Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
A manda couldn’t get Connor’s kiss out of her mind. Not while she made coffee the next morning. Not while she worked on her to-do list for the festival. Eventually, she surrendered to the persistent thoughts and decided to channel her energy into dinner preparations. She did a quick run to the grocery store to get what she needed to cook for Connor tonight. She’d go ahead and make the mashed potatoes early so she could then fry up the potato pancakes. Rosemary chicken and asparagus would round out the meal. She also bought apples to bake a pie.
She hurried home to get started. Connor’s praise for her peach pie crust came to mind as she mixed the dough and rolled it out. She couldn’t resist adding a touch of artistic flair with a fancy design on the top crust and a cute edging that she had seen while browsing the internet.
She set the table and used some pretty placemats that the owner of her rental had provided. They made her smile, thinking that Brooklyn would like that she had them.
After feeling like she had things under control, she sat down at her computer to work for a bit. She flipped open the top and navigated her inbox, clicking through the emails. She had web alerts set up for Magnolia Key Heritage Festival, and she clicked on an alert to see who had mentioned them.
It was a post on social media. She clicked over to it and started reading. Her breath caught as she scrolled. Desiree had indeed not been impressed with the artwork for the festival and hadn’t minced words. Her heart sank when she read the scathing words the art critic had used to describe Connor’s work. Trite. Similar to a mass-market carving she’d recently seen but admittedly with a nicer piece of wood. Desiree went on to say she hoped the other regional art shows she covered had a higher quality of artwork.
Amanda closed her eyes. She so wanted the festival to be a success. Not so much for her, but for Connor and the entire community. Now with Desiree’s harsh words out there for all to see, she worried about the fallout.
This was not the publicity she’d hoped for. But then she clung to a tiny hope. Maybe no one local would see it? Maybe it would get lost in the vast sea of social media posts? But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was unlikely. In a close-knit community like Magnolia Key, news traveled quickly, and a review like this was bound to make waves.
She straightened in her chair and set her shoulders. She would not let one post on social media derail all the effort she and so many others had put into the festival. She clicked on another alert, her heart sinking when she discovered that a regional paper had shared Desiree’s review on their social media account. That hadn’t taken long…
A wave of guilt swept over her. As the organizer of the event, she couldn’t help but feel responsible. She never should have contacted the art critic. If only she would have let it alone. But she’d been trying so hard to get more publicity for the festival.
Or had she been trying to get some acclaim for all she’d done? For her event-planning skills? The thought taunted her. Was she really that shallow? Had she gotten so used to the frequent accolades for her work that she craved to be noticed for all she’d done for Magnolia? The thought was sobering.
How had she let this happen? How had she let some snobby, big-city critic come and pan the art show? Amanda knew art and firmly believed there was unbelievable talent in the pieces selected for the show. She’d firmly believed that others would see the beauty and value in the work as she did.
So why had Desiree, with her haughty, big-city attitude, been so critical?
Her mind raced with thoughts of damage control. The last thing she wanted was for one critic’s words to overshadow the hard work and dedication the artists had put into their work.
But most of all, she worried about Connor. The idea of him stumbling upon Desiree’s post made her stomach churn. But Connor wasn’t really a social media type guy. There was a good chance he would remain blissfully unaware of Desiree’s harsh words.
She could only hope that this post would fade away as most posts on social media do. And she fervently hoped that Connor never got wind of it.
Connor made his way to the hardware store in town, determined to find some oil to silence the incessant squeaking of the door to his cottage. The sound had been grating on his nerves, and despite his certainty that he had some oil somewhere, it had mysteriously vanished. But he wanted it fixed before Brooklyn showed up with her high energy and her tendency to dart in and out of the cottage.
As he entered the store, he nodded to the store owner—Jake, wasn’t it? Then he surprised himself by speaking aloud. “Afternoon, Jake.”
Jake’s eyebrows lifted, clearly taken aback. “Ah… hi, Connor.”
He couldn’t fault Jake for his surprise. He rarely actually spoke to people when he shopped. He was more of a nodder.
Connor found the oil and went back up front, holding up the oil can. “Squeaky door.”
“Yep, that happens. The salty air seems a bit rough on the hinges.” Jake rang him out, then paused, holding the can mid-air. “Um… sorry about that review of the art show. I think it was pretty harsh. Sounds like it was written by someone who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. I was over at city hall and peeked in where Amanda was storing the artwork. Some pretty impressive pieces in there.”
Connor had no idea what Jake was talking about. What review? And how was there a review when the show hadn’t even happened yet? He’d thought the show was so small and local that it would fly under the radar of any art critics.
“Anyway, it was just that regional paper. Don’t let it get to you.” Jake handed him the oil.
All he did was nod as he turned and walked out of the store. He headed home, plopped down in front of his computer, and did a quick search on the Heritage Festival. Didn’t take him long to find the post. He slowly read through it, his anger growing at each word. Not only had his work been panned, but all the other artwork had too. The review of his work had just been the harshest.
Then he noticed the name of the poster. Desiree Knight. He clenched his jaw. Looked like he was never going to get that woman out of his life. This was her revenge for what he did. Or more precisely, what he didn’t do. He didn’t do what she demanded of him. And then he’d left New York and Desiree and that whole life behind him.
But he was certain of one thing. He wasn’t going to show his art at the festival’s art show. Not if Amanda was going behind his back to bring in critics. He didn’t need that. It had taken him long enough to get back to woodworking after what happened the last time. He didn’t need Desiree’s words playing over and over in his mind. And he certainly wouldn’t trust his artwork to someone who never even told him that she was bringing in art critics. He thought this was a simple, local art show. That locals would see his work. He even thought it might lead to him placing some artwork in a local shop. That he was finally ready for that. But… not now. Not ever.
He pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping on the floor. He strode over and opened the door—that still squeaked, but didn’t annoy him half as much as he was annoyed with Amanda right now. No, past annoyed. He was furious with her.
He crossed the distance between their cottages and rapped on her door. She opened it, looking surprised. She glanced at her watch. “You’re early for dinner.”
“How could you go behind my back like that?” He threw the words out at her, his hands balled into fists with his fingers digging into his palms.
She glanced at him warily. “What did I do?”
But he swore he saw a flicker in her eyes. She knew what she did.
“You had an art critic come and critique the art being displayed at the festival.” He shook his head incredulously. “And you let her see it when it was crammed in that back room in city hall? What were you thinking? That was certainly not showing the art in its best light.”
“Connor, I?—”
He waved his hand. “Don’t want to hear it. I never agreed to that. You said a small, local showing celebrating the island’s heritage. Not that you were bringing in people to judge the work. And look what she said about the other work too. That most of it was unremarkable. Which is very wrong. There’s some good, strong artistic talent there.”
“I know. There is?—”
He cut her off again. “Anyway, I’m pulling out. There’s no way I’m displaying my art at the show. I’m done. Finished. I’ll go get my art piece and that’s that.”
“Connor, wait. Listen to me.”
“There’s nothing you can say. I trusted you with my art. You knew I hadn’t shown anything in a very long time. And now this. I don’t need the critique of my work. And I don’t need to be around someone I can’t trust to go behind my back—without saying a word to me—and arrange for this art critic to come.”
“I’m sorry… You don’t understand.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and he ignored it.
“You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could do this. You never said a word about it. Didn’t talk to me about bringing in an art critic. And I had to find out about the review from someone else.” He glared at her, his anger overwhelming him. “It’s over, Amanda. All of it.”
He swiveled around and crossed the distance in long, measured strides. Putting the art show behind him. Putting Amanda behind him. He’d been right to choose a reclusive life… because look what happened when he decided to trust people again.
Amanda slowly closed the door and wandered over to the table, sinking into a chair. Her gaze drifted across the carefully set table, all waiting for the intimate dinner she had planned. The dinner she would now eat alone. A hollow feeling settled in her chest. Not that she was hungry. She’d lost her appetite.
Connor’s eyes had flashed with a scorching anger, turning an icy, inky blue. She hadn’t in a million years thought a critic would pan his work. It was exquisite. So beautiful. It was like each piece held the soul of what he carved. The lines, the wood, the smooth, silky finish. Each piece was a masterpiece. She firmly believed that.
But… Desiree sure hadn’t. Her review was brutal. But that couldn’t have been the first non-glowing review Connor had ever gotten, could it? Don’t all artists find people who don’t click with their work and don’t appreciate it?
But she did feel terrible. She’d felt certain Connor would ease his way back into showing his work and that he might be happy to see it reviewed. That the festival might be just his first step.
But now? After Desiree’s remarks?
And had she done this for Connor? Or for herself? That idea still mocked her. Had she been wanting some accolades for herself too?
What if he gave up carving again? Could she have actually made that happen? Ruined his career by her eagerness to get his art out there again? She’d honestly wanted to show his art to the world, but she realized now that wasn’t what Connor wanted. It was what she wanted for Connor. And it hadn’t been her choice to make.
She let out a long sigh. And who knew which artists might pull their work out, just like Connor? She’d made a mess of things.