Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Layne sat in the passenger seat of Keaton’s truck, feeling more content than she had in a long time.
Her life had changed radically in the past week.
Returning to the Bay had led to a slower pace of life, allowing her to catch her breath.
She was beginning to remember to appreciate the small things around her.
The song of a bird chirping. The satisfaction of sipping a cup of hot tea without hurrying.
And the man sitting next to her.
It seemed impossible that they had only known each other for such a short length of time because she felt she knew Keaton better than she had any other man, and that included her five years with Jeremy.
Keaton also had glimpsed deeply into her.
Thank goodness he hadn’t tucked tail and run, especially with the mess her life was at the moment.
Yet she was more grounded now that they had firm plans for the Bay Breeze. Layne liked how Keaton had a vision for the inn and would help bring it back to life. It was in a wonderful location and once the renovation had been completed, she believed it would reflect the charm of the B&B.
They had left the Bay at six o’clock this morning for their long trek to Dallas, stopping at a Buc-ees for gas and a stretch break.
Once inside, Keaton had marveled at all the merchandise available, as well as the spotless restrooms. He had gobbled down a BBQ sandwich and sugared pecans, joking that he had fallen under the spell of Buc-ees.
She teased him about needing to join a Facebook group dedicated to fans of the place.
It was half-past noon when they reached the outskirts of Dallas, and he glanced to her.
“Mind if we go to the gallery first? I want to get my paintings into Sidney’s hands.”
“I have yet to see any of your work. You’ll have to take me to your gallery once we return to the Bay. I assume you have a few examples of your own work on display there.”
“I can do that. If you like, we can stay and watch as they unwrap a few canvases at the Clifford Gallery now.”
“Do they know you’re coming?”
He nodded. “I texted Sidney yesterday and told him to expect us early afternoon.”
Dallas traffic was heavy. Layne didn’t miss that aspect of living in a big city.
She could reach anywhere in the Bay within ten to twelve minutes and liked that part of small-town life.
While the renovation was in progress, she needed to figure out a job she could do remotely—so she could stay in her hometown—and see if anything permanent could occur between Keaton and her.
Part of her was afraid to explore a relationship with him because of the heat already between them.
She was afraid it would burn brightly for a short while and then fizzle out.
If it did, so be it. She had a feeling they would remain friends, regardless of whatever physical happened between them.
They wound up in the Knox-Henderson area, and Keaton pulled into an alley and then a parking lot behind a building which she assumed was the Clifford Gallery. Cutting the engine, he picked up his phone from the cup holder and sent a quick text.
“Someone will unlock the back door and meet us now,” he told her.
The door swung open, and a man in a navy, double-breasted suit stepped through it. He looked to be in his late forties, with a dash of silver at his temples. He was followed by two younger men who hurried toward them as they got out of the truck.
“Everything is under the tarp, guys,” Keaton told the pair. He offered his hand to the older man.
Layne went around the front of the truck and joined them.
“Sidney McAlister, I’d like you to meet Layne Larson. She recently moved back to Driftwood Bay from Dallas.”
Sidney greeted her. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Larson.”
“Layne, please. I’m eager to see the art you have on display at your gallery, especially if you have something of Keaton’s on display.”
“I only have one Keaton Maxwell hanging on the walls, and it is already spoken for.” Sidney glanced to Keaton. “Stormy Night. Monica bought it, but she’s been in Paris since before Thanksgiving. She’ll be back after New Year’s and claim it. Please, come inside.”
Sidney turned and led them into the building.
Keaton threaded his fingers through hers, saying, “Monica is a lady from Highland Park. I did a lot of work for her back in the day. She was an early purchaser of my work and introduced me to Sidney. I wouldn’t be where I am today without Monica’s support. ”
They made their way through a storeroom and then moved into the gallery itself.
She had never stepped foot inside an art gallery before.
The only thing she knew about art was from a freshman-level art appreciation class she had taken in college to fulfill a fine arts requirement for her business degree.
All she remembered was that she had liked Impressionism. Nothing else had stuck with her.
Glancing about now, though, she could tell the quality of art in this gallery was at the highest level. She caught sight of the placard beside a painting, listing its price, and did a quick intake of breath. If Keaton commanded these kinds of prices, he must be extremely well off.
Sidney stopped and indicated a canvas on the wall.
They joined him, and her eyes moved to the painting hanging before them.
It depicted a storm rolling in, and she easily recognized Driftwood Bay as its subject.
The colors were bold. Beautiful. Angry. She could feel the tremendous power of the approaching storm as the scene generated both awe and fear within her.
“It’s breathtaking,” she declared, blown away by Keaton’s talent. “I can’t look away from it.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I had been struggling as to what my next subject would be, and then one night a storm just like this blew into the Bay. I went out and experienced it as it moved toward me. Feeling the turbulence. Watching it move across the water. Then I was hit by the powerful blow of the wind. The driving rain. Immediately, I knew I had to capture on canvas the moment in time I had been a part of.”
“You certainly did. I know great art evokes strong emotions, and I feel the turbulence inside me that this brings.”
His eyes shined brightly. “That is a terrific compliment.”
“You didn’t say how many paintings you were bringing to me, Keaton,” Sidney said.
“I’ll text you a doc with the numbers and titles. The series has fifteen paintings altogether. I kept two of them. One for myself and one which is hanging in Gulf Coastal Gallery now.”
“Will you sell either of them?” Sidney inquired.
“I’m not certain at this point. I just purchased a house in Driftwood Bay, and I have an idea where I would like to hang one of them once I move in.
The painting in the gallery is for display now, just so browsers can get an idea of the art behind the gallery’s owner.
I may sell it at some point, or I might bring it up here with me the next time I deliver canvases to you.
I have taken pictures of both, though. I’ll text those to you.
Even though they won’t be available to your clients, you can at least include them in the series. ”
“Please do so,” the gallery manager said.
“Let’s go back to the storeroom,” Keaton suggested. “We can watch as a few of the canvases are unwrapped.”
They returned the way they came, and Layne saw the two men had finished bringing in the paintings from the truck.
They now unwrapped the first one carefully, cutting through a thick layer of bubble wrap.
Keaton had done a thorough job of securing the safety of his work on their trip north.
Anticipation built inside her as the first painting was finally unveiled.
She gasped upon seeing it.
The painting was of sunset over the Bay, a myriad of colors streaking the sky, taking her breath away.
Turning to Keaton, she quietly said, “I knew you were talented, but this is insane.”
A satisfied smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad you like it. When is your birthday?”
The random question threw her. “March fifteenth. Why?”
He smiled enigmatically. “Just asking.”
“Are you saying you would paint a picture for me?”
“I’d like for you to have something of mine, Layne.”
Happiness bubbled through her. “I would be honored to own a Keaton Maxwell landscape. Especially if it reflected Driftwood Bay. I took an art appreciation course in college. Just think, there may be freshmen out there right now, studying your work.” She grinned and quietly added, “And if they knew how handsome the artist was, they would be in love with him, as well as his art.”
That caused him to burst out laughing. The two men stopped what they were doing and stared. Keaton ignored them and said to Sidney, “My work here is done. You can send me the price list once you’ve assessed the work.”
“How long will you be in town?” Sidney asked.
“Just a day or two. Layne has some business to handle, and then we’ll drive back to the coast. Text if you need anything.”
“Will do,” Sidney replied. “Thanks for delivering these to me, Keaton.”
They returned to his truck, and Keaton said, “I’m famished. That sandwich was hours ago.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s only two-thirty, but I don’t think I can hold out for dinner.”
“I know the perfect place to grab a late lunch,” she told him. “It’s not too far from here. Once we eat, it’ll be time to meet with Liza.”
Liza Franklin had sold a house last summer to a friend of Layne’s from work.
She had met the realtor at the open house her friend held upon moving in and saved the card Liza had given her.
Layne had texted the realtor on their way to Dallas this morning, and they had a four o’clock appointment with her at her office in Lakewood.
“Tell me where to go. I’m hoping it’ll be Mexican food.”
Layne laughed. “As a matter of fact, it is.”
Ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of El Perro Perezoso.
“The Lazy Dog,” he translated.
“You speak Spanish?”