Thirty-Seven
Saint
Since Winter left, I haven’t left the house much, even though it feels empty without her.
Our days of sneaking around and spending time here have branded it with her memory, and now that she’s gone, it’s like a scar.
The longest I was out was when Cypress called to ask for a hand at the farm, which surprised me a little since their busy season is over, but I still went over.
We moved a few heavier items into the storage barn, but it felt like something that Douglas could have helped him with after school.
With nothing on my schedule for the day, I plan to laze around the house, but those plans are quickly dashed when I get a call from Sandy.
I greet her, but I’m unsure why she’s calling since the store is closed down this time of year, and I usually only hear from her about work or on occasional run-ins that are commonplace in a town as small as ours.
“Oh, Saint, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s an issue,” she answers.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“I forgot to switch the contact information with the security company from my phone number to yours at the end of the season, so I just got a call from them. They said the alarm was triggered and you’re needed on the premises while they investigate the cause.”
We quickly say our goodbyes, and once I throw on my boots and a winter coat, I leave, driving as fast as is safe in the slightly dreary wintry mix of weather.
It doesn’t take me long to make my way downtown, which is relatively deserted due to our recent poor weather, and park in one of the spaces outside the shop.
Looking around the area, I don’t see anyone who appears to be from the security company, but I do notice the shop’s window is lit up, which it shouldn’t be.
Jumping out of my SUV, I hustle to the door and pause for a second when I notice the window decorations. For some reason, the window has been painted with my name and declares an art show, dated today. What the hell is going on?
I jerk the door open and am met with a crowd of people, definitely more people than the empty parking lot would suggest.
Right inside the door is a stand offering hot chocolate and tea. Standing there, Sandy pours a cup of hot chocolate for an elderly man.
I raise my brows at her in question, and she gives me a look that conveys just a minute.
When the man Sandy was helping walks away, she comes closer to me.
“I’m sorry for the fib, but I was tasked with getting you here.” She gives me a sheepish smile of apology.
“What is this?” I ask.
She gestures to the sign declaring the art showing, but I roll my hand, wanting her to explain.
She huffs out a small sigh before she spills, “Well, if you want to know, you might go ask the person in charge.” Then she gestures to the far side of the room.
Sandy walks away as I turn in the direction she pointed and lock eyes with Winter.
She stands in front of a wall where several of my recent paintings are displayed, and she’s talking to a tall blond man, but her brown eyes don’t leave mine as I approach her.
I move in her direction at a casual pace as I take in the room full of people who are walking around discussing my paintings that are displayed. Everything is arranged just so, very thoughtful and deliberate. It’s clear that a lot of care was put into the setup.
When I can no longer delay it, I stand in front of Winter.
I don’t know what game she’s playing right now or why she’s here, but she looks more nervous than I think I’ve ever seen her, and something about that softens me to her, just a little bit.
We stare at each other silently for a moment, but the clearing of a throat jerks us back to the present and the man standing beside Winter.
The blond man, whom I had briefly forgotten about, moves one step closer and places his arm around Winter’s shoulders. Despite how things ended between us, the sight of another man touching her makes me want to rip his arm off her shoulder in a display that I can only call caveman behavior.
“Is this him?” the man asks Win.
“Yes,” she replies and then introduces us. “Augustine, this is Saint Holland. Saint, this is Augustine Callahan.”
“The third,” the smarmy guy says as he reaches out to shake my hand.
I hesitate for a second, sizing him up. He’s tall, but now that we’re standing in front of each other, I can tell he’s a little shorter than my six-foot-four height, and he’s much leaner.
He looks like he’d fit perfectly into Winter’s life in the city, whereas I’m standing here in jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved shirt that has seen several winters now. We look like total opposites.
My eyes narrow as I reach out to shake his hand. I probably grip it tighter than necessary based on his wince.
As we unclasp our hands, a new man, dressed in a suit, approaches. He’s carrying two cups from the café down the road as he heads straight toward us and says, “Babe, I was able to get the chai nog. Today’s the last day they’ll be serving it.”
Oh great, how many good-looking, well-dressed dudes am I going to have to compete with?
My shoulders slump in defeat. How could I even measure up? I’m just a small-town guy, with a small business—yes, it’s profitable, but nothing like the city guys. What would I even be able to offer her that someone else couldn’t?
But I’m quickly surprised as the new arrival goes to Augustine and hands him the cup before kissing his cheek—not Winter.
Based on the laugh that bursts from Augustine, I must have been wearing my feelings all over my face.
He accepts the cup before introducing us. “This is my husband, Harley.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, and this time I actually mean it.
When introductions have all been made, Winter pulls me aside for a second, while the couple whispers together as we walk off.
She leads me to the door of the studio, which is now empty, primarily since the majority of my work that was stored here has been moved to the main room of the shop.
She locks the door before she launches herself into my arms. Instinct has me catching her and lifting her close to me, which is no hardship with her five-foot-two stature.
The next surprise is when her lips slam onto mine. It takes me a minute to catch up with what is happening, and when I do, I kiss her back.
It’s greedy. Despite not being sure what is happening, our time apart has only increased my longing for her.
Her small hand comes up to my hair and tangles in the waves, gripping tightly like she thinks I’m going to pull away and disappear. But I’m not the one who pulled a disappearing act.
When we break apart from the kiss, I take her in.
Her cheeks are flushed with pink, her lips swollen from the intensity of our kiss.
The realization of how much I’ve missed her hits me even harder than it has the past week and a half.
It was foolish to think I could let her get away and do nothing about it.
I should have followed her to New York, and I tell her that.
She smiles at me, and it’s so full of warmth, I can almost feel it radiating against my skin.
“Win, I—” I wasn’t fully sure yet what was going to come out of my mouth. Maybe I would have told her how relieved I am that she’s back, or maybe I would have begged her to never leave again, but I don’t say any of that because she cuts in.
“I’m sorry I left. It was a mistake, and I regretted it the whole time I was away. I know we have a lot to talk about, which I fully intend to discuss, but I’m hoping that is a talk we can have tonight, maybe at your place if that is okay, because my surprise is waiting for you.”
When I nod, she leads me back to the shop that she’s set up like a gallery. Royal, who must have shown up when we were in my studio, wolf whistles and wags his eyebrows suggestively when he sees us walking out hand in hand.
Instead of pulling away like she would have before her disappearance, Winter waves in a playful manner at him.
The couple Winter introduced me to before is now seated in a section of armchairs that have been set up in the corner, chatting with Sandy, who excuses herself when we approach.
“You were right,” Augustine addresses Winter.
“I’m always right,” she chides.
Harley playfully rolls his eyes at Winter in a friendly manner before saying, “Not always. Don’t make me remind you of the chartreuse dress you claimed was a great purchase a few years ago. You deserve jail time for wearing that in public.”
They all laugh, and it gives me a small peek into what her life might be like back in the city. It’s clear these two are good friends of hers.
“Okay, you’re right. I’ll amend my statement. I’m almost always right,” she says as she raises her hands in surrender.
We find ourselves talking with them long after everyone leaves for the night, including Sandy, who told me she’ll be by tomorrow morning to help clean everything up.
I told her not to worry about it, but she said she and Winter had made a deal already and that the extra money was well worth her time.
When dinnertime rolls around, Augustine stands, offering a hand to Harley to help him from this chair. The two seem to have some sort of silent exchange as they adjust their jackets and put on winter coats and hats.
Augustine nods to Harley, who reaches into his pocket and holds out a business card to me.
“I would like to host some of your work at my next gallery showing, if it is something you’d be interested in. I don’t need an answer right this minute, so think it over and send me an email when you’ve decided if you’re interested.”
Curious, I look at his card and see contact information for Harley Heart.
My head jerks up, “Holy shit.” I look at Winter with wide eyes. “Harley Heart, like the Harley Heart?”
That seems to get a chuckle out of all of them. But holy crap! The Heart family owns one of the leading world-renowned art galleries. People would kill to have work shown there.
He confirms through a series of laughs at my expense that he is the Harley Heart from the famous gallery.
Once goodbyes are exchanged, they stop at the door long enough for Harley to say, “Email me once you decide. I’ll have one of the lawyers send you our contract.”
The bell jingles as they disappear into the night.
Stunned by all that’s happened, I flop back into a chair.
“I can’t believe you know a famous gallery owner.” I shake my head. “Well, I guess maybe I can see it, since you’re both famous New Yorkers.”
She comes over to sit on the arm of my chair and wraps her arms around me.
I bask in the comfort her touch brings me, but another thought comes to mind, and I can’t fight it down. I have to say it.
“I don’t want these guys displaying my paintings just because they’re friends of yours. That wouldn’t be right. It’s too much. Artists go their whole careers wanting to catch their attention.”
She smiles at me, and it feels ill-fitting for the moment.
“They want your art because they like it, not because of their connection to me. Trust me. Harley wouldn’t want to be laughed at by his pretentious cousins because he chose to have mediocre art in his gallery.”
Once she has me convinced that this is a real offer, not just a pity gift, I ask her, “Want to come over for dinner?”
She makes a real show of thinking it over before asking, “Can it be Chinese takeout?”
“Anything you want.”
As we lock up and walk to my car, I quickly realize my mistake as I open the door for Winter. My house is a disaster. I’ve been basically living in filth as I wallowed over the loss of Win. Pulling my phone out, I send an SOS text to Royal.
Me: EMERGENCY
Me: Win wants to go to my house, but it’s a huge mess. Could you swing by and just like stuff it all in a closet? I’ll owe you a HUGE favor.
Royal: Dude.
Me: I know! I’m sorry to ask, but if you were in my shoes, I would do it.
Royal: Ugh.
Knowing he’s not impressed with my ask, I go for guilt. Royal is secretly a romantic at heart, even if his dating record would have you believe otherwise. I go for the kill.
Me: Don’t you want to play a part in me having true love? How am I supposed to bring Winter back to my house in its current state and seal the deal?
Royal: Fine.
Before I get to celebrate that I secured his help, I see the dots flashing, indicating he’s typing.
Royal: But you’ll owe me. Big time.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and hop in the driver’s seat. Then I convince Winter that we should eat at the restaurant rather than at home, which she agrees to, albeit reluctantly.