Chapter 25
Tad
Breezy and I were working out on the farm all day.
Well, I was working my ass off cleaning up the stalls in the barn, and she stayed busy playing with Tom and Betsy.
The little lambs follow her around like she’s their second mother.
Hell, even Mabel gets excited whenever she sees Breezy arrive on the farm.
But that’s probably because she’s just happy for a little break from her constantly bleating babies wanting to nurse from her every five seconds.
Randy, Bennett and Norah, Clay and Josie, and whatever other nosy busybody who’s inside this small town have been made to believe Breezy has taken a job as a Hanson farmhand.
It was Breezy’s big idea, said it was a means to an end to keep her brother and Norah off her trail. And since it gives me unfettered access to her, I went right along with it.
But I know how word spreads around these parts, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Eileen Martin shows up tomorrow morning demanding the inside scoop for an article.
Now, we’re in my bed, and Breezy lies beside me, propped on one elbow with her phone in hand and her thumb flicking as emails slide past her screen.
The sheets are tangled around her waist, her hair still damp from the shower she took before dinner, and she’s glowing in that effortless way that makes me want to stop time.
But her face is tight with focus and thoughts.
“You all right?”
She sighs, tossing the phone onto the mattress like it weighs too much. “You want to hear something crazy?”
I tilt my head toward her. “Always.”
She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Since the call with the headhunter today, I’ve had offers pouring in.
London wants me for a foundation position.
The MET’s sniffing around about curation.
MoMA’s circling. Even Art Basel and galleries in Chicago, LA, San Francisco all want meetings.
” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I haven’t answered any of them yet. ”
I don’t know about any of the shit she’s talking about, but I know enough to know that when her words come out of her lips, they should sound like triumph. But all I hear is defeat.
I keep my mouth shut for a second, because when I hear her mention places like London and San Francisco, a sharp, uncomfortable ache spreads like a vine inside my chest. And my mind whispers, Don’t go, Breezy. Stay here in Red Bridge.
It’s fucking selfish, I know. It’s selfish that I want her to stay in this bed where her hair smells like my shampoo and her laugh fills my otherwise-quiet house.
It’s selfish that I want her to stay in Red Bridge where I can see her nearly every morning, hear her tease Randy while he chases sheep around the farm, and watch her make my world bigger without even trying.
It’s selfish because I know I’m a broken fucking man and I can’t give her anything worth getting in return.
I swallow it all down and force myself to focus on things that make sense.
“Sounds like the art world’s rolling out the red carpet,” I finally say, keeping my voice light. “Clearly, they know talent when they see it.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She sinks back against the pillow.
“And you’d think after twenty years of killing myself to keep Bishop Galleries thriving, I’d want this.
That I’d want to prove what I’m capable of to myself and anyone who doubted me.
But…” Her shoulders lift in a helpless shrug.
“I don’t know. The thought of packing up, starting over, diving headfirst into a new career that will demand all my time and energy…
” She trails off, shaking her head. “I feel…tired.”
I shift onto my side, close enough to see the three tiny freckles scattered across her cheekbones.
“Sometimes I don’t even know who I am without the galleries,” she murmurs.
Damn if it doesn’t gut me to see a woman as perfect and beautiful and smart and funny as Breezy Bishop look like she doesn’t know where she belongs. She deserves more than that. She is more than that.
“You’re more than a job title, Breezy,” I say quietly. “More than a gallery or a city. More than the art world. Don’t forget that.”
“I don’t know if you’re right about that.” Her throat works as she swallows, and for a second, I think she might cry. Instead, she presses her forehead against my chest. I wrap my arms around her without thinking and pull her tight against me.
“Breezy, you’re the woman who helped me deliver twin lambs in a snowstorm,” I whisper into her hair.
“The woman who can make Randy stop bitching, which is a damn miracle, by the way. You’re an amazing aunt to Autumn.
You’re an amazing sister and sister-in-law to Bennett and Norah.
My sheep listen to you more than they listen to me, and Crosby refuses to take off that fucking yellow scarf you knitted because I honestly think he believes the two of you are dating in his pea-sized little brain. ”
A soft laugh bubbles up from her throat.
“Breezy, you’re the incredible woman who everyone in town is happy to see. Including me. You’re intelligent and beautiful and bossy as hell, but fuck, I think you’re pretty goddamn great.” Just your smile alone has the ability to make me forget how fucking broken I am.
“Thanks. Really. That means a lot.” That earns me a small smile, and it’s all I need to tip her chin up, brush my thumb along her jaw, and kiss her.
The kiss is soft and lingering and something that feels like a promise even though I can’t give her one. She slides her hand up my chest, fingers curling into me like she’s holding on for more than just tonight.
I roll her beneath me, easing the phone out of reach, and when she looks up at me with those big blue eyes of hers, I silently fear that I’ll never be ready for her to choose London or Miami or anywhere that isn’t here.
Which makes me the world’s biggest asshole because I can’t give her more than these fleeting moments of time.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, because it’s the only way I know how to keep her close without asking her to stay.