Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
The kitchen was packed with his roommates the next morning—even Madison and Thea, who didn’t live there anymore.
He’d thought they’d gang up on him at Sunday dinner. But no… They were there for a recap of his night with Phoebe.
Their expectant faces had Sawyer gesturing to his robe as Pierre gave a loud squawk from his perch. “Really? This early? I’m barely awake.”
“I’ll make you a café, Sawyer,” Thea said, dusting flour off her hands and rushing over to the coffee machine. “We can’t wait to hear about your date!”
“We’re behind on two dates actually.” Dean shoved off the barstool and swung an arm around Sawyer. He led him to the kitchen island, then pushed him onto a stool next to Brooke. “Late night, huh? Must have gone well.”
Brooke shoved a croissant at him. “You can tell us all about it while you have your petit-déjeuner.”
He tore off the end and bit in, groaning at the flavor. Thea’s croissants were mood altering. “It went great. We did the date thing. You know…” No way he was mentioning how deep and intense the sharing part of the date had gotten.
“Terrific.” Madison extended her arm to Pierre, who flew to her. “Color me relieved. Since my cleaver isn’t needed, I’m heading to the restaurant. I have some holiday specials to test. See you guys later for dinner.”
No one commented on how early it was or her rapid departure. Then again, no one had heard a word about how her night out dancing had gone either.
Kyle’s gaze followed her as she left the room before he shifted it to Sawyer. “When are you seeing her again?”
“We’re going to meet during one of my painting breaks.” He ripped off another section. “I started on another painting when I got home and painted until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.”
“That explains the circles under them,” Brooke remarked as Thea slid a café in front of him with a smile. “When I saw you, I worried something bad had happened.”
“Only the unstoppable force of artistic genius,” Dean exclaimed, slapping him on the back. “Looks good on you, Doc.”
Even in an old bathrobe with bags under his eyes?
That was probably his inner glow from being around Phoebe, who had inspired yet another painting.
The nightscape of couples had captivated him.
Maybe it was the street musician or the fact that he’d removed his glasses finally to kiss her again, but when he’d looked up, the pairs had seemed to be waltzing around them.
He planned to title it The Waltz of Love.
With Phoebe standing there on the edge, waiting for him to arrive and join the dance.
God, he was on a roll. “It feels damn good,” he admitted. “Her. The painting. It’s like the tumblers have all fallen into the right places.”
Dean started humming. “Ah…l’amour. No better feeling out there.”
He picked up his café and took that first perfect sip.
“Wait!” Brooke snapped her finger in front of his face. “You didn’t even bother to deny it. You’ve gone out twice—”
“The heart knows what the heart knows,” Dean interrupted, placing his hand over the organ in discussion.
“It’s like Nanine always says,” Thea chimed in. “You always listen to it. Oh, Sawyer, I’m so happy for you.”
Sawyer didn’t like the dragon breath he heard from Brooke any better than Kyle’s distinctive silence.
“Don’t worry, Brooke, I’m just in serious like,” he assured her, taking another drink of his café.
“True, it’s at a level I haven’t experienced before, and yes, it’s early, but I have a good sense of myself.
Phoebe fits me. She listens. She knows how to laugh at herself and life, but then she can get all soulful. She brings out good things in me.”
“That’s when you know you have something special, Sawyer,” Thea offered as she rearranged the croissants. “Jean Luc does the same for me.”
“And my Lady Jacs for me,” Dean continued.
“I’m not trying to rain on your parade, Sawyer,” Brooke assured him with a hand on his arm. “I’m just being protective.”
“We all are, Doc.” Kyle stood up and grabbed another croissant from the basket Thea had placed on the island.
“But you look happy, and you’re painting.
Two big indicators things are going well.
When I got engaged to Paisley, I wasn’t happy.
I wish you guys had been around to point that out.
I hate to dash, but I have an errand I need to run. ”
They all watched Kyle walk out. Thea’s eyes were still wide as the sound of his footsteps receded through the house. Dean gave a soft whistle.
“Well…” Brooke said.
“He never mentions Paisley.” Thea was gripping her apron ties. “What do you think brought that on?”
Sawyer had some insight into that, but he wasn’t sure the soul sharing he and Kyle had done the other night should be passed around like the salt. They were roommates and friends, sure, but you didn’t do that to a bro when he was sharing the tough shit.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Dean reached for another croissant, disrupting Thea’s fanlike display. “He and Madison are running on high octane gas right now. We’d better hide all the matches.”
“Leave them be,” Brooke ordered softly. “It can’t be easy for them, and we don’t want to make things tougher.”
Thea’s throat moved as she swallowed, tears burning in her eyes. “No, we don’t. I wish there was something we could do.”
“We are.” Brooke rose, yanking on her navy suit jacket. “By giving them space to let them work it out. Now, I need to run. I’m meeting Axel.”
“I’m off too.” Dean finished off his croissant. “For now… Lady Jacs and I are driving up to Reims to sample some champagne. Be back before dinner.”
“Oh, that sounds delicious.” Brooke already had her phone out. “Bring some bottles back to the house.”
“Count on it.” Dean kissed her cheek before turning to Sawyer, who playfully shoved him back when he feinted leaning in for a cheek kiss like the clown he was. “Thea, what about you?”
She untied her apron and walked over to put it in the pantry. “Maybe I’ll go do some Christmas shopping with Jean Luc since Brooke has everything so organized for the wedding. I don’t feel like I have much left to do. Even though I’m counting down the days until the twenty-eighth.”
Sawyer noted she was practically floating now. Wedding talk made her incandescent. Suddenly he wondered if he should ask Pheobe to be his Plus One for the special occasion.
“It’s what I’m good at,” Brooke reminded her as they shared a sisterly smile. “Besides, you made it easy by asking for a smaller wedding.”
The ceremony and reception would be held at Nanine’s.
“Come on,” Brooke told Thea. “I’ll walk with you to Jean Luc’s, and we can talk about the flowers.”
She gasped. “But they’re all ordered, aren’t they?”
Brooke took her arm and led her away. “Yes, but it makes you happy, so that’s why we’ll go over them again. Later, boys.”
Dean gave him a playful salute. “Have fun with your colors, Doc.”
“I plan to.”
Then he was alone in the kitchen. He picked up another couple of croissants and headed upstairs. His muse was calling…
Dinner came and went. He painted, only stopping to talk to Phoebe on the phone before she finally begged off, needing to sleep. Night turned to morning, and he finally couldn’t keep his eyes open. He lay down on his tarp, not having the energy to clean himself up so he could get into his bed.
When he awoke, someone was banging on his studio door. Pulling himself off the floor with a groan, he opened the door and was delighted to find a full basket of croissants along with a container of orange juice. He sidled up to his painting after he’d snarfed them down and then got to work again.
Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld yanked him out of his reverie.
He looked over at his phone ringing on the side table where he’d stashed it easier.
The only reason it was on was because of his walk with Phoebe today.
She’d said she’d text so she wouldn’t interrupt his work.
So who was calling? He approached warily.
His mother again? She hadn’t responded to his last text, which meant he’d bought himself some more time until her next one.
Ah, the game they played. Then he reached his phone and felt his eyes pop open wide.
Beverly Merriweather’s name shone on his phone.
“Holy shit!”
He set aside his paintbrush and palette and rubbed his hands briskly on his smock. God, his agent! His agent was calling.
“Hello,” he tried to say normally when he picked up.
“Sawyer,” she rolled out in her heavy New York City accent.
“I was in London last night for a show and decided to swing by Paris and meet you in person before heading back. I want to meet this ingenue Axel swears by. See your paintings. Talk a little business. I have some good news I couldn’t wait to share. When can we meet today?”
He looked down at himself. Paint smears covered his hands and probably his face and hair, but he couldn’t make her wait, could he? “Ah…anytime. I’ve been painting. I just need to clean up.”
A distinctive hum sounded on the line. “You’re at your atelier right now?”
She was going to meet him here. He just knew it.
Glancing around, he winced. The light from the skylights lit his current work in progress as well as the other canvases drying on their easels.
White tarps dotted with random paint drizzles or dollops lined the floor.
The garbage overflowed with take-out containers—he’d forbidden the housekeeper from entering his space.
“Yes, but it’s a bit of a mess. Maybe we should—”
“It’s a studio.” Her tone was no-nonsense. “Besides, little fazes me after representing painters for thirty years. I’ve seen the remnants of orgies. I’ve had a client’s pet raven fly at me. And those are the PG stories. Text me your address. I’ll come at two. Does that work?”
That was in an hour! “Sure. Of course. I’ll…see you then.”
“I look forward to it.”