Every Day (The Brush Of Love Series, #2)

by Lexy Timms

  “Another one?” I asked.

  “I’ve sort of gotten one off the ground for Monday evenings, but it seems to really be a conflict with people. I’ve been searching for another night, but I’ve really got no way to gauge the community as a whole. Having a gallery on a Saturday night would serve a dual purpose for me.”

  “Wow, I’ve got half a mind to bring you into my company once Drew leaves,” I said.

  “Wait, what?”

  I held her gaze for a while as the tone of the conversation quickly shifted.

  “Drew’s leaving?” she asked

  “He’s thinking about it. He’s had this dream for a long time to own his own tattoo shop. I thought we talked about this?”

  “If we did, I don’t remember, so I’m sorry if we have. My mind’s been a bit preoccupied.”

  “It’s all right. We’ve had a lot thrown at us the past couple of weeks. Yeah, we’ve been talking about liquidating his share of the business, so he can take the money and open up his own shop.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “He’s my best friend. I’m genuinely happy for him. We started this construction business because we both had the skill sets to do something in the community no one else was doing. We didn’t start it because we wanted to be in construction our entire lives. We started it because we knew our skill set could help people.”

  “You started a company to help people,” she said.

  “Yeah. I mean, more construction companies should build houses more people can afford. We give one away to someone in the homeless community every time we start building up a site. We’ve got the funds to absorb the loss, so why not? More companies should do that kind of shit anyway. That’s how we saw it, so we built a company that did it.”

  “You’re incredible,” she said as she shook her head.

  “Hardly. Just tired of seeing corporations and this world as a whole take advantage of people and not give anything back,” I said.

  “So, Drew hasn’t agreed to anything yet?” she asked.

  “He’s all but said it. I think he’s worried about how it’ll affect me. But, I know he’s been pricing buildings, and I’ve been placing some phone calls on his behalf. He’s been looking up inventory prices and distributors. Things like that.”

  “Sounds like he’s headed down that road,” she said. “What does that mean for your company? It’ll only be you running it.”

  “And that’s what I’ll do for a while, I guess,” I said, shrugging. “I’ll take it a day at a time and go from there.”

  The two of us picked at the rest of the food on our plates. I could tell Hailey was awaiting my final decision, but my mind was swirling with thoughts of her, how beautiful she looked in the candlelight and how the night time had finally blanketed the whole of San Diego. I thought about the curtains pulled back in my room. I thought about how wonderful the moonlight would drench her pale skin. I thought about the softness radiating from her supple curves while her lips curled around the fork she was using to eat the meal we’d cooked together.

  And suddenly, the answer I had to give her seemed like a no-brainer.

  “I think we should go for the story,” I said.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Really. Give her a call and pitch her the content. Let me know what she says. As for the gallery showing, any Saturday evening is fine with me. I’ll rearrange my schedule around whichever you pick.”

  “Okay,” she said, smiling. “I’ll give her a call once I get to work tomorrow.”

  “Now,” I said as I wiped off my mouth, “I believe I’m ready for dessert. What about you?”

  “I thought we didn’t have a dessert,” she said as her gaze connected with mine.

  The devious smile I sent her spread goosebumps over the skin on her arms.

  “Oh,” she said breathlessly. “Dessert.”

  I stood up from the table and held out my hand. Her eyes scanned my body, soaking in the moment before she stood up and slipped her perfect hand into mine. I leaned over and blew out the candles, leaving all the dishes on the table while I guided her up the stairs.

  All the stuff in the kitchen could wait.

  Right now, all I wanted was to lose myself in her body and taste her on my tongue.

  Chapter 22

  Hailey

  I woke up that morning to find a note on the pillow next to my head. I stretched, feeling the empty side of Bryan’s bed, and sighed. I’d been looking forward to waking up with him that morning, but as I rolled over and took a look at the time, I realized I was going to be late for work. I grabbed the note and unfolded it, knowing I wouldn’t have enough time to go home and change before I had to open the gallery today.

  But as the words jumped off the piece of paper he’d left for me, tears of gratitude rose to my eyes.

  Hailey,

  You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. Had some issues at a site, so I had to leave early. There’s a thermos of coffee made for you and a bagel with cream cheese in the fridge. Take it with you and eat. Your clothes are in the dryer, so they’ll at least be clean for work. I’ll talk with you soon. I hope you slept well.

  Bryan

  I squealed as I held the note close to my chest. I tumbled out of bed and headed toward his bathroom where I cleaned myself up with the things he’d set out for me. A disposable toothbrush and some of his facewash were all I could use. I tried to fluff my hair a little bit, studying the color and the length before I resolved myself to another haircut.

  It was getting too long, and the color didn’t seem right anymore.

  I raced downstairs and found his dryer before I threw my clothes on. I ripped the fridge open and grabbed the bagel, the cinnamon swirls making me smile before I grabbed the thermos of coffee. I didn’t know how long it had been sitting there, but the fact that it was still warm was impressive, to say the least. I noticed the kitchen had been cleaned up and the dishes had been put away, and it made me wonder how early Bryan had been up this morning.

  I dashed out of his house and raced to my car, speeding to work with thoughts of his body on my mind.

  I scarfed down the bagel as I tore through the streets of San Diego. If I could hit all the lights just right, I knew I’d still make it in time to open the gallery. I weaved through traffic, shoving the bagel into my mouth before I finally skidded into the gravel parking lot that the tires of my car were now calling home.

  But the moment my eyes descended onto the wreckage of my gallery, my eyes glossed over with tears.

  The front door had been busted in, and the window was shattered. I swallowed hard before I grabbed my coffee, looking to see if anyone was in there. I tentatively stepped out of the car and called out, tears streaming down my face as I tried to spook them into coming out.

  When no one rushed out of the building, I finally found the courage to walk inside.

  I drew in a shaky breath as my eyes scanned across the carnage. Holes were in the walls. Paintings were punctured and lying on the floor. Tubes of paint from my little shop in the back were opened with their colors squirted all along the walls. Hundreds of dollars’ worth of paintings were ruined, lying in their untimely deaths on the onyx floor that was now ruined from the paint tubes leaking onto them.

  Then, a horrifying thought dawned in my mind. My storage shed. John’s paintings.

  The thermos dropped from my hand, tumbling to the floor as I sprinted across the gallery. I ripped the back door open and found them safe and sound without a mark of anger on them. I sighed with relief while my chest hiccupped with my sobs, and instantly, I felt a headache growing at the front of my head.

  “Shit,” I said, moaning.

  I walked back into the gallery and searched underneath the busted counter for my medicine bottle. I opened it up and popped two pills, hoping it would abate the headache I knew would rage out of control. Anna had been trying to get me to go to the doctor for my stress headaches, but for now, they were manageable
with basic migraine medication.

  But this one quickly grew to epic proportions, forcing me to run to the bathroom where I vomited up the pills as well as the bagel.

  Who would do something like this? Who would come to a place of beauty and reverence and peace and destroy it the way they had? There were no cameras. There was no security of any sort in this place. It was something I told myself I’d eventually invest in, but now, it would do me no good.

  Now, when I needed it the most, my intentions and my future plans were null and void.

  When my stomach was done ejecting its contents, I sighed and sat down on the bathroom floor. For all the destruction in the main gallery, the bathroom had remained untouched. I sobbed for the loss of the beauty and hard work that had been put into making this gallery possible, and my heart constricted so tightly, I thought it would cut off my air supply.

  Bryan.

  I had to call Bryan.

  I pulled myself up off the bathroom floor and flushed the toilet. I stepped over the punctured paintings and broken glass as I walked back out to my car. I pulled my purse and phone from the passenger’s seat, scrolling through the phone until my shaking hands found his number.

  The moment his voice answered, however, I burst into tears again.

  “Hailey, what’s wrong? Where are you? Are you hurt?”

  “The-the gallery. I-it-someone-there’s so much—”

  “Hang on, Hailey. Stay there. I’m on my way.”

  I sank down onto the gravel and put my face in my hands and sobbed until I felt his strong hands on my shoulders.

  “Come here, beautiful,” he said.

  He scooped me up into his arms and carried my sobbing body back into the gallery. He set me down on a chair in the corner and handed me a bottle of water. He hid me behind the counter, his eyes filled with worry and anger as he took in the destruction around him. I watched as he surveyed the damage, his eyes silently running numbers and figures as to how long and how much it would take to fix.

  “Just take deep breaths,” he said mindlessly.

  “Who would do something like this?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, and by the looks of it, you don’t have any cameras. That correct?” he asked.

  All I could do was nod as the pounding headache raged through my skull.

  “I’m gonna recheck everything to make sure nothing has been taken. What all have you checked?” he asked.

  “The storage shed. It’s fine,” I said, sighing. “The bathroom’s been untouched as well as the store. The tubes of paint on the floors are from the store itself, but nothing was stolen or damaged from it.”

  “No one took your computer, either, which is odd,” he said. “I’m going to call the police.”

  All I could do at that point was nod mindlessly as the growing headache pounded my vision.

  “Do you have any medicine for that?” he asked.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Your headache—yes, hello. I’d like to report a break-in and vandalism. Yes, right across the street from Drew’s Diner on the edge of town. The art gallery. Mhm. Yes, I’ll be here, and so will the owner. Thank you.”

  “I tried, but I threw it up when my crying got out of control,” I said.

  “I know it looks like a lot,” he said as he crouched in front of me, “but the damage isn’t actually that bad. There’s one decent hole in the wall, but the rest are just indentions. Easily fixable. So is the window, and the door can be easily replaced. The walls will need to be repainted, and the paint needs to be scraped up off the floor, but that’s it. It looks shocking, but it’ll cost you no more than a couple thousand to get it all fixed.”

  “All of it?” I asked.

  “Yep. And if you want, we can do it for you. I’ll bring in another guy, and we can have this place back in working order in five, maybe six days,” he said.

  “Seriously?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Seriously.”

  His hand came up to cup my cheek, and I nuzzled into his strong touch. I felt myself finally calming down now that I understood what it would take to fix. I’d been so startled by my paintings scattered all along the floor that I hadn’t stopped to really take in how badly the gallery had been vandalized. But now that my vision was clearing up, I could see what Bryan meant.

  It was startling but not jaw-dropping.

  “In fact,” he said as he stroked my cheek, “I’ve got the stuff to replace the window if you’d like me to take care of that.”

  “You just carry extra glass with you everywhere you go?” I asked.

  “When you called me up crying, I had a feeling as to what might’ve happened. I may or may not have grabbed some things from the workshop before I headed this way.”

  I looked into the eyes of this wonderful man and threw myself at him. Our lips crashed together while my arms wrapped around his neck, my headache gradually subsiding as his fingers ran through my hair. He slowly stood us up, planting me on my feet and holding me until I could steady myself, and by the time the kiss was over, so was my headache.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Much,” I said, whispering.

  “Police. Anyone here?”

  “Officers,” he said as we turned toward them, “I’m the one who called. Bryan McBride, B.D. Construction.”

  “Hey! I’m familiar with you. Your Drew’s friend,” one of the officer’s said.

  “Friend and business partner,” Bryan said.

  “Officer Shernhorn, but you can call me Mike. Drew and I catch waves from time to time together when the wife lets me off the hook for the day.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mike. Your name sounds familiar. You the one Drew talks about who got eaten by that wave and spit out farther into the ocean somehow?” Bryan asked.

  “The one and only. Still don’t know how it happened. Anyway, I can tell by the looks of the place that there aren’t any cameras we can draw from, but you’re in luck. The telephone pole across the street has a camera on it. It’s old, but it’s footage we can pull nonetheless.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said.

  “You must be Hailey Ryan,” Mike said.

  “I am,” I said as I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. Word’s gotten around fast about your gallery. It kills me to see it like this, though it looks like the damage is pretty minimal.”

  “So I’ve been told,” I said as I eyed Bryan.

  “I’m actually going to head out and start replacing the window so the chill doesn’t ruin anything else,” Bryan said. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

  “Officer Shernhorn, thank you so much for coming so quickly.”

  “Call me Mike, please. My wife’s been out here a few times. We’ve got a couple of your wonderful paintings hanging in our house already. Has anything been taken?” he asked.

  “Actually, no. That’s what’s so confusing. My laptop and cash register were here all night, and they haven’t been touched. But my paintings have all been sliced up,” I said.

  “So, we’re looking at vandalism instead of theft. Got it. Mind if I take a look at the paintings on the floor?” he asked.

  “You can look at anything you need,” I said.

  I watched him walk over to the pile of paintings as he crouched down. One by one, he picked up the beautiful paintings I’d slaved over, and it made me sick to see the way they’d been cut and sliced and destroyed. I took deep breaths as I tried to keep my nausea at bay, and soon, the sounds of Bryan replacing the window could be heard as the officer stood to his feet.

  But he was holding a painting in his hands that didn’t look to be destroyed.

  “This one of yours?” he asked.

  He turned the painting around, and I felt my blood run cold.

  “No. No, that’s not mine,” I said. “It’s a painting by one of the artists I lend out some space to.”

  “They pay you a monthly fee or something?” he asked.


  “No. I just take five percent of whatever their artwork sells for as the price for the space,” I said.

  “Who’s the artist of this painting?”

  “Max Wentmore,” I said.

  “All right. You got a way to contact this Mr. Wentmore?”

  “I do. Let me get you his card.”

  I stumbled over to the counter and plucked one of his cards from the holder. I could feel rage boiling inside of my stomach, and I knew the moment I handed Mike his card the question he would ask.

  “Is there any reason to suspect that Max might’ve done this?” he asked. “I only ask because his painting was on the floor but not torn up.”

  “He comes in from time to time. He came in a few days ago, actually.”

  I saw Bryan stop his movements while he listened to the words pouring from my trembling jaw.

  “H-he, uh, was angry that his artwork wasn’t selling like mine was. I mean, not yelling angry or anything like that, but he was making all these underhanded comments about how his artwork was better than mine and how he didn’t understand why his weren’t selling,” I said.

  “Did he threaten you in any way?” Mike asked.

  “Not really, but that day I closed the gallery down early and saw him standing across the street staring at us.”

  “Who’s us?” Mike asked.

  “Bryan and me. We were taking a personal trip somewhere,” I said.

  “He was staring at us the day we went to the cemetery?” Bryan asked.

  My eyes connected with his, and a wave of shame filled me.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Mike said. “So, you closed down early, and he was staring at you? From across the street or something?”

  “Yeah. He was in the diner parking lot leaning against his car. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was just staring.”

  “How long had it been between him leaving the gallery that day, and you guys leaving for the cemetery?” Mike asked.

  “About an hour,” I said breathlessly

  “All right,” Mike said as he scribbled stuff down. “I’ve got enough to at least pay this guy a visit. I’m gonna have someone pull the footage from that camera. In the meantime, I suggest one of your added updates be some sort of security system.”