by Katie Allen
Even though she’d only been at Louis’s for a day, she already missed her usual morning and evening walks, and it felt good to warm up her muscles. The soreness from moving faded somewhat, and she felt her mood lift. Now that she’d packed and moved and finished most of the planning for Velvet’s show, the stress of the week had eased, tension leaving her muscles along with the lingering ache.
By the time she hopped off the treadmill and wiped it down, she was feeling almost as bouncy as Louis. She was grateful he’d dragged her to the gym, but she’d never admit that to him, since she didn’t want to hear the crowing that would result.
Adjusting her earbuds, she moved over to an out-of-the way mat to stretch before starting her weight-lifting routine. Folding forward, she let out a soft oof as her hamstrings told her that they hadn’t forgiven her yet for all the bending and lifting and carrying the day before. Soon, though, the muscles released, and the position started to feel good. Closing her eyes, she slowly straightened back up, enjoying the stretch along her spine.
When she was upright, she opened her eyes to see someone standing right in front of her. Startled, she took a step back as she recognized him. About the same age as she was, he usually worked out at around the same time she did. She hadn’t really taken much notice of him before, except that he wore bright orange athletic shoes and had the annoying habit of dropping his weights.
He gestured for her to take out her earbuds, and she reluctantly complied, just in case he actually had something important to say, rather than just trying to pick her up. She could hear just as well with them in, but he didn’t know that.
“Hey,” he said once her ears were clear. “I’m Sean.”
When he paused, she gave him a polite smile, the tiny hope that he was interrupting her workout for a good reason fading quickly. “Hi.”
“I’ve seen you here a few times, and I couldn’t help but notice that you’re stretching wrong.”
“I’m...stretching wrong.”
He didn’t seem dissuaded by her flat tone. Instead, he plowed on ahead. “Exactly. If you like, I can give you some tips, help you with some hands-on muscle manipulation.”
Even at just the mention of hands on, she took another step out of his reach. “No, thank you.” She kept her words polite but firm. Her friend Leah had gone through a terrible experience with a stalker, and Annabelle knew that a dismissed guy could be a dangerous guy.
“I’ll just run through some basic stretches with you. I don’t mind,” he insisted, even as she reached up to replace her earbuds.
“You might not mind, but her husband does.” Louis’s voice had an uncharacteristic edge to it, and Annabelle turned to find him behind her. She couldn’t stop a brilliant smile from beaming out, even though his words didn’t make a lot of sense. What husband?
Sean visibly bristled as he confronted Louis, who moved closer to Annabelle and swung an arm around her shoulders. The lightbulb over her head turned on a little later than it should, and she realized that Louis had made up the husband thing in order to get her out of her encounter with Sean. Grateful for his help, she leaned into his side, and his fingers tightened around her shoulder.
“Hey, honey,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist, practically giddy with the escape he offered. “How’s your workout going?”
“I miss my run, but that’s life until I can get my carbon foot back,” he answered without taking his eyes off the man in front of them.
At the mention, Sean’s gaze dropped to Louis’s prosthesis, which was partially exposed by long athletic shorts. As Annabelle watched, Sean’s expression flipped through several emotions—annoyance, shock, dismay, uncertainty—before his gaze returned to Louis’s implacable face.
“Hey, bro.” Sean shifted uncomfortably before giving Annabelle a stiff jerk of a nod and heading for one of the weight machines on the other side of the room.
“Do you give off some sort of magic gym-douche repellant?” She kept her voice low as they moved toward the free-weight room.
He gave a huff of amusement, even though his gaze was still hard and narrow as he glared at the quickly retreating Sean. “Guys like that see my leg, so they think they can’t challenge me without looking like a super dick.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Yeah, like that guy cared about seeming like a super dick. That status is already confirmed.”
As they entered the otherwise unoccupied weight room, Louis seemed to relax slightly. “Fighting the one-legged guy is dick territory that even that guy won’t venture into.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Especially because he knows he’d lose.”
“Well, yeah. Of course he’d lose.” It was obvious just looking at the two of them. Sean might have an okay body, but Louis was muscled perfection. “Thanks for the save, by the way.”
Looking surprised, he glanced up from where he was sliding weight onto the bench-press bar. “Of course. Anything for my darling wife.”
Those words coming out of Louis’s mouth made Annabelle’s belly turn to molten lava. She couldn’t resist jumping into the game. “Well, thank you again, my most wonderful husband.”
His gaze found hers and then jumped away so quickly that she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined the hunger that blazed in his eyes. Real or not, it kept her blood rushing through her hot and fast for the rest of her workout.
Chapter Ten
A string of anatomically impossible curses flew out of Annabelle’s mouth as she lifted one of Velvet’s paintings off the wall.
Louis’s laughter was audible even before he popped his head through the doorway to the studio. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“Generally, I don’t really kiss my mother at all. It’s hugs or nothing.” Her words were absent as she examined the damage. It wasn’t as bad as she’d initially thought when she’d spotted it from the ground. The canvas had just pulled free of the bottom stretcher bar. Still, the threads were loose enough that she hesitated to just throw in another staple or two or five and call it good. If she pulled the canvas as she would be required to in order to get the proper stretch, it might distort the painting. Even if the effect was minor, it was a big enough deal that she wanted Velvet to do the fixing—or to at least give Annabelle permission to mess with the painting.
“Same. What’s the latest catastrophe?” Although his voice was light, she knew he was bracing himself for more bad news. It had been a day of annoyances and spills, most of them minor, but both of them still were drawn tight with tension in anticipation of what calamity would befall them next. Annabelle was going to be grateful when the show was done tomorrow.
“Not technically a catastrophe, but I’m still going to make the artist deal with it.” She held it out so he could see the loose bubble of canvas just above the bottom edge of the frame. “From all the staple holes, it looks like this canvas didn’t cooperate when it was stretched. I’m not about to try to fix this and end up ruining the whole painting. Velvet can be responsible for any destruction.”
“Good plan.” He gave her a faux-solemn nod in agreement. “It’s bad enough that we have to deal with their tears and nerves and sometimes their vomit. It’s time for those freeloading artists to step up.”
Placing the painting in the break room that would be used for catering during the show the following day, she closed and automatically locked the door behind her. “Speaking of freeloading, or at least an attempt to stop freeloading, I’m cooking tonight.”
“I fully support this plan. What are you making?”
Eyeing him carefully, she realized that he was being honest. He really wasn’t planning on squashing her latest attempt to contribute. She’d already tried to pay him rent and cover part of the utilities, and it had been the closest to honestly angry that she’d ever seen him get. Making a mental note not to share that she’d been grocery shopping earlier for the ingredients, she left that part out and simpl
y said, “Salmon, rice, and broccoli, if that sounds okay?”
His face lit up, brighter than Annabelle expected the simple meal plan to cause. “Sounds perfect. I can make a total of four things: chili, lasagna, meat loaf, and tuna casserole, which means I’m really sick of those four things. It’s so nice to have you living with me.”
“Well, as far as pushy gym guy is concerned, we are married.” Shooting him a teasing glance, she moved to check the rest of the paintings for any issues. Dealing with a loose canvas or faulty frame was bad enough; having to fix it on the day of the show was even worse. “It’d be strange if we weren’t living together.”
Moving next to her, he lifted a painting off the wall so she could examine the back more closely. “I’m so lucky.” He gave a dramatic sigh that made her laugh even as she rolled her eyes at him. “I have the best wife ever.”
“Yeah, you do.” The conversation was sending the butterflies in her stomach into giddy, looping circles, and she knew she was grinning like a dope. “Remember that next time you’re lounging in your recliner, belching and demanding that I get you another beer.”
He gave a delighted laugh as he replaced the painting on the wall. “Scratching my belly where it sticks out from my undershirt.”
“Why did I marry you again?”
Resting his chin on the top of her head, he reached over her to lift the last painting off the wall. “Because, despite the beer gut and belching and the fact that you could do so much better, you can’t help but love me.”
She wasn’t sure whether her immediate hot flush was from his words or the cozy way he was wrapped around her. Focusing on the back of the stretched canvas in front of her face, she shoved down the giddy dancing butterflies that were swarming her stomach. A strange lump beneath the fabric wrapped around the stretcher bar distracted her, and she shifted to examine it more closely.
“That’s odd.”
His huff sounded amused. “That you love me?”
“No, not that.” She rubbed a thumb over the bulge. “It feels like there’s another canvas under here.”
“Maybe Velvet reuses stretcher bars?” The teasing had left his voice, changing to the same curiosity that Annabelle felt. He leaned closer to peer at the spot over her shoulder, which pressed his front against her back, and she felt a good chunk of her attention shift from the lump in the canvas back to the feel of Louis against her. Her heartbeat picked up speed, and she struggled to focus on what he’d just said, rather than his proximity.
“Why would she do that?” she asked, trying to ignore her sudden breathlessness. “They’re not expensive. Besides, if she had a painting she didn’t like, why not just paint over it or rip it off and reuse the naked frame?”
“Laziness, maybe? Should I text her and ask?”
After a final rub of the mysterious bulge, Annabelle shook her head. “She’ll be here in a few hours, so we can ask her then. It’s not important, really.”
Lifting the painting back onto the wall, Louis said, “Artists are so weird.”
“They really are.” She was only half-kidding. “That’s what makes my job so interesting, though.” Her phone beeped with a text, and she pulled it out. “Huh. It’s Velvet.”
“It’s like she heard us. Do you think she has the place bugged?”
Giving an absent smile, she read the message and all her amusement slipped away. “She’s stuck working on that commissioned portrait, so she’s not going to make it here tonight.”
“That doesn’t sound like Velvet.” Shifting closer, Louis peered at the phone screen over her shoulder.
“I paraphrased and left out the swearing.”
“That explains it. For a second there, I was afraid that someone had stolen her phone.”
Grimacing, she tapped her phone against her palm as she thought. “This complicates things. What if she doesn’t have enough time to fix the painting before the show? It was one of the pieces we were showcasing. We’ll have a big blank wall.” She gestured toward the spot on one of the two portable wall sections where the damaged canvas had been hanging before she moved it into the back room. That was the first thing people saw as they entered the gallery, so the absence of the painting was blatant. “If we move anything into that spot, it’ll make things uneven on the walls.”
With a thoughtful sound, Louis scanned the room. “What if we move the other park scene painting to the empty wall section and shift Main Street at Night into the window display?”
As she pictured it, her shoulders lowered with relief. “That should solve it.”
Once they shifted the pieces, she moved around the room, examining the exhibit from multiple angles. “Perfect. I actually like this arrangement better than how we had it originally. Is it wrong of me to hope she isn’t able to fix the painting in the back room in time?” She moved closer to examine the park scene that was now filling the spot where the damaged canvas had been. “The two paintings are really similar, but I think this one has a better composition. It really draws the eye and holds it.”
As she glanced over her shoulder at Louis, she saw the corners of his mouth tuck in, as if he was hiding a smile. “Maybe we can forget to mention it until right before the show starts.”
“You’re evil and brilliant at the same time. Have you ever considered becoming a supervillain?”
“Why, yes. I have. It was my backup plan in case the whole artist thing failed.”
They smiled at each other, and Annabelle’s heart did the little fast patter thing it did whenever she and Louis had this sort of meeting of the minds, when a joke or a conversation between them came together just right, and she just knew that they were perfect for each other.
Stop it. The practical part of her brain, always a mood killer, interrupted the moment, and Annabelle hurried back to her desk, hoping to hide her flush. She examined her to-do list without really seeing it as she forced her mind back to the practicalities of the moment and away from Louis and his irresistibly charming self.
“What’s next?” he asked.
“Why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes when he did that slow blink of his ridiculously long lashes. She knew that look of his, and it almost always spelled trouble. “What’s with this sudden urge to help?”
“I’m always helpful.”
“Uh-huh.” The more innocent he tried to look, the more suspicious she got. “Have you hit another wall with your painting?” He’d been flying along since he’d had his last breakthrough, working constantly during that day—as well as most of the nights, she was pretty sure—and he was just a couple of pieces away from finishing what he needed for his upcoming show. The thought that he might give himself a break made her stomach untwist. As happy as she was that he was inspired to paint, the man needed sleep.
At her question, his put-on expression of innocence collapsed, and his eyes widened with honest surprise, telling her that she’d hit the nail on the head. All he said, however, was, “Maybe.”
“What happened?” She leaned back against her desk, all thoughts of her extensive to-do list gone.
“I started the painting that’s supposed to be the last one for the show.” He shoved his hand through his tousled hair, drawing Annabelle’s attention to how extra messy it looked. That should’ve been the first clue that he was stressed, since he always tortured his hair when painting wasn’t going well, raking his fingers through and tugging on the ends.
When he didn’t continue, she frowned with concern. His hair was a mess, and he had to be encouraged to talk. Whatever issue he’d run into was serious. “Show me,” she said, pushing away from the desk.
Although he made a face, he led the way to his worktable in the studio. A single piece of heavy watercolor paper was taped to the surface. There wasn’t any paint on the paper, just the usual rough sketch, the way Louis started every painting.
It took a few moments for
her to see the subject of the drawing. When the shapes started making sense, her breath caught. Instead of the usual perfect pair he normally featured in his paintings, the sketch showed that both subjects were missing pieces.
“Oh, wow.” Leaning closer, she tried to take in more of the details but was frustrated by the incompleteness of the drawing. “You need to finish this so I can look at it some more. This is going to be incredible, Louis. It’s really ambitious.”
“Too ambitious?” Of course he caught the only thing that might possibly have a hint of criticism.
“No.” Her response was immediate, but then she paused to consider the drawing again before finishing her thoughts out loud. “You’ll definitely be pushing some of your boundaries, but that’s a good thing. If you can take the potential of this sketch and bring it to life, I think this’ll be your best work to date.”
Instead of looking relieved by her encouraging words, he just looked more tortured. He sat on his stool and leaned on the table, bringing his head right next to hers as they studied the mostly blank paper in front of them. “That’s why I’m stuck...again. What if I mess it up?”
She shrugged, still not able to look away from the sketch. As simple as the graphite lines were, there was something that caught and held her attention. Although she didn’t say it out loud, she really hoped he didn’t mess it up in the process of painting it. “Then you’ll try again.” She tried to keep her voice light, knowing that he didn’t need her to heap extra pressure onto his head. He already had plenty of that. “Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
With a dramatic groan, he grabbed two handfuls of his hair and tugged, leaving the strands rumpled and sticking up in the most comical way. “Yes. We have it every time I get stuck. I can’t help it. I worry.” His fingers ghosted over the surface of the paper, almost—but not quite—touching the lines of the sketch. “There’s so much potential at this stage, and so many ways I can mess it up. Maybe I should hand it over to a better artist.”
She knew he was fishing, but she was willing to give him the compliments he needed. “There is no one better. You’re the only one who can finish this piece just as it’s meant to be painted. So no more helping in the gallery.” She tapped the sketch. “This is waiting for you, and I’m impatient to see it in its final form. Get to work.”