The Art of Appreciation

by Markus, Autumn

  Abby shrieked, laughing, and pointed to her room. Matt dumped her on her bed. “Nice,” she said. He sat on the side of the bed to flick off his socks.

  “Well, I have caught you checking out the goods a few times…” He slid onto the bed beside Abby, half-covering her with his body and smiling against her lips. Hands and lips and bodies started to move, quiet moans and sighs of pleasure, little chuckles and the sound of skin against skin getting louder as the world narrowed to the two of them.

  They froze when there was thumping on the stairs.

  Sarah ran by the open door, holding her hand up to shield her eyes. “I’mnotlookingI’mnotlooking,” she chanted as she dashed past. The bathroom door slammed, and loud sounds of retching began.

  Matt flopped onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes and breathing heavily. “Kind of a mood killer, isn’t it?” he asked, starting to laugh. Each retch brought another spate of giggles from both of them. Matt kissed Abby on the forehead and sat up, reaching for his underwear.

  She lifted up on her elbows, frowning. “I thought you said you’d stay.”

  Matt slid his slacks on and buttoned them. “Are you sure that’s a good—”

  “Aaabbyyy…” Sarah’s wail from the bathroom cut him off.

  “Damn.” Abby slid her legs off the edge of the bed and looked for her robe.

  Matt grabbed it from the hook on the door and extended it toward her, but he grasped on to Abby’s outstretched hand instead of releasing the robe. “Pretty, will you let me look at you?”

  Abby chuckled uneasily. “Haven’t you been doing that already?”

  “No. I’ve been touching you. For a minute, would you let me just look?”

  It was funny how a simple request could rattle her so much. Somehow, his looking at her body unimpeded and with her permission seemed more intimate than touching.

  “Please, Abby,” he whispered, dropping the robe on the bed and taking another step back.

  Abby’s heart started to pound. She stood up, aware of every flaw and imperfection as he scanned her form from face to feet. Twenty had passed her by well over a decade earlier, and while Abby knew that she was in good shape, doubts about the firmness of her breasts and the tautness of her stomach assaulted her. Matt’s eyes moved slowly over her torso, chased by her flush. He paused at her chest, and Abby was sure he could see the way her breathing had picked up—certainly the tightening of her nipples had to be visible. She fought the urge to harden her abdomen even as her stomach muscles clenched inside. She was acutely aware that her hips, while not large, had rounded with age, and even her feet came in for some quick mental criticism as Matt’s gaze drifted toward them.

  His eyes gradually returned to hers. The fire and softness in them took her breath away. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and Abby was in his arms again as his lips sought hers in a searching kiss. Though the passion hadn’t changed, the urgency had; this kiss felt like a conversation, each of them giving and taking in equal measure.

  “Now I really don’t want you to leave,” Abby whispered when Matt folded her robe around her shoulders.

  A moan from the bathroom made him smile. “I think Pukerella needs you.”

  Abby slid her arms into the robe. They walked down the stairs, sniggering as they collected cast-off clothes. Matt tugged his T-shirt over his head and shrugged into his jacket, slipping his shoes on at the door.

  “Stay inside, sweetheart. It gets cold after midnight.” Tugging on the lapel of Abby’s robe, he pecked her on the cheek.

  “What’s with the brother-kiss?” Abby teased.

  “If I kiss you again, I’m going to say the hell with Sarah, so I’ll just say good night.” He touched Abby’s cheekbone with the tips of his fingers and headed out the door.

  She followed him across the porch and waited to wave goodbye. Matt turned around and walked backward after he stepped onto the walk. “Come over tomorrow? The Ancient Mariner and his plastic wife are visiting.” One side of his mouth turned up. “Claire is desperate to get you and me together, so she’ll let me hurry them along. Then we can spend the rest of the day together.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Matt raised his eyebrows and grinned, turning around to wave goodbye over his shoulder.

  Abby felt a thrill of anticipation, only to have it quashed by Sarah’s doleful moan from upstairs. Maybe it was time for a talk with her friend, as much as she dreaded that. No amount of vacation fun was worth the noise she was currently making. Abby heaved a sigh and started back up the stairs, dropping her gathered clothes on the couch as she passed.

  A high-pitched giggle greeted Abby when she peeked around the door of Matt’s studio the next day. Matt looked up and smiled before returning his attention to Mrs. Baker. Abby settled into his desk chair to enjoy the show.

  Mr. Baker prowled the room, poking into cupboards and looking at tools, clearly bored. Only the black and white body shots of Zoe that were tacked on the board held his attention; he asked if he’d be meeting the model that day. When that was denied, Baker turned in a huff and walked away. His wife clutched at Matt’s forearm and began a series of inane questions about his work. Claire distracted Bambi by complimenting her tiny outfit and big hair, and the girl ate it up.

  “Now, this is more like it.” Matt’s head whipped around. Baker was standing in front of Matt’s mystery sculpture, now uncovered. He admired it from every angle as he swiveled the pedestal on which it sat. “I’ll give you five thousand for this right now.”

  The look of horror on Matt’s face as he strode across his studio to return the cover to the sculpture might have been funny if Abby hadn’t been so stunned. Though her brain tried to deny that the sculpture was of her, her eyes knew the truth.

  Matt smiled tightly. “This one’s not for sale.” He turned back toward Claire and Booby Barbie. “Maybe you’d like—”

  “Ten.” Baker pulled a cell phone out of the inner pocket of his suit coat. “Ten thousand for an unfinished clay is more than generous. I can have it transferred right now. With whom do you bank?”

  Matt’s smile remained, but his eyes went cold. “It’s not for sale.”

  Tension floated in the air between the men. Mrs. Baker looked from one of them to the other, confused.

  The surprise on Claire’s face resolved itself. Looping her arm through Baker’s, she talked brightly about the statues that he’d purchased, stopping just short of promising him one of the smaller sculptures. She mollified his wounded pride by complimenting him on his taste in choosing Zoe as a model. Bambi trailed behind them, picking at her nails. Tossing out an invitation to a late lunch that she clearly didn’t mean for Matt and Abby to accept, Claire led the Bakers out the door.

  The silence in the studio was profound. Only the small sounds of Matt collecting the tools he’d been using that morning broke the quiet. He carried them to the sink and turned on the tap.

  Abby raised her feet onto the chair’s seat. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees.

  “So,” she said. “Do you have something you want to tell me?”

  Chapter Eleven

  MATT’S SHOULDERS SLUMPED. He kept his back to Abby, as though he was still cleaning his tools, but his hands gripped the sides of the sink.

  “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way, Abby.” It seemed safest to keep looking at the bottom of the sink.

  “Did you mean for me to ever find out?”

  The curiosity in her voice wasn’t exactly friendly, but she wasn’t tearing into him. “I’d like to say yes…the best part of me, the part I like, says that. But I’m just not sure.”

  “Hmm.”

  Matt waited for her to continue talking, but she was silent after her noncommittal grunt. A slither of cloth startled him, and he turned to find Abby stretched on tiptoe, removing the drape from his private work.

  “Abby, I—”

  “A minute, please.” She cast the barest glance toward
Matt before returning to her observations. She rotated the tabletop upon which the statue rested, occasionally stopping to look more closely at a singular spot before resuming the slow revolution.

  Matt leaned against the table behind her. Watching. The longer her silence went on, the more convinced he was that he’d had his last chance to feel her skin underneath his fingertips; his stomach clenched at the thought.

  “Well…it’s pretty clear this wasn’t done since last night.” Abby’s voice held rueful humor. She studied another section. “When did you start this?” She traced the curve of a shoulder that was identical to the one she washed each day. Matt desperately wished that she would look at him.

  Lifting himself to sit on the high table, he thought for a moment. “That night at The Catalyst, you were holding your hair up like that. I saw you, and I wanted to touch the curve of your neck. It looked so strong and so very soft…”

  Abby shrugged off her overshirt and tossed it on a stool, and he felt the same impulse to stroke her skin. He half-rose from his sitting position, and then thought better of it and sank back down.

  “I had an image of you, of this statue, and I sketched it that night. After that…it sort of took over my brain. I’ve been working on it on and off since then.” He studied her back, his gaze drifting down and over the curve of her bum, comparing what was before him with the sculpture’s back; the clay form could use a tiny bit of adjustment.

  Abby slid her hand along the sculpture’s outstretched arm until she could touch the clay hand. “And this is the last part you worked on,” she whispered.

  Matt’s head jerked up. “Pretty much. How—”

  “‘I’ve been thinking about your hands all day,’” Abby quoted his own words back at him, and Matt had a sudden and total recall of how it felt to finally have those hands on his skin after spending the day crafting their doubles in clay. Remembering how warm and gentle they were and the sound of Abby’s laughter in the dark, how she’d felt to him…The words that might make her understand his need to sculpt her caught in his throat and left him speechless.

  Rotating the table again, Abby broke the silence. “You’ve been doing this along with your other sculptures?” Her hand rose to her eyes. “This is…overwhelming.”

  Words came back to him in a rush. “Abby, I’m sorry. I swear I never meant for anyone to see the statue—I’d never show it, or sell it, or…” He slid off the table, reaching toward her shoulder before dropping his hand to his side. “You fascinate me, and I just…I never meant to hurt you. I…” This time he did touch her shoulder. “Christ, Abby, would you please look at me? I’m dying here.”

  Abby turned, a shimmer of tears in her eyes. “It’s not perfect,” she whispered. She looked back at the sculpture and chuckled, wiping at her eyes.

  Matt turned her face back around with one gentle hand. “I can change it. I’ll destroy it, if you’d like. Anything you want.” He contemplated what it would feel like to destroy something that was so precious to him. The clutching in his chest distracted him so much that he had to close his eyes and breathe deeply, pillowing his cheek on Abby’s hair. He was so preoccupied in readying himself to do whatever it took to stop Abby’s tears that he almost missed her next words.

  “I want you to finish it. That’s what I want.”

  “What?” His head snapped up. “You said it wasn’t perfect.”

  Abby smiled and shrugged. “Neither am I, Matt. Thank you.”

  Matt’s head was spinning. “For what?”

  “For seeing me. For not Barbie-ing up what you could have. For being honest, but kind.” Abby brushed a tear off of her cheek. “For making me beautiful, but still me.”

  Matt wrapped his arm around Abby’s waist and turned her toward the sculpture, then revolved the tabletop upon which her clay doppelganger stood. “This is how I see you, Abby. And you’re beautiful. I didn’t ‘make you’ anything.” They stood quietly for a minute before Abby looked up into Matt’s face, smiling at the tenderness written there.

  “Thank you for that, too.”

  “Anytime,” Matt murmured. He brushed a few stray tendrils of hair back from her face, searching her eyes for some sign of hurt and finding none. He leaned down, eyes asking for permission before he kissed the corner of her mouth.

  Abby’s hand cupped his cheek for an instant before creeping into his hair, fingers running between the strands before they traced the hint of a curl at his nape. He groaned, pulling her more tightly against him, but his kisses remained gentle, searching for response.

  She turned in his arms and stroked from his throat to his stomach. He smiled against her lips. “Sure you want to go there?” he asked as he covered her hand.

  “I thought you liked me to touch you.” She caught Matt’s lower lip between her teeth and teased the edge with her tongue before abandoning it to press slow kisses along his jaw.

  Low laughter rumbled from Matt’s chest. “I definitely like it.” One hand sought the soft depths of her hair, smoothing the strands, as his other hand restlessly moved over her back. “You’ll find out how much if your hand goes maybe an inch lower.”

  “What, here?” Abby whispered in his ear, letting her hand drift down that crucial bit. She chuckled at Matt’s indrawn breath and the shiver that shook him, but it was cut off as he tightened his arms and dropped his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss. Despite Matt’s efforts to distract her, Abby continued to explore until the sound of discrete throat-clearing finally stilled her hands at the waistband of his jeans.

  Matt raised his head, but only far enough to rest his forehead against Abby’s. He took a steadying breath before speaking. “This better be good.”

  Chris’s voice was filled with laughing apology. “Sorry, cuz. Claire’s on the phone. I told her this might not be the best time, but she answered in the ‘don’t fuck with me’ voice. ’Scuse my language.”

  Abby chuckled. “Go,” she murmured. “I’ll still be here when you get back.” Stepping back, she smiled at Chris. “How are you today?”

  He leaned in the doorway and snickered as Matt discretely adjusted his clothes. “Can’t complain.” His eyes flicked between the still exposed statue and back to Abby. “Not doing as well as some I can mention.” He caught the paperweight Matt hurled at him as he passed, and tossed it back and forth between his hands, grinning.

  “Hello, Claire,” Matt said, opening the fridge and reaching for the carton of juice. “Are you going to use the ‘don’t fuck with me’ voice with me, too?” He swallowed the last two mouthfuls and lobbed the empty carton at the garbage can.

  “I should, but I think I might have saved your ass.” There was a pause, and Matt heard the tiny click of a lighter and the corresponding deep inhale.

  “Charlie’s gonna kill you when he smells that stink.” Matt sank down on a kitchen chair and kicked off his shoes.

  “Shut up,” Claire said. “I’ve been good for a long time, and Charles is out of town until Friday. Besides, he’d understand in this case.”

  Matt rested his head against the wall and put his arm over his eyes. “What’s the damage? Did I lose the sale?” He began to run through the things he needed to do immediately, like stop the next shipment of clay and get a firm commitment from the potential buyers of Steamer Lane Swell before they had a chance to speak with Baker.

  “It was a near thing,” Claire grumbled. “You’re just lucky that I took lessons in charming the devil himself from my husband. Want to hear the deal?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Baker really wants that sculpture. Bottom line. He offered me fifteen K on the spot, twelve for you and three for me, if I could convince you to sell.”

  “Not gonna happen. Alternate offer?”

  Claire laughed. “You know me too well.” Matt heard her take another quick drag on her cigarette. “I offered him the three statues we showed last night. I know that together they’re worth as much as he offered, more if you have them cast in bronze like we talked about. I jus
t thought that giving up that sale was well worth the small fortune I gouged out of him for the larger statues. Thoughts?”

  Matt didn’t even take a full minute to think about it. “Hell, he can have all six of them as far as I’m concerned.”

  “We’ll keep the other three back for now, thank you very much. Considering the way you push Baker’s buttons, we may need that negotiating tool later.”

  Matt chuckled. “Probably a good idea.” He paused. “So…what do you really think about this? Hit me.”

  Claire sighed. “As your quasi-agent, I’d advise you to sell the damned statue to him and keep the others to sell later. You’re a fool to throw away as much money as you’re potentially trashing.”

  “And as my friend?”

  “I’m thrilled for you, Matt, and I’ll kill you if you ever consider selling it.” Claire’s voice was warm. “The sculpture is striking, but it’s the sculptor who makes me smile. You really like this woman, and it shows. It’s about damned time.”

  Uneasiness gripped him. He glanced toward the studio to be sure Abby couldn’t hear. “Don’t get your hopes up, Claire. I like Abby, sure. But you and I both know—”

  “—It’s just a summer thing. Right. I’ve known you for too long. Sell that to someone who’s buying, because it ain’t me.” She took a final deep inhale. “There. I’ve polluted my body enough for another six months or so, if you behave yourself. Now I’ll call Baker and rave about the fabulous deal he just made and all the money he rooked you out of. Do I know how to play the man, or what?” After a wicked laugh and a brief goodbye, the line went dead.

  Matt returned to the studio to find Abby and Chris in deep discussion. He watched with amusement as Chris pulled up his shirt to demonstrate a position he’d taken to represent a javelin thrower readying his throw. The tension in the lean muscles of his torso was obvious, each separate abdominal muscle in sharp relief.