Remember Arizona: A Second Chance Romance (Country Love Collection)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  My mouth opened and closed a few times before the word ‘okay’ made its way out.

  Beaming, she returned to her hurried but hardly moving pace, and continued, “So, of course, this is the main gallery space.” Her arms extended on either side. “You can set it up however you—or your artists would like.”

  I zoned out as she went into superfluous details, choosing instead to absorb the inside of the space I hadn’t seen since the field trip we’d taken here in middle school.

  The exposed-brick wall on the left was layered with nostalgia that gave off a heavy aroma to the air. Warm reds and oranges covered the rest of the walls and peeked out like the sun from behind the painted-canvas clouds. My flats landed softly on the hardwood floor as I walked through the several lone pillars rising up throughout the open space.

  “Well, that’s it.” I heard Lorelei say with a small clap of her hands to signify the end of her tour of the one-room gallery. “I saw your little social hour ends at seven. I’ll be back to lock up then.”

  I turned to thank her, but she was already scurrying back to the entrance.

  If there was one thing I could count on, it was Bisbee continuing to keep things bizarre.

  Folding my arms, I let my mind superimpose the art for the exhibit all along the walls. The main pieces would hang on the brick. Smaller artists would each receive one pillar to display their work.

  It was perfect—

  “This isn’t going to work, Tally.”

  I jolted, forgetting for a split second I’d come to deal with him. Carlos sauntered up to me from the back door of the building, and I wondered what I’d ever seen in the guy; I wondered what had possessed me to date his whiny, genius artistic ass for over a year. Kendall appeared behind him, almost crashing into one of the displays, her attention distracted by her phone.

  “Carlos,” I mumbled, holding my arms and bracing myself. “What’s wrong?”

  “The brick.” He waved at the wall. “It won’t work. My pieces can’t go there.”

  Of course, there was an issue with my plans. It wasn’t enough that he’d cheated on me.

  “Okay, why not?” I asked, half turning to the front of the gallery where the small counter was located for me to set out all of the information packets I’d prepared.

  His groan echoed through the empty space, trailing behind us like a shadow. “It won’t work. It’s not my aesthetic. It’s not my vibe. I can’t” —his head shook rapidly—“I can’t.”

  Before I could avoid it, he reached for my shoulder and spun me to face him, gripping my other shoulder with an intense, pleading expression on his face.

  “It’s not right for the piece, Tally. This piece was born from emotion. Deep, consuming, painful emotion. It needs to stand freely. It needs to stand alone—” he broke off, his eyes widening and then narrowing, breaking through the fog of his artistic aggravation like this was the first time he’d really seen me since I got here. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  Shit.

  Notching my chin up, I did the only thing I could do when I didn’t have a good answer for him. “Where do you want your painting, Carlos?”

  It wasn’t any of his business where my boyfriend was anyway.

  “It needs to stand alone,” he repeated, his demand fading with that soft exaggeration that only qualms of no importance could have. “It needs to rise up from the center.” His hands tightened on my shoulders as I tried to pull away and his forehead drifted down onto mine.

  I rolled my eyes and waited for his moment to pass.

  It was no use trying to break him out of these trances. I wasn’t sure why I’d found them attractive when we’d met in school, maybe because of the intensity with which he could feel something and let it consume him without being burned. The only time that had happened to me, my heart had been decimated. But Carlos, he could venture into pure emotional vulnerability and embrace it. Maybe I’d dated him only because I was in awe of that small piece.

  “Carlos,” I chided with a low voice.

  He sucked in a breath, but continued to hold his face inches from mine. “It was created from emotion, Tally. Hot and bright. And I want people to walk in and be struck by it like lightning. With no warning. No way to prepare their hearts for the experience.”

  “Alright, Carlos,” I conceded, wedging my hands in front of me to push on his chest. “Alright.”

  He stepped back, arms falling and head tipping back with a loud inhale like I’d brought him back to life.

  “Good.” He nodded, pressing his palms together like he was praying and bringing the tips of his fingers in front of his mouth. “Okay. Now that I can accept this space, let me see how this needs to be set up.”

  When his attention turned back to the gallery, I let my head fall back and a muffled cry escape.

  It was fine. I could still make this work. This wasn’t the first exhibit I’d had to change the layout on, and it wouldn’t be the last. That was the downfall of working with creative people—they were endlessly creating questions and changes. Never decisive. Always recreating.

  Within the next hour, the other ten artists featured in the exhibit arrived and, with the help of the small trays of hors d’oeuvres I’d had delivered and the several bottles of champagne that were nearly gone, a general agreement had been worked out to everyone’s satisfaction as to the layout and the placements of the paintings.

  Leaning to the side, I rested my shoulder against the exposed brick. After Carlos’ minor breakdown, I’d treated myself to two glasses of champagne, preparing for whatever came next.

  “So sorry to hear about you and Carlos,” Zane, one of Carlos’ friends and another artist from New York, slithered up to me, his folded arms disappearing against his black turtleneck and black blazer. (Yes, even in Arizona, fashion superseded sense.) “And then for you to have to come here, coordinate his show—”

  “My exhibit.” My interruption was firm and unwavering. Carlos had taken a lot from me, but he wouldn’t take this.

  He waved me off, the distinction missing in his mind. “It must be just terribly awkward for you, Talia, especially because Kendall is here.” He pronounced my name in the worst way. T-ahh-lia. Exaggerated.

  I took a deep breath, clinging to every shred of professionalism I had stored in me.

  Artists liked drama.

  It made sense. Drama was vibrant and colorful. It was engaging. Promising.

  “I appreciate your concern, Zane, but—”

  “But the only thing terrible and awkward here is you,” Nico, another one of the artists, broke in as he sashayed up to us, adjusting the fuchsia silk scarf around his neck.

  I’d only met Nico at one exhibit before, but I’d always thought his work was excellent and now, I decided he had a personality to match.

  Zane’s head tipped, a frown tugging across his sly mouth. “Nico,” he clipped but didn’t leave, instead dragging his eyes back to me and continuing, “Carlos mentioned you have a new boyfriend as well, so I guess maybe these next few weeks won’t be too straining for you.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. I’d been avoiding this all night. With Carlos, it was easy to brush him off with attitude. He no longer deserved to know anything about me and he knew that.

  “Yes, and his name is Sam.”

  I jumped, Carlos appearing from behind me and inserting him into this conversation he so desperately wanted to be a part of.

  “Where is Sam?” His question was both an inquiry and accusation, his eyes dancing around the tune of the truth.

  I took a long, slow sip of my champagne. Too long and too slow—and drained what was left in my glass.

  “Why do you care so much where Sam is?” I retorted, depositing my cup on the table behind me.

  “I just worry about you, Tally.” He sighed. “I didn’t expect you to have a new boyfriend so soon—”

  “Something that also shouldn’t matter to you,” I reminded him.

  I didn’t know how I’d missed it bef
ore. As his fame in the art world rose, so did his almost mythical opinion of himself. Everyone was supposed to see him as a visionary, and it made up for his otherwise asshole-like actions.

  “Tally.” His voice deepened, and he angled himself to face me. “Please. I didn’t want to hurt you, you know that. This is just… me,” he murmured. “This is how my brain works. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  Ugh. The worst part was he was dead serious. There was a deep-rooted sense of caring in him that sprouted every so often. But most of the time, it was doused by the tidal wave of selfish egotism he continued to bathe in.

  “Carlos.” I raised my hand as he stepped closer, believing some sort of affection would make me less hostile toward him.

  His exhale was loud and cascading. “I would just hate to think you made up a relationship just so you wouldn’t have to be here alone like I’d left you behind.”

  My nostrils flared with my sharp, burning inhale. But it was the look he sent Zane and the sad shake of his head that made my blood boil.

  Fine.

  I would just tell him and deal with his obnoxious reaction. It was only a few weeks. And if I was being honest, it was surprisingly less unnerving to see him and Kendall together than it was to see Sam again.

  “You know what, Carlos, fine,” I replied, straightening my spine and swaying with the rush to my head. “I’ll tell you where Sam is. He’s—”

  “Right here.”

  I gasped and spun—far too fast for the alcohol in my blood to let my balance keep up. But Sam reached out, securing me with one arm around my shoulder.

  Dark, smoky eyes locked on mine, letting my breath fizzle from my lungs in an unsteady stream. Whatever I’d been feeling—the tingling warmth from the champagne, the heated frustration from the conversation with Carlos and Nico—it melted under the intensity of his stare. It reached right in and closed around all the vulnerable parts of me—parts he shouldn’t still have access to—and sealed them with the kind of protectiveness he’d always shown when we were younger.

  “Sam.” I breathed his name. The syllable was the first steady breath I’d taken all evening.

  His other hand rose, brushing a lock of my hair behind the shell of my ear and then, slowly, he bent toward me. Air doused my lungs feeling the tender brush of his lips against my forehead.

  “Sorry I’m late.” His words dragged over my skin and sent a rush of warmth through me.

  “I didn’t think you were coming,” I murmured, wishing I’d kept the words to myself the second after I’d admitted them.

  “Of course.” His low, hoarse tone settled deep in my stomach; its roughness working to dull all the sharp edges of my broken pieces—the parts of me he was responsible for breaking.

  Sam pulled back, and I scolded myself for wishing he didn’t.

  This is just for show, Tally.

  With his arm still around my shoulders, he looked at Carlos with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “I don’t think we were properly introduced,” he said. “I’m Sam. Tally’s boyfriend.”

  He extended his hand, and I took the opportunity to take in the rest of him. His dark, V-neck tee clung to the swells of his shoulders, draping down over the width of his chest, and tucked just in the front into his light-wash jeans. I followed Carlos’ gaze as he regarded Sam, particularly the moment it landed on Sam’s hand wrapped around my shoulder. I noticed the faint reddish tint to his fingers, like he’d been working with dirt.

  Belatedly, I realized I didn’t even know what Sam did anymore. I assumed something with cars since he’d stayed on the reservation with his dad for so many years and worked with him.

  Maybe it was rust.

  “Good to meet you. I’m Carlos. Artist and ex-boyfriend.” Carlos beamed and shook Sam’s hand firmly, refocusing my attention on the awkward moment before me.

  I bit back a groan, perpetually annoyed that he thought it was some sort of medal.

  There was not enough champagne in the world to dull the awkward moment when your ex-boyfriend met your fake boyfriend.

  “Nico Manganaro.” The other artist fluffed his scarf again, giving Sam a flirtatious smile while he gingerly shook his hand. “A pleasure.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Sam pulled me just a little tighter to him when he reached for Nico’s hand, my front brushing against his side.

  I caught Nico’s gaze when Sam returned his attention to Carlos; he gave me a wink and a wide smile, appreciating the fine male specimen I’d provided.

  Carlos shifted his weight, one hand coming to rest on his hip and a flash of annoyance marring his admittedly attractive features.

  “So, Sam, will you be joining us for all the other events Tally has planned? Or will you just be crashing the tail end of them like tonight?” Carlos went on.

  I balked and, if I hadn’t been held at his side to feel the slight tensing of his muscles, I wouldn’t have known how the words affected him.

  “Of course.” And there it was, the sparkling wide smile—the one that hit me in the stomach and then rolled lower into a ball of ache. “Tally’s been missing from my life for so long, now that she’s here, I’m determined to spend every moment I can making up for it.”

  The words flowed so easily and smoothly off his tongue, I would’ve sworn they were real. And that was my downfall. Sam wasn’t a good liar. He wasn’t a good liar because he didn’t believe in lying.

  Except when it came to protecting me.

  And this, right now, was nothing more than another instance where he stepped in—and lied—to take the heat off of me.

  Carlos grunted, and Kendall chose that moment to appear by his side, wearing a form-fitting black bodysuit that had x’s taped with strips of white duct tape over her nipples and platform leopard-print sandals.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Her words were lazy, just like her half smile, and her eyes glassy.

  I’d brought the champagne, but someone else had sponsored the marijuana. And Kendall had clearly been indulging.

  Sam nodded and extended his hand. “Sam,” he introduced himself.

  She actually blushed taking his hand. “I’m Kendall,” she murmured, her gaze growing even more foggy as she looked at him from underneath her lashes—lashes I was surprised she had the strength to bat with how much mascara coated them.

  “You’re cute,” she blurted out, and the awkward moment got worse.

  Much worse, especially because she giggled. Actually giggled.

  Jealousy zinged up my spine, and I sucked in a breath. I’d felt a lot of things when I’d walked in on her and Carlos naked—when I’d found out about his affair. But I realized right now, by comparison, that jealousy hadn’t been one of them.

  Oh no.

  One conclusion led to the next.

  “Kendall, you’ll make him blush, doll,” Carlos told her, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. The glint in his eyes and the clench of his jaw poking tiny holes in the lightness of his teasing, causing it to leak with insincerity.

  She shrugged, smiling and chewing on her lower lip like she hadn’t yet realized she needed a snack. “Maybe he’d be interested in artistic experimentation,” she replied, anchoring her hand to his chest and sliding it underneath the collar of his shirt.

  I flinched, and Sam tightened his hold on my shoulder. I felt him glance at me—felt the way he wondered if I was okay.

  Rather he think I was annoyed by their brash talk and PDA than admit it was a possessive reflex at the thought of anyone experimenting anything with him.

  “He’s not like us,” Carlos whispered loud enough for us all to hear, placing an open-mouthed kiss next to her ear while staring at me the entire time.

  Dick.

  Sam cleared his throat, having had enough of the show. “Nice to meet you both. Welcome to Bisbee.” He managed to hold a cordial tone and a tight smile.

  “Well, we’re glad you could make it,” Carlos replied, kissing Kendall’s templ
e. “And we’re excited to see more of you.”

  “Oh, yes,” Kendall chirped and then giggled some more.

  Excessively.

  To the point where Carlos, annoyed that her focus could be on anyone but him, cupped her cheek and turned her face so he could kiss her. No. Not kiss. He proceeded to make out with her in the middle of the gallery like they were the ones on display. It was ridiculous, but I wasn’t going to complain. It took Carlos’ nosy focus off of me, and it easily distracted Kendall from her weed-induced infatuation with Sam.

  That second part was something I shouldn’t care about.

  And I didn’t.

  So what if I still harbored some attraction to him? It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t change the damage he’d done. It wouldn’t. My heart was a permanent construction zone. Flashing lights. Caution tape. Warning signs.

  It might be hot in Arizona, but there was no way in hell I was going to fall for the man who’d broken my heart.

  Shuddering, I turned away out of Sam’s hold and reached for the few empty cups that had collected on the table, making a point to be preoccupied with cleaning up after artists who, as a species, would never do such a thing for themselves.

  “Hey, Tally.” Sam’s timbered voice caught me just before his fingers brushed the back of my arm. “Are you alright?”

  Looking over my shoulder, I watched his eyes flick to Carlos and Kendall, and realized he thought I’d pulled away because I was upset about them.

  “Yeah. Fine.” I nodded, forcing a smile. “Thanks for coming. You really didn’t have—”

  “You want to get out of here?”

  “What?” I stammered, looking around like there was a reason to refuse hanging from the gallery’s walls.

  He stood in front of me, purposely flooding my view with him and only him. “Do you want to go get some pizza?”

  He shoved one hand into his pocket, the muscles along his forearm rising against his skin like magnets pulled their steel-like strength to the surface.

  I licked my lips. Lorelai was going to close up the gallery in the next fifteen minutes anyway.

  No, Tally. Do not agree.