10. Good Art is Supposed to Do That
Chapter Ten
Good Art is Supposed to Do That
Neve
Ihave absolutely no clue where we’re going. If it were pretty much any other guy telling me to get in their car because they have a surprise, I almost certainly wouldn’t go.
But this is Grant. I trust him, even as we drive right to the edge of town, almost back over the bridge where my old apartment used to be, until we come to a little community center right on the outskirts.
“Where are we?” I ask as he cuts the engine.
The sun is setting, casting orange across the suspension cables, throwing shadows across the bridge and into the water. When Grant looks at me, his eyes light up in the glow, and the sunset oranges bring out the auburn tones in his hair and his beard.
He’s too attractive, and it’s a little unfair—especially when he smiles like that.
It might be the first unguarded smile he’s given me. I get that he has to be pretty careful, especially when we’re on campus, and I’d never want him to risk his job—but seeing him like this is mesmerizing. I want more of this relaxed, at-ease Grant.
I want him for myself.
The thought straightens my spine, though it’s not surprising at all—to me or probably to him—I think I’ve made my position pretty clear, especially after blurting that I want him the day I gave him my number.
“Have you met Cade’s sister, Liv?” he asks, locking the car.
“Yeah—when Fia and Cade did their seminar thing.” I chuff a laugh. “We’re both pretty clumsy, apparently.”
Grant smirks to himself. “Why doesn’t it surprise me to learn that you’re clumsy?”
I feign affront, slapping a hand to my chest. “You wound me.”
He quirks a dark brow, and it makes him look a little rakish. I want to climb him like a tree.
“So, come on, tell me. What are we doing here?” I gesture to the empty lot around us.
Grant tips his head to the building behind me, and I turn to look. It seems run down but carefully repaired, and there’s a hand-painted sign on the door.
BIG SHOTS ART SHOW
My brows fly up. “We’re at an art show?”
He steps up behind me, so I can feel the heat of his body permeating the air between us. “Is that all right?” he asks, sounding unsure for a moment.
I glance back at him. “Yes. Of course. I love art shows. It’s Liv’s?”
His smile grows, bringing out his dimples, which are painfully disarming. As if I even need disarming; I’m already disarmed.
“Yeah, she set it up, but it’s actually the artwork of the at-risk kids she works with. They do a lot of murals and stuff around the city. This is a project they’ve been working on for a while.”
“I love that,” I say softly, and I mean it.
Grant’s swallow is audible. “I, uh… Liv’s daughter, Ivy—she’s a little younger than Sera, but they love spending time together.
Since Liv’s schedule is more flexible than mine, she takes Sera one day a week when she’s with me, and they go somewhere.
Usually it’s art related, or they go to a museum or something. ”
Oh, God. That might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.
I risk a glance at Grant, and he’s looking steadfastly forward, like he can’t decide if it was a good idea to give me that part of himself.
“I think that’s really cool. Especially since they’re doing something enriching. She’s lucky that you set that up for her. So is Ivy.”
Grant’s face lights up, and I soak it in. He chuffs a self-effacing laugh. “Enriching,” he echoes. “Yeah. My favorite ‘enrichment’ Liv has inflicted upon Sera might be convincing her to get a little Helen Fisher doll at the museum for International Women’s Day.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “That is incredible.”
Grant laughs as well, and it warms the space between us as we walk into the building. “Apparently, Liv told her that Helen Fisher did a lot of the kind of work I do.”
I guffaw. “Probably the best, kid-friendly explanation you could give her right now. How old is she?”
“Six.” He flashes a smile, but then it falls from his face, and he sucks in a deep breath, as if cleansing himself. “She’s the best.”
I touch his arm. “I’m sorry changeover days suck,” I offer. “That’s what this is supposed to help with. So, how about we check out some cool art and just… play it by ear, yeah?”
He squares his shoulders, trying another smile. It’s genuine, I can tell that much, but it’s thin, nonetheless. He’s struggling, and I really do hope this helps. He nods, stoic. “Right. Sure. Let’s go.”
When we step inside, the lighting is soft; no overheads, just downward spots above each piece, showcasing what’s there as if it’s in a little microcosm of its own.
I don’t know how old the kids here are, but the art is gorgeous. Most of it looks like acrylic, with dozens of different colors, patterns, and layers. It’s like being on the inside of a chaotic explosion of energy.
“These are incredible,” I breathe.
Grant walks closely behind me, and I swear at one point I can feel his hand hovering over my lower back. I want to believe it is.
“They are,” he agrees.
“You’ve seen them before?” I glance at him over my shoulder, and he flashes a totally panty-melting smile. I try not to react, but if Grant King could stop making me want to ride his beard in public, that would be fantastic.
“Yeah. Liv invited me to the opening night. I brought Sera.” He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “The theme was ‘inside your brain,’ and a lot of the kids Liv works with are neurodivergent—Liv herself has ADHD—so she likes working with kids and letting them know it’s not always a weakness.”
“It can be a strength, sometimes,” I murmur, glancing up to him. “I have it, too.”
Grant flashes another smile, knocking his shoulder into mine in a way that feels both affectionate and deeply erotic somehow.
I don’t know how he does that. Maybe I’m just horny.
Around him, it’s like I’m always horny, and it makes me feel like a bit of an asshole—like, if I were a guy, it would be downright creepy.
“Hey!” A voice from across the space pulls my attention, and I whip around to see Liv, smiling wide and bright—she looks so much like Cade, the genes in that family are uncanny—and her earrings trail all the way down to her collarbones, little strings of rainbow beads that whisper when she moves.
“You didn’t say you were coming back out here—and you brought my favorite soon-to-be sister-in-law once-removed. ”
“Say that five times fast,” Grant deadpans, and I snort a distinctly unladylike laugh right before Liv envelops me in a huge hug. Another noise squeezes out of me, along with all the air in my lungs.
The Aspens are a family of huggers, but I don’t mind it—I love a good cuddle, unlike my sister, who had to take a little time to adjust to being accidentally hugged, though they do try their best. Especially Cade’s mom, Ret.
She’s the loveliest woman, but a little absent-minded, and from what I’ve heard, she often forgets Fia isn’t a hugger.
Grant tips his head to me after Liv graces him with a huge hug as well. I try to push down the swell of jealousy—not because I think it means anything more than a hug, but because I want a damn squeezy hug from Daddy Grant King.
God, I need to stop calling him that—it’s getting unironic.
I wonder if he secretly likes it, too.
“I’ve got to keep things organized, but let me know if you need anything, okay?” Liv says, and then she’s gone in a cloud of sweet perfume and a whisper of the beads in her earrings.
“So, do you take Sera to lots of artsy stuff?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Grant smiles. “Yeah. Sera loves art. Give her a craft, she wants to try it.”
“Girl after my own heart,” I say with a laugh.
He shakes his head as we walk around the conference boards, where art pieces are hung up and placed on plinths and pedestals. There’s everything from 2D canvas paintings to clay sculpture and plexiglass boxes with refracted light as the entire piece.
“If Liv does it, it’s even worse,” he says fondly. “She loves her to death. Whatever she does, Sera wants to do it. I had to have a pretty stern talk with her about drawing on the walls after Liv started doing murals.”
I guffaw, my head tipping back. My first instinct is to cover my mouth, because I’m always conscious of drawing too much attention by being loud in public, but Grant just grins, his dimples popping, and the lines around his eyes deepening.
Something slow and heavy thuds in my chest the second I realize he doesn’t seem to have a single instinct to try and shrink me or make me shrink myself.
“If Liv is painting the walls, why can’t she paint the walls, right?” I say, trying to deflect from the thoughts swirling around my head.
“Right.” Grant walks ahead of me. “This one’s my favorite.”
He points to a painting on a small, square canvas.
It’s impossibly bright, listed as being made with acrylic paint and markers with layers and layers and layers of detail.
There are neon squiggles and void black patterns and pops of white, along with every other color I think I’ve ever known how to name.
I swallow hard as I look at it. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow,” Grant echoes. He huffs a soft laugh. “I didn’t think of it before, but it actually kind of reminds me of you.”
My ribs go tight. “Yeah?” I try to keep my voice even, but it squeaks up to chipmunk despite my best efforts. “Why?”
Grant shrugs, hands in his pockets as he studies the piece.
I do the same, and it makes me a little afraid of what he might say—because if anything, yeah, it reminds me of me, too.
Because it feels like so much. Not too much, really.
I’m not arrogant, but I don’t mind spending time with myself.
I’m not too much for me, but there are few other people who are amenable to spending a lot of time around me.
The list is pretty much limited to my sister, her fiancé, and Vida Lennox.
Everyone else just seems to… wilt under my too-muchness.