Falling for Mr. Right: Still the One ; His Proposal, Their Forever

by Michelle Major

  “Into cougars?”

  “These ladies might be considered lionesses.”

  “Word of warning.” Bailey leaned toward him. Her warm breath against his neck made his pulse hiccup. “Don’t let any of them hear you or they might attack.”

  He laughed, trying not to think about her lips so close to his ear. “I’ll be careful. So, what’s going to be happening during the class?”

  She stepped back. “You want to do this?”

  “I so want to do this, even if my painting will look like something a preschooler made. No laughing, okay?”

  “Promise. Though am I allowed a giggle or two?”

  The light in her eyes brightened her face. He wanted to snap a picture of her to capture the moment. She looked so happy.

  “Three giggles,” he said. “That’s all.”

  “I can live with three.”

  He’d never understood people who danced without music, but he wanted to take her in his arms and swing her into a dip. He shook the crazy thought from his head, then noticed she wore an oversize sandal on her left foot. “You’re wearing a shoe.”

  “Sort of. This one belongs to Grady. Never thought his big feet would come in handy, but they have this time. I can’t wait to wear my own.”

  “You look great. Better than the last time.”

  “Thanks. My foot’s healing.” She glanced around the room, not meeting his gaze.

  He wanted her to look at him. “Animal Control hasn’t found that dog. They’ve had reports for a few weeks now.”

  Bailey’s gaze met his. “Poor dog. I thought for sure he’d be in the shelter, maybe adopted by now.”

  “I’ve looked, but not seen him again.” He took a quick sip of his wine. “If I find him, I’ll let you know. So tonight...”

  “We socialize at the beginning. After that, everyone takes a seat. Each person has a canvas on an easel and supplies at a spot. Just follow the directions and at the end, you’ll have a completed painting. We have dessert before heading home.”

  “Sounds easy.”

  “Painting is easy and fun.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Her lips parted, making a perfect O. “I need to get the class started or we’ll be here all night.”

  Spending all night with Bailey sounded good to Justin. He watched her cross the room, a sexy sway to her hips. If she was still limping, he didn’t notice.

  “Take your seats, everyone,” she said. “Put on your aprons. It’s time to begin.”

  Maybe after the class finished he could convince Bailey he needed private instruction. Not here, but back at her place, the two of them and a leftover bottle of Chardonnay and a few of the chocolate-dipped strawberries. Playful images filled his mind. He sipped the cool wine to keep his temperature from rising.

  Would Bailey say yes? Or turn him down cold?

  Wait a minute. He wasn’t looking for romance. A relationship was the last thing he wanted.

  Stop with all the r-words.

  He downed the wine in his glass.

  Focus.

  He’d allowed himself to get worked up over Bailey because of not seeing her for a week. Now that he’d seen her...

  No big deal, he told himself. All he had to do was concentrate on painting. Chat with the nice old ladies. Then he could return to his room at the B and B.

  Alone.

  Chapter 7

  “Ready to have fun tonight?” Bailey loved sharing her love of painting with people. These social art-and-wine events were a fun way to do that. She smiled at the eleven Garden Club members, women she’d known her entire life, sitting at the four rectangular tables her brothers had set up this afternoon.

  Her gaze met Justin’s. Held. His blue shirt brought out his eyes, deepened the color. Not quite cobalt...

  Aunt Ida Mae coughed.

  Oops. Bailey looked away. She hadn’t expected to see him here. She’d been trying to forget about him, but the memory of his kiss lingered on her lips. She needed to focus.

  “I’ve picked out a fun floral project.” She lifted her sample from behind one of her supply bins and kept the painted side away from the guests. “I’ll give you a clue what type of flower you’ll be painting. Holland.”

  “Tulips,” a woman named Sharon shouted.

  “That’s right.” Bailey turned the canvas to show them her rendition of a Dutch-inspired landscape of a tulip field and optional wooden clogs in the front with a windmill. People would use her design to make their own. “This is what you’ll be painting.”

  The Garden Club members oohed and aahed.

  Justin peered around the canvas on his easel. “Wow. You did an amazing job.”

  Bailey ignored the urge to stand taller. His opinion didn’t matter. But she wanted everyone, including him, to enjoy the project.

  Mabel snickered. “Maybe you should think about becoming a painter instead of using your wrecking ball to destroy lives. My son worked the inn’s front desk for thirty-three years. My granddaughter was a server there for five. Now they’re on unemployment and trying to find new jobs.”

  Other women nodded or mumbled their agreement. Justin’s smile no longer looked natural. Bailey wanted to say something, but she was supposed to be looking out for the inn, not comforting the man who wanted to destroy it. She clutched her canvas.

  Aunt Ida Mae touched his shoulder. Her reassuring smile seemed to help Justin. The lines around his mouth relaxed.

  Bailey needed to get these women painting ASAP. “Let’s get started.”

  She instructed the class on sketching the design, then adding the first layer of paint. She discussed mixing colors, as well as techniques for loading brushes. She made her way to each table, watching first splashes of color appear on blank canvases. This was not a paint-by-numbers course. Here, creativity reigned.

  “That’s lovely, Faye.” Bailey loved seeing how her friend, a sculptor, added texture with the paint. She moved on to the next person. “Great use of color, Mabel.”

  Getting around to each person wasn’t easy with Bailey’s injured foot, but she moved better today than this past weekend. Progress. She explained the next steps.

  “Any questions on painting flower stems?” she asked.

  Brushes in hand, the class set to work on their canvases, ignoring the full wineglasses sitting next to them. Plenty of time to socialize later.

  Bailey returned to the three seated at the first table. She glimpsed the back of Justin’s head, two rows in front of her.

  Why was he here? Boredom? Maybe. Curiosity? She could see that. To annoy her? Most definitely. But a part of her—make that a small part—was happy to see him.

  Bailey pointed to a flower on Darla Watson’s canvas. “I like the shading you’ve done. If you use an even darker color along this edge, the flower will have more of a 3-D effect.”

  She continued on to the second table, then the third. Aunt Ida Mae sat next to Justin, no doubt trying to be her grandmother’s ears and eyes during the painting class.

  “Love the golden flowers, Aunt Ida Mae. Not maize, more like saffron. I also like the ochre shading with the pale yellow. The colors will match the breakfast room at your B and B.”

  “That’s exactly where this one will go, dear.” She worked on one of the stems. “Though I can’t decide between a black and a white frame.”

  “I have some you can try and see which you like best.” Bailey glanced at Justin’s canvas, did a double take, gasped. She’d expected straight lines and a symmetrical design, given his architectural background. But this work of art brought a sense of wonder and awe. How could he have done this? Made her feel this way?

  Her gaze traveled from the painting to Justin. “I thought you only painted walls.”

  He lowered his brush, stared up at her. The dazed look in his eyes spoke of being totally lost in hi
s little world. That was what she called being so into her work she forgot about everything else.

  “Huh?” The surprise in his voice matched the confusion on his face. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Bailey recognized his clouded gaze and disorientation. She moved closer and gave him another minute. “You said you didn’t paint.”

  “I don’t. Unless you’re talking construction.” He used his brush to paint a pink tulip. “But I must admit, this is almost meditative. Stress-relieving.”

  “You know what you’re doing,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. His painting affected her not only as a teacher, but an art lover. She didn’t want to be impressed, but she couldn’t help herself. Unlike other students, he’d used different colors for the flowers. No monochrome fields and rows. He painted the flowers with no pattern whatsoever.

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “Thanks, but I’m using the trial-and-error method, one step above paint by numbers.”

  “Could have fooled me.” She pointed to the top of his canvas. “I love how you used smoother strokes for the sky, then short, choppier ones that added texture to the tulip field. Your windmill is elaborate and realistic. Especially the perspective with the lattice-framework sails. They look like they’d spin off the canvas if I blew hard enough. You’re a natural. I knew an architect could draw, but this...”

  Okay, he’d talked about shabby chic that first day at her cottage. Justin knew who Anubis was, but he seemed more left-brain, a straight-lines-and-angles kind of guy.

  “That’s because I have a good teacher,” he said.

  “You have talent.” Raw, sure, but that was part of the charm. His eye for color was first-rate. “The way you shadowed the flower stems is perfect. They look like they’re blowing in the wind.”

  “Your directions were clear. I just added paint.”

  “There’s nothing about art that involves just adding paint.” Bailey peered over his shoulder, wanting a closer look. She touched his back, then realized what she was doing and stepped back. “I’d better see how everyone else is doing.”

  Walking away, she pretended not to notice Aunt Ida Mae staring at her with a can’t-wait-to-see-what-happens smile. Grandma, too.

  Bailey’s stomach did a cartwheel. She’d given Justin attention for his painting, but the gray-haired matchmaking Mafia would exaggerate. Embellish. Embarrass.

  This was part of being a Cole and living in Haley’s Bay. For better or worse, her family cared. But how was she ever going to meet a guy, let alone date, with so many busybodies around? Not that she was interested in dating Justin. But if she were...

  Grandma carried a bottle of Chardonnay and topped off people’s glasses. “Want a refill on your wine, Bailey?”

  She’d had a couple of sips to check the bottles when she’d opened them, but didn’t drink while teaching. A good thing. She needed to be fully cognizant around Justin with her grandmother watching. Now that she saw his hidden talent, she was amazed and more attracted to him. “No, thanks. I’ll stick to the sparkling cider.”

  “Sweet and bubbly.” Aunt Ida Mae’s lips spread into a curious smile. “You don’t want to act silly or make googly eyes.”

  Her aunt spoke to Bailey as if she were fifteen and knew nothing about boys. Get a little wine in Aunt Ida Mae, and she was the one who got goofy. Bailey hoped Justin wasn’t watching and couldn’t hear.

  She didn’t dare glance his way. That would only play in to their shenanigans. She had never wanted a class to be finished early until tonight. “No worries about me doing either of those things.”

  “Too bad.” Justin studied her as if she were a painting and he was analyzing the artist’s usage of design and color. People looked at her all the time, and she’d been staring at him moments ago, but his appraisal bothered her. She shifted on the couch. Not wanting to care what he thought, but wishing she knew at the same time. “I was hoping to see some goofiness tonight.”

  Darn the man. He was playing along. She stuck her tongue out at him. “There you go.”

  Instead of waiting for a response, she headed toward the food table.

  His laugh echoed behind her.

  A ball of heat settled at the center of her chest and spread outward.

  Don’t say a word. Don’t cause a scene.

  She checked the desserts, plates and napkins. Sliced brownies, chocolate-covered strawberries and Snickerdoodle cookies filled a three-tiered serving dish. Leave it to Grandma to go overboard.

  Bailey sensed Justin’s presence behind her. Her nerve endings tingled with anticipation. Crazy, since the two were in a room with eleven other women.

  She straightened the stack of napkins. No turning around or she might end up making googly eyes.

  “I finished the painting.” His voice rumbled over her, low and rich, delicious like the sweets on the table. “Earned my dessert.”

  “You did.” She stepped to get out of his way, but he went in the same direction. She brushed against his chest. Fireworks exploded, surprising her with their intensity. She stumbled.

  He placed his hands on her waist. “Be careful. Don’t reinjure yourself.”

  Bailey nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “I may have to try another,” he said.

  “Cookie?” she squeaked, aware of his hands touching her, even though she was standing fine now. Problem was, she didn’t mind all that much. Everything she thought she knew about Justin McMillian was proving her wrong each time she saw him. His possessive touch ignited a flame deep in her belly. Her lips ached for another kiss. Stop thinking about his kisses. “There are plenty of cookies.”

  “I’m talking about another painting class.”

  “Oh.” Being so close to him unsettled Bailey. At any moment, she might win the klutz-of-the-year award. Walking seemed hard around him. Sure, her foot made her clumsy, but her awareness of him made a simple task ten times harder. She didn’t like that. “You should.”

  He let go of her waist, reached around her and snagged a Snickerdoodle. “Though I’m not going to turn down one of these.”

  His lips closed over the cookie. She watched him take a bite, wishing he was nibbling her.

  What was wrong with her? Only a week had passed since he’d been at her cottage. Seeing him tonight was nothing, and no more kisses were on the horizon.

  Talk to him about...his painting. Yeah, that would take her mind off his lips.

  “Do you know where you’re going to display your painting?” she asked.

  “Probably my office. I’m there more than I’m home, unless I’m out in the field.”

  She took a cookie. Maybe the sugar would quench her craving for, well, him. “Must be hard being away from home so much.”

  “Part of the job.”

  “Your family...”

  “We don’t see much of each other because of work. Right now Rainey is in Gold Beach on the southern Oregon coast redoing the interiors of a resort. My parents are at a property in Cannon Beach. Paige is holding down the fort in Lincoln City.”

  “Do you ever get together?”

  “Not often. Everything in my family has always revolved around the business. Even when we were kids.”

  How sad. She couldn’t imagine. “What about holidays and birthdays?”

  “Sometimes, but holidays are big business when you’re in the resort industry. Birthdays can be celebrated anytime.”

  She remembered having to work holidays at the inn, but she’d gotten off in time to attend her family’s gathering here at Grandma’s. “I forgot about that part.”

  “You’ll remember quickly if you own an inn.”

  “I do own one. Well, half of one, for now.”

  “Funny, so do I. For now.” His smoldering look sent her pulse into the stratosphere. “We have two choices. Remain serious or t
ry silly.”

  Stay in control. “Silly is always more fun than serious. But the last time I made a fool of myself in front of a man, I was mistaken for a psychotic clown. That left horrible scars.”

  He brushed strands of hair from her face, and she almost swooned. “I don’t see any.”

  “Internal scars, not external ones.” She noticed women standing up. Her grandma said something to Aunt Ida Mae, pointed and smiled. That satisfied expression on her grandmother’s face meant one thing—more matchmaking. “Dessert time.”

  “I’d better grab a brownie and get out of the ladies’ way.”

  He did, then moved toward the tables with the easels. A part of Bailey wished he’d stayed, but then again, after Mabel’s outburst, she didn’t blame him for retreating.

  Grandma came closer, leaned her head toward Bailey’s and whispered, “Go talk to him.”

  “I just was talking to him.”

  “Not enough.” Grandma placed a brownie in a napkin, then handed it to Bailey. “Give this to Justin. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Is he a good kisser?”

  Bailey stared at her grandmother in disbelief. “That’s not something I want to discuss.”

  “The night’s still young, dear,” Aunt Ida Maid said. “The two of you could have a lot of fun before the sun rises.”

  “Go for it,” Faye encouraged. “If you can forget about the inn. If I were twenty years younger...make that forty.”

  The women laughed.

  “Well, if you don’t go over to him,” Sharon said, “some of us will. He might like mature women.”

  “I’m game.”

  “Me, too.”

  Bailey wasn’t going to say a word. She couldn’t. Gossip would be raging in the morning, possibly by bedtime.

  Brownie in hand, Bailey made a beeline for the other side of the room, wanting distance from everyone. She didn’t need the Garden Club’s advice about Justin. She didn’t need to be pushed into talking to him. What she needed was chocolate.