A young woman with blonde hair, almost the color of her surroundings rises from the stylish modern white desk. She wears a collared button down black dress, pantyhose, and black high heels.
“Welcome to McKay Galleries. Would you like a glass of wine or champagne?”
Sara looks at Grace with her eyes wide. Grace has never known such extravagance.
“Wine would be lovely,” Grace says, as she reaches out for the young woman’s hand.
“Red or white?” the young woman says with a warm smile.
“White, please,” Grace says with a warm smile.
“And you, ma’am?”
Sara smiles. “I’ll have the same.”
The woman disappears up the modern chrome staircase.
“Wow! I’ve never been in a place like this. It’s so extravagant.” Sara says, as her eyes trail over the interior of the gallery.
Grace walks over to a canvas photograph of a vineyard hanging on the stark white wall near the entrance to the gallery. “Sara, come and look at this,” she says, her eyes not leaving the photograph. Coated with vibrant, warm, fall colors of brown, orange, purple, and hints of green, the photograph jumps out amidst the other works on the wall.
“Look at the detail in the vineyards. I can see tiny grapes here.” She points. “This is phenomenal photography.” Grace wishes she could step into the warm sun that shines on the majestic hills.
Sara sighs, as she comes up behind Grace and stands next to her. “That’s beautiful.”
The young woman’s heels hitting the stairs cause Grace and Sara to take their eyes off the photograph and turn to view her walking down the stairs with two glasses of wine in her hands.
“This is beautiful,” Grace says, reaching to take her glass from the woman.
“It is,” the young woman says, as she passes another glass of wine to Sara. “It’s from a photographer in Napa Valley, California. Mr. McKay lives there. This is his parent’s winery.” She points to the photograph.
“The colors are so vibrant. Michelle would flip over this photo,” Grace says, returning her gaze to the picture.
“It’s awesome,” Sara says, as she sips the wine.
Grace brings her glass to her lips. “This wine is fantastic.”
“It’s a Riesling from the McKay’s winery,” the young woman says, smiling. “We have more work from Branson back here,” she says, as she motions Grace and Sara to follow her to the back of the gallery.
They pass by a large jagged sculpture placed dead center in the gallery. Crinkling her nose, Grace tries to figure out what it is as they walk past the artwork. Grace and Sara admire more of the photographer from Napa’s work and the young woman leaves them alone to view the work in private.
“I hear the gallery owner is young. He’s your age or maybe mine. All the divorcées are going gaga over him. He’s apparently quite good looking,” Sara says, between small sips of her wine.
Grace raises one eyebrow and gives Sara a wicked giggle.
Before Grace can respond to Sara a deep, rich voice echoes behind them. “Welcome, ladies.”
Grace turns. Standing there in a dark pair of jeans and a gray swoop-necked sweater is a very tall, slender, but obviously muscular, man. His blonde hair is shaggy and hangs down just past the middle of his neck, with bangs sweeping up to the side of his forehead. His smile extends to his light brown eyes and causes his face to wrinkle a bit on either side of his lips. Grace loses her ability to breathe for just a second. A tiny gasp from Sara pulls Grace out of her fantasy. Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks he’s hot, she laughs to herself.
“I am Benjamin McKay,” he says, extending his hand out toward Grace. He grips her slightly chilled hand with his, warming her up. He does not blink or take his eyes off hers as he shakes, slightly caressing her fingers with his. His hand lingers in Grace’s for a moment and Grace can feel her pulse quicken. He releases her hand and then extends it out to Sara, not letting it linger in Sara’s palm for quite as long. Sara’s eyes bulge and Grace watches as she bites down on her bottom lip and bats her eyelashes. When her cheeks turn pink, Grace cannot stop the smile that spreads across her face.
“Are you the owner of the gallery?” Sara blurts out.
“I am. I hope you’re enjoying our collection and your wine,” he smiles, a smile Grace has no doubt has broken a million hearts. “Are you searching for anything in particular?”
Grace sips wine slowly as she looks Ben up and down. He is taller than she is which is rare. She admires his shaggy, dirty blond hair and notices that he has slightly brown roots sprouting from the crown of his head. His clothing contradicts his muddled hair. Not one inch of his clothing has a wrinkle and he does not seem to have a scar or imperfection on his gorgeous face.
Sara points to Grace. “My sister-in-law is an artist and I thought it would be fun to bring her here,” she says with a flirtatious tone.
“An artist?” Benjamin asks, returning his eyes to Grace’s.
“Yeah, I mainly do oils and watercolors.”
“She’s very successful in Paris,” Sara’s words fumble out of her wine-soaked lips.
“Paris?”
“I grew up here, but moved to Paris when I was nineteen. I studied at École des Beaux-Arts.”
Sara’s eyes grow wide and her voice reaches a higher octave. “My other sister-in-law is a fashion photographer.”
“Talented family,” Ben says, his expression penetrating Grace. “I would love to see your work. I have an entire floor to fill upstairs. It would be alluring to have work from a native of Ocean View in my gallery.”
Sara pats Grace on the arm almost choking on her wine. “You have a ton of work in the garage!”
“Would you be interested?” Ben asks, as he places his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.
“I might be,” Grace says, unable to escape the twisting of her stomach from Ben’s stare.
“Lisa, can you get one of my cards, please?” Ben asks, slightly turning his head over his shoulder.
Grace imagines planting sensual kisses along his jawline. Her tongue skims her bottom lip and she bites down on it, trying to make herself stop fantasizing about this man she just met.
The young blonde woman hurries over to them and hands Ben a card. “Here you go, Mr. McKay.”
“Thank you, Lisa. Please get Ms.?” he asks, nodding his head toward Sara.
“Mrs. Hathaway,” Sara smiles, showing all of her pearly whites.
“Please get Mrs. Hathaway another glass of wine.”
“Yes, sir,” Lisa says before she hurries back up the stairs.
“My name is Sara, you can call me Sara,” she says, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Grace finds it quite amusing how taken Sara is by Ben’s appearance. Ben is an extremely handsome man and he radiates a certain type of sex appeal. The manner in which he speaks tells Grace that he must have had a distinguished upbringing.
“And you are Mrs.?” Ben’s eyes pierce Grace’s soul.
“Ms. Hathaway. Grace,” she says lowering her voice to a whisper, her head slightly bowed. Grace’s cheeks warm and her heart beats harder when she looks back up and meets Ben’s stare. Damn it, he is so hot.
“Grace,” his words flow from his lips like silk. “That is one of my favorite names.”
Ben hands Grace his card excusing himself. “If you need anything at all please let Lisa or I know. I am going to check my calendar so that perhaps we can schedule an appointment for me to view your work soon.”
As soon as Ben disappears upstairs, Sara swings around to face Grace. “Holy hell, he is everything they said he is.”
Grace laughs. “He’s very good looking and extremely charming.”
“How exciting. He might put your work in the gallery.”
Grace wishes she felt as excited as Sara seems to be, but the moment is lackluster for her. Once the distraction of Ben is gone, Ian’s face fills her mind.
Grace and Sara browse all
of the artwork in the gallery as they sip on the crisp wine.
Ben half runs down the stairs with a leather appointment book in his hands. “I leave for San Francisco in two days. Do you think that you could bring some of your work in tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
Grace feels Ben’s eyes running over her body. His eyes finally reach hers and a flutter stirs inside her stomach.
“Does noon work for you?”
“Anytime works for me.”
Ben pens something in his appointment book and looks up from it, his eyes catching Grace’s again. They stand silently gazing at each other and the flurries in Grace’s tummy spiral out of control. The slight part of his lips and his sweet, mint scented breath, make her want to suck on his bottom lip and drive her tongue into his mouth. Ben takes a step closer and Grace feels her pulse quicken. He has nothing but confidence when he moves in even closer. His lips close and one side sweeps into a poised smile.
Grace interrupts the silent stare between her and Ben when her heart takes over and forces her to recall a moment in her bed in Paris, with Ian. “Are you an artist?”
“No, I am afraid I am not. I love art, but I can barely draw a stick figure. I own several galleries throughout the States and one in London.”
“And your parents own that winery?” Grace asks, motioning her head towards the photograph near the doorway.
“Yes, that’s actually where I live. I grew up there as well,” he says, his eyes flowing over Grace’s body once more.
“It looks remarkable. What a beautiful place to grow up,” Grace says, noticing that Ben’s eyes have fallen on her bust.
“It is a peaceful place, too.”
“I would like to buy that photograph by the door,” Grace says, before she sips more of the wine, emptying the glass.
“Lisa, more wine for Ms. Hathaway please,” Ben says, his voice flowing through the open gallery. “Would you like it delivered or would you like to take it with you today?”
“Can you have it delivered to Paris?”
“Absolutely.”
Lisa brings Grace another glass half-full of the white wine and Grace smiles to thank her.
“Lisa will collect the payment and write you a receipt,” Ben says, his hands back in his pockets, his eyes still pouring over Grace’s curves.
Ben’s eyes are glossy. He runs his hand through his hair and looks directly into Grace’s eyes. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Sara joins them holding her cell phone to her ear and waving toward Grace.
Sara pushes a button on her phone and then slips it into her purse with a huff. “Abby is having a fit and your brother doesn’t know what to do,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“We better get going,” Grace says, walking towards Lisa’s desk, pulling her wallet from her purse. Grateful for the distraction, she provides Lisa with shipping details and pays cash for the photograph.
“Until tomorrow?” Ben asks, eyeing Grace.
“Tomorrow at noon,” Grace says, brushing her hair behind her ear and turning her eyes to the floor.
Sara reaches out for Ben’s hand. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. McKay.”
Grace notices how firmly Ben holds Sara’s hand in his. His hands are soft and have no flaws.
“Oh, Sara, if I’m going to call you by your first name then you must call me Ben,” he says, shaking her hand. Releasing Sara’s hand, he reaches for Grace’s. “I look forward to viewing your work tomorrow, Grace.”
Grace’s cheeks warm and once again the flutters rise in her belly.
“Thank you—”
“Ben,” he smiles.
“Thank you, Ben.” Grace knows she is blushing now.
It is not until she walks out of the store to the car that she realizes she has not thought of Ian while in Ben’s presence.
Chapter 17
The next day, Grace loads some of her favorite pieces that she created over the past few weeks into Sara’s car. Canvases poke the back of her head as she drives to the gallery. She spots her old high school and a lump forms in her throat. Memories of her time spent with Ian there flash through her mind.
Sara’s car drifts into the oncoming traffic lane while Grace’s eyes stay fixated on the school. She throws the car into park after pulling into the senior parking lot. Leaping from the car, she staggers through the empty parking lot until she reaches the fence. Standing tall in the middle of the senior quad is their oak tree, hers and Ian’s. She wonders if Ian’s carving would still be visible after all these years. A janitor paints a bench a short distance away. Grace waves him over to the fence, her stomach in knots while she watches him approach her.
“How can I help you, miss?”
“Hi…I used to go to school here.” Her fingers wrap around the links in the fence. “Do you think I could come in for a little while?”
Scratching the back of his head first, the man wraps his palm around his neck and lets out a sigh. “I suppose so, but only for a bit. Everyone is gone on break.”
Grace smiles, despite the turmoil she is going through inside. “Thank you so, so much.”
The man unlocks the padlocks and pulls the creaking gate open. “You can let yourself out when you’re ready.”
Grace looks around the schoolyard as she replays fond scenes of her and Ian walking the halls of Lincoln high school. Wrapping her arms around herself, she slowly walks over to the oak tree. She instantly sees Ian’s carving. Extending one of her arms, she reaches out and runs her fingers over the carving. Searing pain grips her heart. Her eyes well up immediately. She wants to call Ian, to beg him to leave Emma, but she will not allow herself to act on her feelings.
“Are you okay?” asks the janitor from behind.
Grace wipes the tears from her face and clears her throat. “Yeah, thank you for letting me in. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”
The man’s kind eyes smile at her before he turned to walk away.
She turns to look at the tree, running her finger over the carving one last time.
Grace chokes down sobs as she hurries back to the car. Once inside, she lets the flood gates open. She cannot hold back the pain tearing her apart. After a few moments sobbing, Grace pulls the rearview mirror down and inspects her face while wiping the evidence of black tears from under her eyes. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Keep it together, Grace,” she whispers. With another deep breath, Grace turns the key and starts the car.
Grace struggles with the heavy gallery door as she carries a few canvas paintings under her arms. Lisa rushes to the doorway and opens it for Grace with a smile on her face.
“Hi, Lisa.”
“Hello, Ms. Hathaway. May I help you with those?”
“That would be great.”
They carry the paintings in and lean them against the wall.
“I’ll let Mr. McKay know you’re here. Would you like something to drink?”
“Water, please. Thank you.”
Grace flips her paintings around so he can view them from the front.
“Grace.”
Ben’s footsteps come down the stairs from behind her. Turning, she catches Ben walking toward her with his hand outstretched. He takes Grace’s hand into his and then brings it to his lips, kissing it. His lips are warm against her cold skin and the breath coming from his nose tickles.
“Hi, Ben.”
Ben lets go of her hand and steps backward, his eyes falling on her paintings. The anxiety of the moment eats at her nerves. Will he like them? Ben grabs his chin with one hand, rubbing the barely there stubble, and studies Grace’s work. Usually, Grace is not nervous when she shows her work, but something about this man’s demeanor, the way his eyebrows raise as he stands silently eyeing her most recent works. The way his smoldering brown eyes squint and the cocking of his head fills her with insecurity.
“Well?” she asks, impatience making its way into her tone.
“You are very
talented.”
Nerves get the best of Grace while Ben continues to stare at her work. He walks over to one of her paintings and lifts it into the air as he inspects it. “This is unique. What inspires you?”
His question comes as a surprise to her. “Life, I guess. Is that not what inspires all of us?”
“True. What is this Grace?” He draws his eyes away from the painting and catches her eyes with his powerful gaze.
Grace’s stomach rises into her throat. “Honestly, Ben, I’m not sure.”
The painting Ben holds in his hands has swirls of dark colors covering the canvas and splashes of gray that resemble smoke, but no definable object that smoke would come from. A chaotic, beautiful mess.
“It is quite unique and very different from the other work you have brought with you. Your other work is still life, but this is…” he pauses while he studies the painting closer. “This is abstract and chaotic. How did you feel when you painted this?”
The question brings up a cloud of emotions that she just finished pushing deep down inside. How did I feel when I painted this? she thinks. Like my heart was literally being ripped from my body. “Lost,” she sighs.
Ben places the painting back against the wall and then gathers another painting into his hands. “The colors on this are so vibrant. You are very good with color.”
“Thank you,” Grace says, feeling bashful.
Ben places the painting against the wall and motions toward a watercolor of the Eiffel Tower. “I am not positive I have use for this one, but let’s put it up and see what happens.”
Grace waits as Ben flips through the remainder of her canvases without another word. She stands there biting her nails.
“I can give you an entire wall on the second floor. Lisa can go over the rental agreement with you.”
Grace only nods her head, even though on the inside she is elated that Ben likes her work enough to give her an entire space. Ben motions to Lisa, who is sitting at the desk typing on a MacBook Pro.
The Falling of Grace (The Falling Series Book 2) Page 19