume seeming to beckon them with its intoxicating soft, musky notes.
“We have all come a long way together, my loves, since you first came to me and the restaurant ten years ago.”
A hard ball of emotion lodged in his throat as tears formed in many of his roommates’ eyes. When he thought about how they could have lost her to her heart attack, his chest ached. She’d made them a family, and for that reason alone, he would feel indebted to her for the rest of his life.
“You have no idea how much I love and treasure all of you.” Her words were as soft as her loving gaze. “This review is but the truth in writing.”
Truth: that word again.
“There’s a lot of love in Nanine’s—from all of us,” Thea said, dabbing more tears.
Damn, even Sawyer was feeling the need to grab his handkerchief.
“Damn right,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Madison would be upset she was missing all of this deep sharing.”
That had the desired effect. Everyone laughed.
“Now—” Dean pulled Sawyer out of the chair and gave him a brotherly hug. “Let’s go pick some spectacular champagne. On me.”
Nanine stayed him with a gentle hand. “No need. I have a few special bottles chilling for such a moment. Ah, but this has been a good day.”
Yes, it had been. Epic.
He vowed in that moment to wrestle his demons to have the famed art career he’d always wanted.