Chapter 2
Chapter Two
I n his studio that evening, Nick let his thoughts drift back to the Andrews home and his meeting with Rebecca Andrews.
Tapping his pencil in time with some classic Springsteen, he pondered what he could do for the woman that would fit in with the rest of her room and still showcase his talents.
Clearly, she liked nice things, but so traditional.
She’d worn a gray pantsuit with a crisp white blouse.
Simple jewelry. Very businesslike. And judging from her daughter’s comments, she could be difficult to work with.
No big deal. He’d worked with difficult people who lacked vision and design sense before.
But did he still even have a chance after the car incident?
His lips twitched, and he let out a chuckle.
He’d put his foot in his mouth with the daughter, dissing the big city.
Ah, well, sounded as if he was better off without her endorsement, anyway.
There were obviously some issues there, but he had no interest in stepping into any mother-daughter drama.
A lifelong philosophy that so far had served him well—stay out of other people’s business.
He shook his head and opened the fridge for a bottle of his favorite microbrew, which rarely failed to put him in the proper frame of mind.
Thousands of people would trek through the Andrews home on the Symphony Tour, and the architects and designers who did the work on each home were invited to leave sample brochures and business cards for guests to pick up.
It would be tremendous exposure—the kind of publicity you couldn’t buy.
The entire wall needed to be a dramatic focal point.
As he began to draw, he thought of Rebecca’s daughter again.
He figured many a guy had been lost in those soft, sexy eyes of hers.
He remembered the feel of her hand on his arm and the creamy slice of smooth skin that had peeked out from under her sweater when she reached for a glass in the kitchen, the way her jeans hugged her petite frame.
Nick let his thoughts run a bit before reining them in.
No sense thinking of her at all. She might as well live in a different universe.
Still, he couldn’t help but recall the admiration on her face as she looked at the photos of his work, the curve of that little smile.
She’d recognized his talent, realized that his works were one-of-a-kind pieces of art.
He sat up straighter. She liked the deco mantel.
He sketched a quick drawing then flipped the page.
Maybe he could modify it, give it some ornamental details to make it more traditional in style.
He sketched some more. A darker finish would also take the design more traditional. Now he was getting somewhere.
When he lifted his pencil nearly an hour later, he reached for his beer—then grimaced as he swallowed a gulp of lukewarm liquid. Oh, well, combined with the satisfaction of some finished concepts, it went down all right.
Nick set aside the sketchpad. Without that on his plate, he could think about Christmas—gifts that needed finishing.
But what popped into his head again was New York City.
He moved to the living space and turned on the television.
Funny how the city had featured in his day.
It was as if some invisible gravitational pull had him in its clutches.
Though he had little interest in being there, his thoughts were never far from New York these days—not the city itself, but the audition with Home Builders TV that would take him there.
He’d entered the competition on a whim, never expecting to make it this far. The fact that he was being flown in for an audition indicated he’d made the final cut in the talent search. That meant his work had made the cut. And now he wanted the gig.
The question the network had to answer now, the one that required a personal interview and live screening, was which candidate could handle the on-camera spot.
Who was at-ease in front of a film crew?
Who could take direction? Who could speak clearly without mumbling or stammering or sweating?
Like it or not, the winning candidate would have to look good on TV. Would he?
* * *
Kat left the house at ten the next morning, eager to see Nana.
But first, she took a few minutes to run by the floral shop.
Moving past the traditional evergreen and holly berries, she found a mix of bright green and white mums. She added some deep red Gerbera daisies and a variety of greenery to create a Christmasy bouquet with a little more pizzazz than the usual fare. Nana would love them.
Flowers in hand, Kat left the shop feeling lighthearted, but apprehension grew as she neared the senior complex.
She pulled into the lot and inspected the place with critical eyes.
Red brick combined with white clapboard siding and hunter green shutters gave it a homey, residential feel.
Comprised of both apartments and nursing center, the complex was larger than Kat expected—and nicer.
The neat and tidy grounds featured hedges trimmed with such precision that no branch dared poke higher than another.
Potted trees twinkled with lights at the entryway, and huge but tasteful holiday wreaths hung on the front doors.
Not bad, so far. Inside the lobby, the receptionist pointed her in the right direction, and Kat wandered down several corridors in soothing shades of sea and sand before arriving at the wing of private apartments for the residents living independently.
When she came to Nana’s number, Kat set down her computer bag and knocked softly.
She heard rustling from inside and knew that Nana was making her way to the door.
Nana opened the door and then her arms. Kat flew into them, hugging her grandmother tightly.
She stayed there a good long time, taking comfort in those arms the way she had as a little girl.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held in a big hug full of pure affection and unconditional love. Probably the last time she’d seen Nana.
“Dearest Kat, it’s so good to see you.” She pulled back and put her hands on Kat’s cheeks. “You look wonderful.”
With tears welling in her eyes, Kat pulled back and gazed at Nana.
Her wide smile showed every line and crease in her face.
Those lines indicated age, for sure, but also happiness and laughter.
Nana’s wrinkles were the sign of a kind and joyful spirit.
Her eyes still sparkled. Her thick white hair was styled elegantly away from her face, and her cheeks shone with a hint of brushed-on color.
The silk scarf she’d paired with her caramel pantsuit had threads of gold running through it and was obviously hand made.
Even at eighty-five, Kat saw the resemblance to the classy and beautiful young homecoming queen her grandmother once was.
Kat gave her another quick squeeze then handed her the flowers. “These are for you. Do you have a vase?”
“Under the sink. Thank you, sweetie. They’re absolutely beautiful.”
“I’ll get it.” Kat picked up her bag and moved toward the kitchen but took a moment to look around the apartment.
Though small, it seemed nicely decorated and comfortable.
And right above the sofa hung Kat’s Field of Sunflowers, the watercolor she’d done in college for her grandmother.
Kat swallowed the lump in her throat, touched that Nana had brought it with her.
She arranged the flowers and set them on the counter where Nana could see them from both the kitchen and sitting area.
When Kat turned, Nana held out her hand. “Come and sit by me. I want to hear all about everything. You’re young and beautiful, and living in the most exciting city in the world. What’ve you been doing with yourself? How’s your job? What are you working on?”
Kat snuggled in beside her grandmother. “Well,” she drawled.
“There is one bit of news.” She met Nana’s expectant eyes and grinned, ready to burst with the news she hadn’t yet shared with anyone but her best friend.
She wanted Nana to be the first of her family to know.
“I’m getting ready for my debut gallery show. ”
Nana squeezed Kat’s hands. “That’s fantastic. So exciting. Now tell me when and where. I want to come see it.”
“Oh, Nana, it’ll be in the city, and–”
“And I’m going to be there.”
Kat’s breath caught on a little laugh. Could Nana make the trip? Kat hadn’t considered that possibility, but it would be wonderful to have her there. She probably shouldn’t get her hopes up, though.
“It’s not one of the top galleries,” Kat told her. “But it’s still a good one. I can’t wait. The owner of the gallery will choose ten to twelve pieces.”
“Did you bring any for me to see?”
“I can show them to you on my computer.”
“Yes! I want to see them.”
Kat retrieved her laptop and set it on the coffee table. “Nana, I wish you’d get a new computer so I can send you these things and we can have video chats.”
Nana had made attempts to email when Kat first went to college, but somewhere along the way, she’d had technical difficulties and had given up. And she had no interest in keeping track of a cell phone. With her beautiful handwriting, she enjoyed writing old-fashioned notes and letters.
Nana held up a hand. “You’ll be happy to know I have an appointment with Stan the computer man—that’s what they call him—here at the center, and he’s going to set me up. I’m going to try, I promise.”
“I’m glad.” Kat opened the Loft show file folder. “These are just pictures I took with my own camera, not professional ones.” She slowly scrolled through the photos while Nana oohed and aahed.