Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Wade cups my cheek, brushing his thumb against my skin. "I'm so damn sorry you lost her, baby."
"Me, too. Is…is that why you brought me here?"
"Partly. That sketchbook is the other part."
My brows furrow.
"The new owner, Eve, wants to meet you," he murmurs. "I showed her the drawing you did for me."
"What?"
"You're an artist, Harlow, not a bartender. Art is what you should be doing. Eve can help." He pauses. "If you're willing to meet her. The choice is yours."
I stare at him, shocked. "She wants to meet me?"
"Desperately," he confirms.
I take a deep breath, certain he can feel the way my hand trembles beneath his. An actual gallery owner wants to meet me. It's been…too damn long since that last happened.
"Let's do it," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Good girl," he breathes, grinning at me.
Chapter Seven
Wade
Eve isn't just excited to meet Harlow. She's fucking thrilled from the moment we step over the threshold. Harlow is a little stunned beside me, clinging to my hand like she thinks if she lets go, everything might slip away and she'll wake up back in her bed.
That isn't going to happen, though. This is real. It's what she deserves. I wasn't just flattering her when I told her that her drawing was incredible. I meant it. Even a cowboy like me knows talent when he sees it. And she's talented as hell.
"It's so good to meet you," Eve says, beaming at her. "When Wade showed me your drawing, I was desperate to get you in here."
"Um, thanks," Harlow whispers. "It wasn't my best work."
"Are you kidding? It was fantastic!" Eve says, looping her arm through Harlow's to draw her deeper into the gallery.
I stand back, letting her have this moment. It's about her anyway. She doesn't need me right now. She just needs to soak it in and realize that she deserves this.
"I brought my sketchbook," she says, holding it out to Eve almost like it's a shield.
Eve's eyes light up before she takes it with reverent hands, sinking onto a long bench. Harlow sits beside her, fidgeting nervously as Eve flips through the pages, asking questions about one drawing or another, or offering praise.
She's not even halfway through when she closes the book, passing it back to Harlow. "How soon can you have enough pieces ready for a show?"
"What?" Harlow says, shock written all over her face.
"A show," Eve repeats. "I can absolutely get enough people in here to sell everything you're willing to give me."
"I…I… Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously."
"I have a couple dozen paintings already," she blurts. "And two years' worth of drawings."
"Excellent!" Eve cries, clapping her hands. "We'll set up a time to go through them, start working on a theme, a night, the guest list…"
Harlow just gapes at her, shell-shocked.
Eve notices and chuckles, squeezing her hand. "It's not happening nearly as quickly as you think it is, Harlow," she murmurs. "And it's overwhelming, but that's part of the fun. I'll do the heavy lifting. All you have to do is show up. Deal?"
"I…" Harlow looks to me.
"It's your call, beautiful," I murmur, not willing to make this decision for her. "It's your art, your dream. I'm just the guy who drove you here."
"Oh, I think you did a little more than that," she murmurs.
I wink at her, but don't say anything. Truthfully, I didn't do all that much. Her work spoke for itself. I just brought it where it needed to be seen.
"Deal," she says to Eve.
"You're in?" Eve confirms.
"Yes."
Eve beams at her, but Harlow isn't looking at her. She's staring at me, a mix of emotion on her face that has my heart threatening to pound clean through my chest.
Does she even know how beautiful she is? Or what she does when she looks at me like she thinks I'm something special? I'm just a cowboy. She might be a goddess.
I fully intend to make her my goddess.
As soon as we step outside of the gallery, she flings her arms around my neck, leaning up on her toes to press her lips to mine. "Thank you," she whispers, her tone fervent, the sun catching in her hair.
I grunt, catching her around the waist to kiss her properly. She goes pliant in my arms, mewling into my mouth. My dick presses against my zipper hard enough to leave indentions.
Fucking hell. I want her in ways I've never wanted anything.
I break the kiss, breathing hard.
"You don't have to thank me, Harlow," I murmur. "But anytime you feel the need, that's how you do it, all right?"
"Okay." She smiles at me, all shy and sweet, not even remotely like the guarded woman I met at the bar a week ago. This version of her is softer, sweeter, less cautious. I fucking love it.
"You hungry?"
"I could eat."
I grin, leading her back to the truck. "Tacos or steak?"
"The answer is always tacos, Wade."