Chapter 21
A s I walk Christy into my art studio, I have major butterflies—a mix of excitement and nerves.
Well, mostly nerves. But if I’m going to take the leap and make a career out of painting, I’m going to have to show my collection at some point, and I’m grateful that the first person to see it will be my sister.
As a literary agent, she has a gift for spotting talent, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it carried over to different art forms. When it comes to food, wine, and fashion, Christy’s always had discerning taste.
But, even more than that, I’m over the moon that we’re getting closer, and showing her my paintings will only strengthen our growing bond.
Unless she hates them, of course.
Thankfully, the smile on her face says otherwise. “Jenna…oh my gosh!” she exclaims, wide-eyed.
The seven paintings that make up my collection are leaning against the wall, and I watch her gaze travel slowly across each of them.
When she gets to the last portrait—the one of her—her hands fly to her mouth, and her eyes fill with tears.
I follow as she takes several steps forward and kneels to examine it more closely.
My heart picks up speed, wondering what she’s thinking.
With her fingers still covering her lips, I can’t tell.
Does she like it? Is she moved by it? It is possible she’s offended?
Oh god. Maybe she thinks I have zero talent, but doesn’t know how to tell me.
What was I thinking? I’ll never make it as a professional painter. Thank goodness I haven’t quit my design job yet?—
“Jenna.” My sister stands and faces me. Finally, she drops her hands to her sides, and I’m no longer second-guessing what I want to do with the rest of my life, because she’s beaming. “These are amazing. You’re amazing.”
Before I can thank her, I burst into tears, and she hugs me. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s true. You are so incredibly talented…
I mean, you captured something in each piece that I’d only expect to see on a living, breathing person.
You painted real emotion on their faces.
Just one look, and I can tell what they’re thinking.
” She turns to look at each portrait again. “Mom’s sad. And Dad’s an ass?—”
I chuckle.
“And I absolutely adore the hint of mischief in my eyes,” she continues with a playful smile. “It’s the new me. Single and ready to grab life by the balls. Or grab a hot guy by the balls, at least. Consensually, of course.”
I throw my head back, laughing. “I should introduce you to my new friend, Sam—that’s short for Samira,” I add, to avoid confusion.
“I met her through Vanessa, but she and Sunny Dexter go way back, since college. I think you two would have fun taking the Windy City by storm. She definitely enjoys grabbing life by the balls. And she’d make an excellent wingwoman. ”
“You’re making Chicago look pretty darn attractive,” Christy admits with a smile. “I could use some help in the dating department. I’ve been out with a few guys since Kyle, but there’s never any chemistry. Maybe I’m too picky.”
“Promise me you won’t settle,” I tell her. “Because you will find what you’re looking for, and once you do—there’s no going back.”
My sister grins at me. “Speaking of Charlie…this has to be him,” she says, pointing to his portrait.
I nod.
“Wow,” she says on a deep exhale. “First of all, he’s insanely gorgeous. But second of all, does he really look at you like that?”
My cheeks warm. “Yeah, he does.”
Christy shakes her head, still smiling. “He adores you.”
“It feels that way,” I say, my heart fluttering.
“ This is the portrait you have to show at the gallery. Charlie’s. It’s perfect.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” I reply before biting my lip.
“Why?” she asks, her brow furrowed.
“Because if I choose it for the gallery, I’ll have to show it to him soon, to make sure he approves.
And when I do, I want to tell him the truth…
that this painting was inspired by the look in his eyes when we first met.
You said it yourself, it looks like he adores me.
I do think it was love at first sight, Christy.
Or so mething even more inexplicable than that,” I say, picturing my sketchbook full of wishes.
I haven’t told anyone—not Christy or even Esther—about my journal’s connection to Charlie. I’m still trying to process it, myself.
“I feel like I’ve always loved Charlie Sutton,” I go on, “even before I knew him. Which makes no sense.”
“It does if you’re soulmates,” Christy says, matter-of-factly.
I smile, relieved she doesn’t think I’m crazy.
My sister’s a romantic at heart, like me.
It’s a little surprising, given our parents aren’t the picture of a loving marriage.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen them kiss—or even hug, for that matter.
Maybe the lack of romance in their relationship is what makes me and my sister crave it so much in our own lives.
I take in Charlie’s portrait again, and almost get lost in his dark brown eyes. “He says we were made for each other,” I tell my sister.
“Then he feels the same way,” she replies. “Show him the painting—you have nothing to worry about.”
“Hopefully,” I say. “I just…I can’t shake the feeling that this is all too good to be true.”
Christy puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure that’s normal, given what happened to Hunter. You’re finally getting everything you’ve always wanted, and you’re afraid you’re going to lose it.”
I nod. “That makes sense. I’ll keep working on it with Esther, in therapy.”
“You’ll get there,” my sister tells me. “It might just take some time.”
I hope to god she’s right.
The rest of the weekend with Christy is everything I hoped it would be.
Since I turned the guest room into my art studio, her options were to either crash on my living room couch, or sleep in my bed.
She chose the latter. We never shared a room growing up, so it’s a new experience for us, and even better than I could’ve imagined.
We stay up late, drinking wine and watching rom-coms and giggling about guys, and I tell her things I’ve never told anyone—things you’re only supposed to tell your sister, if you’re lucky enough to have one you’re close to.
And Christy makes jokes at Kyle’s expense, and tells me all about her dream man.
During the day, I take her all around the city, and she marvels at how beautiful it is.
When we hug goodbye at the airport, I’m almost convinced she’ll move here.
Afterward, I drive back home. I’d originally planned to pick up Charlie, because his plane from Denver was supposed to arrive soon after I dropped off Christy, but his flight got delayed.
So I go back to my place and catch up on the design projects I’ve been putting off.
I haven’t missed any deadlines, and I know I’ll get everything done before it’s due, but typically I’m way ahead of schedule.
More and more, though, I have to resist the urge to close my laptop, put on a smock, and paint instead.
Tonight, I find it so hard to stay out of my art studio that I decide to call the one person I know will understand—because she’s been there.
“Hey, Jenna,” Sunny says when she picks up the phone. She sounds pleasantly surprised.
“I’m not calling too late, am I?” It’s 10:30 p.m. in Beachwood, an hour later than Chicago. Normally Sunny’s a night owl, but it just occurred to me that her sleeping habits may have changed, now that she’s pregnant.
“Not at all,” she assures me. “Well, Dex is fast asleep, but the baby’s always really active at night, and she’s kicking up a storm right now. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I tried.”
“You’re about halfway there, right?”
“Yup. Nineteen weeks. She’s not even here yet, but she’s still found a way to keep me up all night,” Sunny jokes.
I giggle. “Already a troublemaker, huh. Will you text me a picture of your baby bump? I bet you look adorable.”
“Sure. Dex took a picture of me just this morning.”
Several seconds later, I get the photo on my phone.
Sunny’s standing at the window of their beautiful new home, looking radiant in a cream-colored dress.
Her olive skin is tanned from the summer sun, and her hair is half-up, half-down, falling in pretty ringlets down her back.
She’s got one hand below her belly, which isn’t big yet, but visibly rounder than the last picture she sent me. She’s smiling and looks so, so happy.
“You’re glowing,” I tell her. “A stunning mom-to-be.”
“Thank you. That’s sweet.”
“I’m sorry about the lack of sleep, though,” I go on. “That sounds rough.”
“It’s okay,” she replies. “I’ve been using the extra time to work on my next novel.”
“Wow, good for you. And the first one’s coming out in a couple of weeks! You must be so excited. I just pre-ordered mine.”
“That’s really thoughtful, thank you,” she says in a heartfelt tone. “But you didn’t have to do that—you know I would have sent you a signed copy.”
I shake my head. “No way. I want to help drive up your sales. Get you on the bestseller lists, where you deserve to be. I will take you up on that signature though, the next time I’m in Beachwood.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m so happy for you, Sunny. That’s why I’m calling. I’m thinking about making a career change, like you did. Close up shop on my design business, and focus on painting. It’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing, but I never thought I’d get the chance, until recently.”
“Jenna, that’s incredible! I had no idea you loved to paint.”
“It’s kind of a long story,” I begin with a wry laugh, and then I tell her all about my passion for art, my thwarted dreams, and my journey back to them. “I want to take the leap, but I’m scared I won’t be successful. Did you ever feel that way? When you quit law to become a writer?”