15. Layla
LAYLA
Ican’t deny I haven’t cried myself to sleep the past two nights. The sting of knowing there’s still a price point to pull Stetson away rips open a scar. It’s not even the fact he was leaving. I’d love to join him or Karli on a trip. Hell, I might even look into it for myself.
Walking out of my bathroom the other day to an empty apartment made it feel like he was gone for good. He reeled me in and spit me back out just to leave me with my own heart to patch again. He made me believe things would be different…but he wasn’t open with me.
I couldn’t be around him the other morning even if I had planned to have my muse by my side.
Now, I stand in a fancy dress, missing him.
Stetson texted how proud he is, and he’s looking forward to coming.
But he wasn’t here with Parker or his parents for setup and hasn’t come by my apartment since I asked him to leave…
and I guess he respected my wishes. I replied with a basic “thanks” and left it at that.
I wouldn’t hate him if he ended up at the other event, but the walls will be firmly back in place.
He’ll need to put in some extra labor to earn my trust.
“You’re all set, hottie.” Karli slaps my ass as we stand in the middle of the gallery amongst the maze of paintings.
Nerves transform into excitement. Being personally invited, I didn’t need to pay the space fee, just a commission percentage. I’ve accomplished another dream doing what I love.
“Thoughts on the silent auction?” A few pieces I’m having trouble parting with are what I’m hoping to profit the most on. I’ve featured them as in-person exclusives because they’re not—and won’t be—on my website or social media.
“It’s a smart move!” Karli leans in closer, examining the painting I was most excited for Stetson to see. “This one is an unexpected piece from you and quite the showstopper.” She eyes me suspiciously. “I’m not asking questions.”
“Good call.” Joy settles my heart as we are minutes from opening.
Harold, the host, has been so cheerful and kind and I’m excited to make him proud with tonight’s success.
I’ve earned this. He welcomes the guests with a heartwarming introduction, followed by my own speech.
As I look in the crowd, Stetson is noticeably absent—this discovery and speaking publicly churns my stomach.
“These are stunning, but your giant goat is coming home with me.” Finn, one of the Hearts Bend town council members, comes up to me halfway through the event.
“I painted that with you in mind.” This man buys every goat painting I have available. Some things I’d rather not question.
“I’m so proud of you. No surprise most of your paintings are already sold.” Pride courses through me, my smile stretching wide.
“I’m so thankful for everyone’s support.” Seriously. Folks are not only buying but requesting custom pieces.
“The silent auction paintings are a spin on your usual approach.” I know exactly which one he’s referring to because the two others are landscapes.
“We’ll see how they do.” I smile as he gives my upper arm a squeeze.
“Chat soon.” He wanders to a group mingling near his newly acquired piece.
For the first moment to myself, I stand squaring my shoulders.
My spine fights to lengthen. A massage would be nice after being in these heels.
Overwhelmed by it all, I focus on the center painting.
The knot in my stomach tightens wishing Stetson were here.
Wishing we could go back to the moment I painted.
A blurred woman on her knees in front of a man. His hand is in her hair as he stands. With brush strokes and layers, it’s almost abstract, but look again and you clearly decipher the racy moment. Our moment to be more specific.
“There is no way anyone is outbidding me for that auction piece.” Stetson’s voice is low, right by my side. “You look absolutely stunning, Layla.”
“Stetson!” My body perks up, yet relaxes at the same time. It’s something only he triggers.
“I’m here, sweet girl.” I gawk at his suit and champagne in hand. Hot damn, mister. Seeing him in his cowboy getup is one thing, but cleaned up? He really pulls this off. And I want to pull it off him. “That piece does not belong in front of anyone’s eyes but ours.”
“You’re really here.”
“I told you I would be.” His eyes hold hurt but I turn back to my paintings. “How proud of yourself are you for getting these completed?”
“I unplugged the Wi-Fi for two days to get this spicy bedroom piece finished,” I ramble in one breath.
“Painting that must not have been easy given how we left things.” He gently touches my elbow, and I turn to face him. “How I left things.”
Blinking, I look at my painting.
“Did you get in trouble for canceling?” I’m thrilled he’s here, but don’t want his name tarnished.
“Not your problem.” His deep blue eyes send warmth through me. “You were my priority.” My lips tug higher. “Sorry I was late. Had to make a pit stop along the way.”
“I’m happy you’re here.” Emotion cycles through me unexpectedly.
My nose stings, fighting tears of joy. Having him choose me instantly solidifies how prioritized I am.
Even my mother had other plans. His eyes meet my lips.
He’s ready to lean in, but a throat clears, jolting me back like a teenager being caught sneaking around.
“Layla Martin.” Harold, the organizer, catches my attention. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve officially sold out. The later crowd cleaned house.”
Oh my goodness.
“That’s…amazing.” My brain short circuits, processing his words.
“Congratulations.” He smiles as I shake his hand. “We’d be happy to partner with you again. My friends wanted to snag the middle exclusive painting, but someone far outbid them.” My man.
“I’d be honored to partner with you again.” Containing my squeals is difficult, but it stays locked in my abs.
“Stetson.” A middle-aged woman comes up, resting her hand on his shoulder.
Is this twist in my gut jealousy? That’s my man.
“You were right. I arrived just in time to snag the final painting.” She turns to me.
“Your boyfriend is one lucky man finding a talented young lady.” Now I recognize her—Lindsay, his manager. “I see why you’re his number one.”
“Thank you.” Whoa.
“Keep shining, Layla.” She turns to Stetson. “Thanks for the invite, Tomahawk.” She uses his rodeo name before leaving.
“Are you mad?” Stetson stares down at me.
“Why would I be?” He went out of his way to put in a good word.
“I was late to the event but needed to pick up a few people at the airport.” I don’t care who’s around—my arms wrap around his neck and my body is flush against his. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“I’d say we’re on the right track for a strong, lasting love.” My eyebrow raises as I push up on my tiptoes.
“For you, I’d do any amount of labor for your love.” His hands rest on my waist, fingertips digging in, claiming me like a possession.
“I love you, Stetson Hayes.”
“I love you too, Layla Martin.” And right there in the middle of the gallery, our love becomes its own form of art. Beautiful, a little messy, full of labor, and forever ours.
THE END