At the sound of Chris’s voice, my eyes go wide, a cringe following. How did I let myself end up on the floor?!
“Chris,” Sara says, whirling around to greet him.
“Fuck, Sara,” he says, his voice growing closer. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
Sara is around the desk in a heartbeat, and I don’t know what to do. Stay down or get up?
“I forgot it when we went to the coffee shop.”
“Baby,” he breathes out. “It’s only been a few months.”
My brow furrows at the curious comment that seems to explain his over-the-top reaction.
“Seven months,” she says. “I know that’s still not a long time, but we both need to let it go. We need some semblance of normalcy.”
“Normal?” he asks. “Have we ever been normal?”
“No,” she says, her voice softening. “And I love that about us.”
“Keep your phone with you, baby,” he says. “Please.”
“I will,” she promises. “Stop worrying.”
“I won’t,” he promises. “Did Faith already leave?”
“Actually,” Sara says. “She’s on the floor behind the desk.”
I cringe all over again and suddenly Chris is standing over me, big, blond, and wearing a t-shirt that displays the artistically perfect, multi-colored dragon tattoo sleeve covering his right arm. “Why are you on the floor?” he asks.
“I was admiring your work. It’s stunning. The detail is perfection and yet you had to do it on a ladder.” I sit up, hands behind me, holding me up. “Is it bad for me to admit I have a crush on you right now? Completely professional, of course, but it’s powerful.”
Sara laughs and hitches a hip on the desk. “A lot of people feel that way about Chris.”
Chris squats down in front of me, his intense green eyes boring into mine. “But not you,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
“Don’t idolize another artist,” he scolds. “Appreciate their skills. Study their technique, but when you idolize them, you can’t see your own work clearly. Focus on your own work and based on what you’re doing thus far, I can promise you, success will follow.”
“In fact,” Sara says. “Why don’t you come to work here full time? Chris can mentor you and I get two gifted artists helping me make this place a success.”
I blanch. “I…I wish that I could, but I can’t. I have the winery to think about.”
“Don’t you have a management team to run it?” Sara asks.
“Yes, but it’s complicated. And I can’t afford a misstep. I’m alone—”
“What about Nick?” she asks.
“Nick and I are new and I don’t expect him, or want him, to take care of me.”
“That’s a conversation for you and Sara,” Chris says, “But all I can say is that painters paint.”
“I know,” I say, “but my family has owned this winery for generations. It was everything to my father. He expected me to run it.”
“Your father,” Chris says flatly. “That’s another topic for Sara. And on that note, I’m leaving.” He stands up and turns to Sara, and I swear he doesn’t even touch her, and they sizzle.
“I’ll meet you at home.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Your phone,” he says.
“I know,” she says.
They stare at each other for another few sizzling moments and then he’s gone. To my surprise, Sara then sits down on the floor next to me, cups in hand, and hands me my coffee. “Sorry about that.”
“I’m sorry. I feel like I eavesdropped.”
“You didn’t. And Chris is protective, but he’s not that over the top. There was…an incident in Paris.” She cuts her gaze and visibly shakes herself and then rotates to lean on one shoulder and face me. “I can’t talk about it. Maybe one day, I’ll tell you. Not now. Even if we knew each other that well, I’m just not ready, but let me say this, Faith. The past year has reminded me that life is short. We only get one chance to live it. Painters paint.”
“I know, but it’s complicated.”
“My father is very rich.”
“Like Chris.”
“My father is nothing like Chris,” she says. “Chris is strong, tough, dark in ways I understand, but he is kind, generous, gifted, generous. Did I say generous?”
“And your father?”
“Brutal. Self-centered. He treated me and my mother horribly. And he wanted me to live the life he designed and when I refused, he disinherited me. But even then, when I had the courage to walk away from him, I took a teaching job, when art was what I’d studied and loved.”
“Why?”
“Fear. Money. Stability. You know galleries don’t pay much.”
“What changed?”
“I found a journal. Rebecca’s journal. Inside it was all her deepest thoughts, fears, and confessions. Impossibly, it seemed, she wanted to be in this world, too, but resisted for the same reasons I did. But then one day she walked into a gallery, this gallery, and her life changed. She dared to chase her dream. And she was younger than me. Braver. She inspired me. I came to look for her, and she was gone. I never met her. I took her job. She led me to my dreams. To Chris. And now…”
“I’m here,” I say, rotating to lean against the desk. “And with Nick.”
“Yes,” she says.
“I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”
“Is that comment about your art or Nick?”
I glance over at her. “Both, I think. Nick and I are new.”
“I moved in with Chris a few weeks after meeting him and I was terrified. He was bigger than life.”
I face her. “Yes. Nick is so—everything.”
“Good. He should be.”
“I’m not ready for him to be everything.”
“Because you’re scared?” she asks.
“Yes. He hasn’t revealed all of himself. I know this. I sense it.”
“Chris once told me that we are all the sum of all of our broken pieces. You can’t grow if you don’t risk more damage, Faith. You can’t find the person who makes you whole again if you’re afraid. Nick. Your art. Whatever it is, ask yourself: What if there is no tomorrow? Because there was no tomorrow for Rebecca. It can happen to any of us.” She cuts her gaze and swallows hard, seemingly shaken, before she stands up. “I want you to work here,” she says, pushing past the obviously upsetting topic. “I want you to paint one of the offices the way Chris did this one,” she adds. “Pick one. Any one, but if you say you’ll do it, you can’t stop coming here until it’s done.”
“You want me to—”
“Yes. Say yes, Faith.”
“Yes.”
She opens a drawer and pulls out a key, offering it to me. “Your key. I’ll pay you two hundred thousand dollars a year. I’m going home to my husband. The security system arms if you hit the button by the door.” She starts walking toward the door.
“Sara,” I say.
She turns to face me. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. I’m really glad to have you here.” She disappears into the hallway and I believe her. Sara and I are alike in ways few people could understand. And suddenly I have two people in my life who fit.
I’ve never had anyone in my life that fit.