Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  “He’ll be thirty-five next month, Karen. I can hardly take him over my knee. What do you expect me to do?”

  Karen shrugged and picked up the pattern envelope to squint at the pictures of tiny baby overalls and dresses. “I dunno. Talk to him. He’ll take it more seriously if it comes from you. Be nice.”

  Gerta looked absolutely affronted. “I am nice!”

  Karen nodded condescendingly. “Okay, Oma. Yes you are.”

  • • •

  Gerta finished her pinning, heaved herself out of the wooden chair with some effort, and shuffled down the hall in her fuzzy slippers. She let herself into Matt’s room without knocking and took the seat by the dresser.

  Matt raised an eyebrow when he looked up from his book, but didn’t respond otherwise. He’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, but had allowed his hair to dry badly since it was sticking up at odd angles around his temples.

  “You know, when your grandfather and I got married I hardly knew him,” Gerta started, crossing her legs at the ankles and settling in for a long lecture. Matt laid his open book on top of his belly and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “That was the way it was back then,” she continued. “I had been in the United States for maybe five years and my family was very active in the German community around northern Kansas. Ben was, at best, a friend of a friend.”

  “So, why’d you marry him?”

  “Because it was time for me to be married. Don’t interrupt.”

  Matt held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

  “For the first two or three years, we hardly talked to each other. We worked shoulder to shoulder on his parents’ farm and would go home at night and fall into bed exhausted. We didn’t stay up late talking. We didn’t go out to eat. We didn’t do anything. It wasn’t until after your father was born that we had a conversation longer than ten minutes, and that was only because he was holding him at the time and had nowhere to go. Things got a little better every day from there. Eventually I learned to love him.”

  “Okay, Oma. What’s the moral of the story here?”

  “My point, you rude child, is that you have a luxury. You don’t have to get married. You can remain a bachelor for the rest of your life if that’s your choice. You are lucky that you have fallen in love and can choose to get married instead of doing it the other way around and hoping you’ll gain affection for each other.”

  Matt blew out an exasperated breath and covered his eyes with his hands. “Who said I was in love?”

  Oma mumbled something guttural and incomprehensible in German. “Explain to me why you are putting up hurdles where none should exist?”

  “Oma, I don’t think you understand the full situation.”

  “Try me.” She tapped her index finger against her forehead and squinted at him. “I’ve still got a pretty good brain in here.”

  Matt sighed. “I think Nora is used to having a certain type of person around her, and I’m not it. I think when she realizes what she’s exchanging she’ll be disappointed. I didn’t realize until today how,” he tapped his fingers impatiently on top of the quilt, “famous she is. I didn’t exactly look her up in a search engine. I just thought … fuck, I don’t know. Why would someone that well-known move here? We don’t even get reliable Internet service.”

  “And what exactly do you think she’s getting, Matthew? You think she can’t see what’s there?”

  “She’s getting a redneck who has such poor taste in the company he keeps that his former best friend knocked up not only her best friend but his sister. Doubly so. She’s getting a man who owns three hunting knives, four rifles, a shotgun, and enough ammunition to sink the Titanic. Did you know she’s got a thing against guns? And small boats. Got two of those, too. Let’s see, what else. She’s getting a man who had to choose between having her on his arm at a fancy event and going to his smelly job like he does every other day, and he chose the smelly job because he thinks she’ll like him even less if he’s unemployed.”

  “All that?”

  “Yeah. It’s enough.” Matt picked up his book and went back to reading.

  “I see.” Gerta pushed against the chair arms and stood up. “Sounds like you have some thinking to do.”

  “I’ve already thought it out.”

  “Sure you have.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nora left the next day for Baltimore, several days in advance of her gallery appearance. She hadn’t originally intended to go so soon, having thought she would drive up with Matt, but she had a few things to do. And, being perfectly honest with herself, Matt had hurt her feelings. She wanted to get away so she wouldn’t feel tempted to grovel. She didn’t understand his sudden change of heart toward her, but it was his prerogative. He didn’t owe her any explanations.

  Bennie was packing up her house, and being well into her second trimester had a great deal more energy than she had just weeks prior, but had a hard time with heavy lifting. Nora helped her pack up her scads of graphic design books, portfolio items, Bennie’s extensive collection of Blu-ray discs, then bagged up all the party-girl clothes Bennie doubted she’d ever wear again. Bennie had actually gained no weight during the pregnancy, and it wasn’t because she was sick like Karen. She was technically overweight when she started, and the pregnancy was making her burn through a lot of stored fat. Her natural form was a rather delicate one typical of short Chinese women, and for her to maintain her voluptuous curves she would have had to eat non-stop. “I don’t have that kind of time, sweetie,” she’d said when Nora observed that Bennie’s maternity skinny jeans were drooping.

  And then Nora went to visit her own family, who claimed they saw more of her on her website than they did in person. It was true, but Nora didn’t know what the solution to that problem could possibly be. She definitely didn’t want them to move south. Her little world was crowded enough already.

  On the Monday morning her last painting was due to be revealed, she woke to a text message from Karen. “Any chance you’ll send me a picture?” she’d sent at four fifty-seven am.

  Nora responded: “Yeah, right before they let the jerks with the cameras in. I promise.”

  Bennie apparently didn’t trust Nora to dress herself and purchased what she thought was a suitable outfit for a young hip artist. When Nora came out of the shower with her wet hair still wrapped in a towel, she found her attire laid out on the air mattress she’d been camped out on for the past few evenings. She stepped into a sunset orange sleeveless linen dress that made the rusty tint of her brown hair look a bit richer. She put her arms through the stacks of bangles, each one a bit different — Bennie had obviously pulled from her own sizable collection — and donned the gaudy rhinestone ring that she admitted made her feel a bit glamorous. Nora slid her feet into blessedly low-heeled peep-toe sandals, and then stood in front of the mirror holding the blow-dryer up to her face with the diffuser attached to the nozzle.

  Bennie, who’d been dressing in her own room, ran into the bedroom shrieking. “Don’t you dare,” he snapped, snatching the device away. “Fluff that shit up and let’s go,” she said, frowning so Nora knew she meant it.

  Ann Magee fell all over herself to get at Nora when she and Bennie snuck into the gallery through the back door. Nora had met Spence of course, but she’d never met Ann. Ann was a well-known supporter of free love, being the love child of three hippies. No one understood the math behind that, but Ann never bothered to explain. “Watch out for her,” the silver fox Spence said, swooping in with a glass of champagne and handing it to Nora. “If she’s not supervised, she’ll have you pinned against the wall with your dress hiked up around your waist in the coat closet.”

  “Eek,” Nora said, working her way up to the front of the gallery to avoid the clutches of the cougar in the pantsuit. While Bennie and the gallery owners talked bus
iness, Nora stood in front of her quintet of paintings, and admired each one in turn. She’d had just enough separation from them that they seemed new and fresh to her. When she got to the fifth, she lifted the corner of the white drape that obscured it and snapped a picture with her phone, right as Ann unlocked the door to let the press in a bit early ahead of the general public.

  Before any of them had a chance to figure out who she was, she hid in a corner and sat on a little marble bench in front of a nude statue. She sent Karen the picture, and waited, holding her breath.

  Karen responded almost instantly. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Gonna show Oma.” Nora slipped her phone into her purse and closed the latch. She took exactly one minute to center herself and then she got up and walked toward the voice that was calling out “Has anyone seen Nora?”

  Half an hour later, Nora stood next to her fifth painting, waiting with the rest of the gallery crowd for Ann and Spence to pull down the sheet. Nora felt sick to her stomach with nervousness and shifted her weight from foot to foot with anticipation. This painting was so personal to Nora, and that was what kept her from finishing it in all those weeks. When she’d gone back to her computer to examine the image of the fishing boats and the workers, there had been a man standing in the foreground assessing her curiously. She’d cropped him out during her initial framing, thinking she’d concentrate on the men closest to the boat. When she went back to the original large file, she realized the dark-haired man assessing her was Matt, whom she hadn’t even recognized because she was guilty of not heeding her own preaching. She had looked without actually seeing. And that photo had been taken after that night they’d shared fish and beers and laughs. She’d been totally out of it. He had probably thought she was rude for not saying “hi.”

  When they pulled down the sheet, Nora closed her eyes and blocked out the sounds around her.

  • • •

  “Nora, that was absolutely genius,” Bennie said, shaking Nora by the shoulders while the gallery guests milled about, making notes on their little programs about the art and having discreet discussions about the price tags. “Matt as Neptune,” Bennie shook her head, speechless for once.

  “Yeah,” Nora mumbled, shaking her own head, not because she was annoyed but because her hair was growing larger by the minute and it was overwhelming her periphery. She was terrified about what the pictures from the evening would look like. Nora turned to look at the painting herself and wrung her hands. Neptune’s waist was draped in a flowing white sheet that had been inspired by Matt that ill-fated evening they heard a bump downstairs at Nora’s house.

  Spence sidled up between Nora and Bennie and whispered, “I’m hearing talk about some pretty big dollar signs for all five paintings. There’s one woman who wants the whole lot.” He tipped his head in the direction of an older woman in a black lace dress who was leaning in close to “The Swamp Is His Moat” and studying the small details with a magnifying glass. “I believe she’s from Raleigh. She collects North Carolina art.”

  “Of course she does,” Nora whispered back. “That’s the governor’s wife.”

  Spence and Bennie both whipped their heads back in the woman’s direction.

  “If you’ll excuse me, cash cow, I need to go schmooze,” Spence said, giving Bennie a tap on the rear end and walking off.

  “Did he just … ?”

  “Yes,” Bennie said blandly as she scrolled through the messages on her phone.

  The gallery closed late that evening, and toward the end of the show Nora had taken to hiding on her little bench again. Ann was running up from the back to lock the door when a deep familiar voice said, “Wait, please.”

  Nora poked her head around the column she was hiding behind and gasped at the sight of the visitor. One she didn’t expect. It was the one man who would drive nearly five hours after a long day of work just to spend five minutes in a gallery.

  “You’re the man in the painting,” Ann said, wearing a lecherous grin and guiding him in by the arm.

  “I’m sorry?” he asked, looking confused, and shifting the bouquet he was holding to the other arm to avoid having Ann crush it with her enthusiasm.

  “No need to be sorry, dear. Half the women here tonight went home with wet panties. Good thing you weren’t here sooner or you may have caused a riot.”

  “Huh?”

  “Matt!” Nora intercepted the duo before they rounded the corner to Nora’s North Carolina series.

  “Hey, baby.” He offered Nora the bouquet of tulips and an “I’m an asshole” smile.

  “I take it he’s not just your model,” Ann intuited.

  “No. Not just that,” Nora said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Damn it.” Ann sighed and jiggled her key ring, retracing her footsteps back to the front door to lock it.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Matt said, wrapping an arm around Nora’s waist and pulling her close. “I didn’t think I’d make it.”

  “I thought you weren’t coming at all.”

  “Well, I wasn’t until this afternoon and then I realized that the scads of people who’ve been telling me that I’m really stupid are probably right.” Matt lowered his voice to a whisper. “I missed you. I always miss you.”

  “I’m glad you do. Knowing so makes me feel less like I’m on a flying trapeze without a net.”

  “I’m not Elvin, Nora. Your popularity scares me a bit. I don’t feel like I can keep up.”

  Nora shook her head furiously. “You don’t need to keep up. You were the one who said that this is our normal. That changed things for me. If you’ll take me the way I am for all my inattentiveness and downright boringness at times, I’ll take you the way you are.”

  “And how am I?”

  “You’re protective. Hard-working. Practical. Flexible.” Nora wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. “And since meeting you, I’ve never been less lonely.” She giggled. “And prone to unpredictable circumstances.”

  Matt bent down to kiss her tenderly on the lips, making her go weak in the knees as she thought about how far he’d come to make things right. To build a bridge. Elvin would have never done that. Nora didn’t know men did that at all. Matt was constantly surprising her. She thought perhaps she should get used to being surprised.

  “So, where’s this painting I’m not sure I want to see?” he asked when they finally pulled apart.

  About the Author

  Holley Trent grew up in rural Chowan County, North Carolina. She didn’t have cable growing up, so her enrichment included a lot of PBS and staticky old sitcom reruns. She blames her sense of humor on 1970s BritComs and old Eddie Murphy movies.

  When she’s not writing or reading romance novels, she’s chasing kids, yelling at incontinent cats, or trying to match mated pairs of her husband’s multitude of gray socks. Like Nora, she has questionable taste in clothing and regularly hides her wild hair under scarves. She’s a member of Colorado Romance Writers: a Romance Writers of America chapter.

  Find her online at www.holleytrent.com.

  Acute Reactions

  Ruby Lang

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2015 by Mindy Hung.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-9063-X

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9063-4

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-9064-8

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9064-1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organ
izations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © iStockphoto.com/hatchapong

  Acknowledgments

  My eternal gratitude goes to Galois Cohen and Marjorie Schulman for their eagle eyes and thoughtful comments.

  I am indebted to Mallory Ortberg, Nicole Cliffe, and Nick Pavich. Much love goes also to my fellow Toasties, especially members of the writing group, for keeping me on track and sending virtual hugs.

  I am grateful for the firm shoves (and Teddy Roosevelt quotations) from Carol Peckham, a great boss and even better role model. And finally, to my husband, thank you for reading, giving me the time to write, and most of all, for believing in me.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE