Present
I CAN COUNT on one hand the amount of times I’ve felt anxious in my life, and I’m not proud to say that this is one of them, and furthermore, that I have nobody to blame but myself. I don’t allow myself to entertain the idea that maybe this time I lost her, because I refuse to accept that possibility. I pick up my phone and dial the number I’ve been calling every day since she left.
“What’s up?” Victor says after two rings.
“Has she called yet?” I ask.
“Dude, you need to chill. Maybe you should take an extra shift or something,” he offers.
I laugh. “I just worked fourteen hours. The last thing I need is an extra shift.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you, man.”
I sigh. Tell me I still have a chance. Tell me she’s mentioned me, that she’s thinking about me, and that she hasn’t given up on us. I don’t say any of those things, only because I know I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Have you talked to her?” I ask finally. She’s been back for two days, and I haven’t heard a word from her.
“For like two seconds. Other than the fact that she’s pissed off at me, she’s been busy. She’s . . .” he pauses, letting out a breath. “She’s moving her stuff out of my house. Apparently her realtor got her a place on the beach that she’s in love with,” he adds in a lower voice.
That she’s in love with. His words simmer in my head for a beat. I want to be the object of that love. I’m not worthy of it, but I want it.
“When is she moving?” I ask.
“I’m supposed to help her this weekend. She’s been busy with the gallery too, though, I don’t think she’s purposely avoiding you, I just think it’s bad timing.”
“Fuck bad timing,” I say, hitting my steering wheel. I let out a long breath.
“I’ll . . .” he pauses. “Bean, you’re my brother, you know that. You’ve been there for me more times than I can count, but she’s my little sister.”
“I love her more than you can ever imagine,” I say, not caring whether that makes me sound like a *, because it’s true.
“I know. That’s why I’m going to talk to her, but I really think she’ll come around and call you.”
“Just tell her, please. If you talk to her before I do, make sure you tell her.”
“I will,” he promises. “All right, I gotta go. My client just got here.”
A WHIRLWIND OF emotions runs through me as I leave my realtor’s office with the keys to my new place. When I left, she promised she would call me soon with some possible gallery locations. The lease is up where I am now, and after discussing it with Wyatt’s mom, I decided I want to move the gallery closer to me. It’s currently positioned conveniently close to our old house and his parents’, which is far from my new place and my parents’. Felicia, once again, gave me her blessing and told me to do whatever I needed to do with it. She did ask for one of Wyatt’s paintings, but that was it.
I park outside the gallery, where Dallas has been a permanent fixture for a couple of weeks now, and I’m grateful for it. He’s standing right by the front door, giving me a grand smile when I walk in, and he greets me like a game show host.
“Oh God, I hope this isn’t how you greet people, because at this rate, my three customers will turn into none,” I say, and laugh when he waggles his eyebrows.
“This right here,” he says signaling at himself. “Sold a painting today!”
My mouth drops in surprise for a moment before I beam at him. “What? You’re serious? Which one?”
“One of Wyatt’s,” he says with a shrug, walking toward the one with a sold sticker on the sign beside it. It’s one he drew of a naked woman . . . well, her silhouette. He never told me who she was, but I assumed it was his ex.
“My God,” I breathe. “You really should keep working here.”
Dallas laughs. “I do what I can. I put the paperwork in your studio. By the way, Oliver has come by a couple of times.”
I stop walking and turn around. “And?”
“Just letting you know. He has a busted lip. He still looks good though,” he says with a wink. I roll my eyes and smile. I step into my studio, picking up the paperwork as I sit in my chair. I leaf through it, making sure Dallas filled it out properly, and look up when I notice something in front of me. There’s a large white canvas sitting on the easel that faces my desk. Oliver’s handwriting covers it. This is our canvas. Let’s paint it how we want it. I love you, always, Oliver.
Happiness blooms inside of me as I stare at it. It’s so simple . . . so him . . . and I love it. I know I have to call him, but every time I think about it, my heart sinks at the thought of him leaving. I finish signing the papers and leave them in the same spot. When I step out of the room and start making my way back to the door, I see Dallas on his phone.
“When did he do that?” I ask, nodding toward my studio.
“Last night.”
“Does he know I haven’t been in since I got back?”
“I told him you hadn’t,” he says.
“If he comes back, tell him I saw it. I left the contract on the table. Thank you so much, Dal,” I say, kissing him on the cheek.
“Anything for you, dahling,” he responds. “I’m taking lunch in two minutes, wanna grab something?”
“Not today. I have to go have an actual conversation with my brother and convince him to help me move this weekend.”
“You let me know if you need anything,” Dallas calls out as I shut the door behind me.
On my way to Victor’s, I call Mia and tell her about the canvas.
“That’s so sweet,” she says. “Are you going to call him before or after you move?”
I groan as I park my car outside of Victor’s law firm. “I haven’t had time, and I don’t think what needs to be said can be said over the phone.”
“I don’t think he’s left to San Fran yet,” she says.
“I don’t know what I’m more scared of—calling him and him being over there or calling him and him being here. If he’s over there, I know he left for good. If he’s here, I’ll get my hopes up that maybe he’s staying . . . but it’s Oliver. He’s not going to back out of a job once he got it,” I say with a sigh as I turn off my car and walk toward the building.
“He might surprise you, Elle,” she says reassuringly.
“I don’t know if I want him to. I don’t want him not to take the job and hate me for it.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Upon hanging up with Mia, I greet Victor’s secretary and sit and wait until he’s done with his meeting. She calls to tell him somebody outside of his schedule is there to see him. He growls for her to let whomever it is in, and I can already picture him rubbing his forehead as if he has a ton of bricks on it.
“I would never hire you if I was a new client,” I say, walking in. His head snaps up from his hands, and his eyes widen. He stands quickly, but stays behind his desk.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”