Sweet Love

by Kayla, Mia

  “I want to know about him. Don’t be sorry.”

  “Why?” I asked again because, seriously, why would he want to know?

  “I wouldn’t call my family the conventional family. I mean, yeah, I have a dad and mom, and they’re married, but if we are branding toward family … we should use your family as an example, not mine.” He swallowed and tried to tame the bite back from his tone.

  “I’m sorry.” Because I was. Because I felt bad for him.

  “Nana says I shouldn’t blame them. That they worked hard, so we could have everything and not worry about money. But there’s this part of me that wishes they had just been around. Every game …” His voice softened. “I used to play football. And at every game, I would look at the stands, hoping they’d surprise me and just be there.” This time, his laugh had an edge. “Way to set myself up for disappointment. And that was why I decided that I wanted out. After college, I upped and moved to Manhattan, never looking back.”

  I understood where he was coming from. I needed that affirmation from my parents. My dad had always been proud of me, and there was never a time that I doubted his love for my work or his love for me. I was Michelangelo or Picasso in his eyes. But in my mother’s eyes, that was a whole different story.

  And maybe Connor accepted their relationship, but me, sometimes, I was still vying for my mother’s approval, for acknowledgment.

  “I know how you feel. My mother is the opposite of my father. In high school, I had all these art fairs. My teachers would showcase my work and tell her and my father that I had talent.” I fiddled with my hands in my lap. “She’d always let me know what she thought of my work. ‘She does that for fun. It’ll never be a good job for her. How can one paint for a living? Do you even know anyone that paints for a living?’” My voice reached a high-pitched, motherly sound, mocking her. “And when my father died, my mother only reiterated how much was riding on the line, and that’s why I went into computers because it’s a good-paying job.

  “We didn’t have a lot when I was younger. They both worked blue-collar jobs. My mom was a secretary, and my father worked for a printing company, fixing the printers.” I bit my bottom lip. “We struggled a bit, and I got that she didn’t want me to feel it.”

  And I had felt it—with my thrift-store clothes and my worn-out gym shoes, compared to others who had more. It was fine though. I’d had my own group of friends who didn’t care what the latest trend in fashion was. Most of all, I’d had a happy and full childhood.

  “That’s a shitty thing to say. And absolutely false. I know a handful of people in your industry. I know Nui Cavinchi.”

  I stared at him, mouth agape—like, seriously, I could fit a ping-pong ball in there.

  “The painter, the art dealer, and the social media queen–slash–influencer, who has over a million followers on Instagram?” My eyes widened.

  “When I told you I knew people in the industry, I wasn’t kidding around.”

  I freaked. Inside though. Because it wouldn’t be cool to start screaming like a banshee.

  I stalked Nui on social media, on her blog, on her podcast. I knew the names of her animals and her favorite burger joint. It was bad. She was a painter and also a buyer because not only did she have talent, but she also had a good eye. One post from her, and you would be a viral sensation.

  “How do you know her?” My tone was even, but inside, I was freaking the heck out.

  Connor was basically famous by association, given her status.

  “We went on a date.” There was a lightness in his tone.

  I jerked back and pointed to him, unbelieving. “You? You dated Nui Cavinchi.” This time, my face didn’t hide a thing.

  Why was I so surprised? They were both wealthy and insanely good-looking. They had that in common, as all things went.

  “I did. It was one date, and I think I bored her to death. We’d met through mutual friends.” He laughed. “I actually didn’t really know who she was until our date, until she showed me her artwork. Pictures on her phone. And then I looked her up, and to say I was blown away would be an understatement.”

  The rain pounded harder against the windshield, and Connor slowed his pace. At this point, we were going ten miles an hour with no one on the streets.

  “What happened?” Curiosity got the best of me, and I had to know.

  “We weren’t compatible. So, there wasn’t a second date, but we’ve remained good friends.”

  I blinked at him and then blinked again and again.

  He caught my stare and laughed. “Which is another reason you should help me. I meant it, Charlie. I’m going to introduce you to people who will acknowledge your talents and tell the world about them.”

  My heart sped up in my chest, and all I could do was stare at his side profile as his eyes remained glued to the road in front of us.

  “Okay.” My voice sounded unsure because, for a little bit, it was like a dream, a too good to be true dream.

  For once, it seemed like everything was falling into place for me. A job that wasn’t horrible, new friends, an upcoming exhibit, and possibly—if everything worked out—I’d get noticed for my talents, and maybe this would be the start of something grand.

  “If you help me, I promise I will introduce you to Nui.”

  Little did he know that I’d decided to help him anyway.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? You could sound a little bit more enthusiastic.” He pulled into our gated community and followed his navigation down the winding road.

  “I’m still in shock. You could’ve told me you knew Brad Pitt, and I wouldn’t be this excited.”

  Seriously … Nui Cavinchi.

  The navigation led Connor to the McMansion I now lived in. He parked in front of the driveway and turned to face me.

  “There’s no doubt that she’ll agree that you have talent. You just need to help me with this, and I’ll make the introduction. Easy. The only thing I ask is, you never doubt or question your abilities to do this, to help with this launch. Because I know you can.” There was such conviction in his tone, in his words.

  In that moment, I wanted to kiss him. Kiss him because I was so grateful, because he was so hot, or because I simply wanted to see how he tasted.

  “Okay.” My voice was more confident this time.

  “Stay put.”

  The rain pitter-pattered harder against the windows, but before I could tell him that I’d give him his umbrella back at work, he stepped out of the car, taking the umbrella with him and moving to the passenger side to get me.

  When he came to my side, I opened the passenger door, and his arm went around me to bring me underneath the umbrella. The scent of him, the masculine smell of this man, hit me directly in the nostrils, and all my lady parts were awakened. He smelled divine. I wanted to sniff his shirt, take it off, and sleep on it later. What was his aftershave?

  “This is crazy. We’ll have flooding if this doesn’t stop soon.” He walked up the driveway, but just then something by the garbage can made me pause, mid-step.

  My heart stopped beating in my chest, and it felt like I had been punched in the gut because my breath literally got knocked out of me, and I couldn’t breathe.

  I didn’t think. I reacted. I ran, chest heaving, heart pumping, arms swinging.

  “Charlie!” Connor yelled, but I ignored him.

  I ran down the driveway, leaving Connor under the umbrella and getting sopping wet.

  My worst fears were confirmed. I lifted some of my canvases into my arms that were by the garbage can. Six or seven paintings, all ruined. My arms were full because the canvases were too large to carry on my own.

  Tears flowed down my face, like a dam that had burst, coming faster down my cheeks than the endless rain.

  How could my mother do this? How could she treat my artwork literally like trash and throw everything out?

  I’d worked on these for weeks. And it would take me weeks to work on more. I wanted to show
case at least thirty paintings at the art exhibit.

  All those wasted hours. All that wasted time.

  Tears blended with the rain and flew down my cheeks effortlessly.

  “Why? Why? Why did she do this?” That was all I uttered to myself like a damn broken record.

  “Charlie … you’re getting soaked.”

  I ignored him and felt this unbearable rage bubbling under the surface. “She hates my paintings that much? She knew this would hurt me, so why would she do this?” I tried to lift more paintings into my hands, but they slipped and fell, the reds, blues, and oranges blending into one massive mess of color down the driveway.

  “Let me help you.” Connor abandoned his umbrella, tossing it on the ground.

  He reached for the remaining four paintings, and I led us back past the house to the backyard, past the massive pool, and to where my studio was—the pool house. I stepped in and turned on the lights. The rest of my paintings were everywhere. Stacked on the floor, some stacked on the couch. I had a painting mat at the far end of the room. Brushes, my watercolors, my acrylic paints were all on the side table by a blank white canvas, ready to be drawn and painted on. I sighed with relief.

  These paintings—the ones ruined—had been in the garage, but when and, for the love of God, why had she thrown them out?

  I swiped at my eyes, staring at the soaked canvases and the paintings ruined. This was ridiculous. I couldn’t help how she felt, but I couldn’t help my feelings either.

  Why couldn’t she just respect me and my art? Why couldn’t she just be the mom who encouraged me instead of trying to change me? Why couldn’t she be like my dad?

  The tears were hot and heavy as they ran down my face, and although I tried to suck it in and stop crying, the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

  “Hey,” Connor called out.

  I turned to face him. “Why would she do this?”

  I blinked up at the lights above me, but the tears wouldn’t stop falling, heavy like a waterfall.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was soft, sincere. His clothes were soaking wet, his hair flat.

  But it was as though I didn’t see him or hear him. All that filtered through me was this overwhelming anger that threatened to take me under. I wanted to scream and yell for all the wasted effort in my ruined paintings. I wanted to call Gene, the person that owned the studio, and tell her I was no longer going to lease the storefront to showcase my work. Most of all, I wanted to cry because if my father were here, I wouldn’t feel so utterly worthless.

  And then … without warning, Connor pulled me into his arms.

  Chapter 11

  Connor

  I hadn’t planned on it. I hadn’t planned on pulling her into my arms and holding her through her shakes and her tears and her sobs. But it felt like the right thing to do. I wasn’t used to consoling people. There were very few instances where I’d ever had to console anyone. But having Charlie in my arms felt oddly natural.

  “I’m sorry. Parents can be shitty people sometimes.”

  And wasn’t that the truth? Didn’t I know that more than anyone?

  She sobbed into my shirt, which was already wet from the rain but now more so with her tears. I didn’t know how long I held her, but I squeezed her tighter, and when I did, her sobs heightened.

  I felt her pain. The pain caused by parents.

  How many times had I cried myself to sleep in my younger years? How many times had my parents said they’d come home for my Christmas concert and then I’d wait and wait and they wouldn’t be there in the audience?

  But then there was always Nana. Nana always made everything okay. Making me her signature chocolate cookies that she seriously thought saved the world and made any situation better.

  When Charlie’s shakes stopped and her tears dried out, she took a step away from me and wiped at her eyes, not meeting my stare. I sensed she was embarrassed. It was in the way her shoulders cowered into her frame and how she held her stomach and mostly how she couldn’t meet my gaze.

  Only then did I survey the room. The paintings were everywhere, and they were absolutely stunning. Abstract paintings. Naked paintings of the human form. Splashes of paint against colors everywhere.

  “This is what you’re gonna showcase?” I walked around the room, picking up various canvases.

  One of the paintings stood out. Darker shades of gray and black blended with whites. It was a solemn painting, an abstract one. I didn’t know much about art. Just what was pleasing to the eye. But this signified something deeper.

  But it was beautiful nonetheless, like you could get lost into the colors as though, looking at it long enough, you could feel the pain of the painter who had painted it.

  “I painted that right after my father died.”

  My gaze moved back to hers. Her hair was matted to her face. And without thinking, I reached over and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She was freezing. No doubt from the rain. I took her hand and pulled her close, overstepping all boundaries and the little voice in my head saying that I shouldn’t.

  “Charlie … you’re freezing.” I rubbed her shoulders.

  “Chilled to the bone.” Her teeth chattered against me. “The painting … I was so mad when he died. At him mostly. Didn’t even make any sense. He died of cancer, and yet I blamed him for dying. How ridiculous is that?” Her hands were on my waist, and it seemed as though we were both using each other for warmth now.

  “But he’d told me he’d never leave me. When he left, I felt so hopeless. No one supported me like he did. No one ever loved me like he did. His whole life was to ensure that I did whatever made me happy.”

  A shiver ran through her, and I pulled her closer against me.

  “He said he would never leave. And he did.” Her voice was filled with melancholy emotion.

  “I’m sorry.” That was all I could say.

  Her losing her father would be like me losing Nana. They were the ones who had pushed us to greatness, the ones who had made us who we were today. I couldn’t even fathom it.

  “You’re freezing too.” She pushed herself up against me and met my gaze, rubbing my arms.

  And shit, I wasn’t that cold anymore.

  “There is a dryer in here. And I’ll go see if there is a robe somewhere.” She moved across the room and into the bathroom at the far end of the hallway.

  The pool house was huge, and they could rent out the space. A couch was in the main area, and the double doors made me believe there was a bedroom here.

  “Is this your studio?” I walked around the area, taking everything in—the floral couch in the living room, the full kitchen, the flat screen TV against the wall, and paintings and canvases half-finished everywhere.

  “Yep. My makeshift studio, but construction is being done to make the back room a bedroom, so I can move in here. It’s just about finished, and the buildout should be completed next week or so.”

  She walked toward me, lifting up a white fluffy robe. “Ding, ding, ding. I think I have a winner here.”

  “Only one?” I quirked an eyebrow.

  “Rock, paper, scissors?”

  I smiled at her. “Real cute.”

  “No, you can have it. I’ll just run to the house and get a change of clothes.” She bit her bottom lip, and it was the sexiest thing.

  I pushed aside all thoughts that she was wet and cute and talented in all things because I shouldn’t—and wouldn’t—get involved with her. Not when I was leaving soon. But damn … damn, was she sexy right now.

  “It’s raining. And I left my umbrella by your garbage can. Is there an umbrella here somewhere?” I peered behind her at the front entrance.

  “Let’s go searching.” She moved to the front closet right by the door. She opened the door, turned around, and frowned. “Nope.”

  “I’ll just go home.”

  She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. The rain hasn’t let up, and you’re soaked. You’ll catch pneumonia.”

  “Fine
, you take the robe.” I smiled at the look on her face. “Just throw me a towel.”

  She blinked at me, doe-eyed and beautiful.

  “We are all adults here,” I said.

  Honestly, I should go home. I was wet and cold, and the proper thing to do would be to leave now. Get in my car and stop thinking about Charlie.

  “Yes, we are all adults here … but you own the company I work for, and this seems highly inappropriate, don’t you think? If it were to get out to Alyssa or Casey … I’ll just run to the house to get a change of clothes.”

  “You go out there in the rain, and you’ll be the one to catch pneumonia. Then, you’ll call in sick. Then, I won’t meet my deadline. So, technically, I’m thinking about myself here.” My voice was light, but I could not take my eyes off of her and how her T-shirt clung to her chest. I swallowed. Hard. “Go to the bathroom. Put on that robe and throw me a towel. The sooner we get our clothes in the dryer, the sooner I can get out of here.”

  The overhead clock by the kitchenette said it was three in the morning. I thought she was gonna argue with me because she pushed out her bottom lip. But then she turned, walked into the washroom, and shut the door, taking the robe with her.

  Man … I was in trouble. Because I was attracted to her. I had been attracted to her since that first day in front of the candy wall, and I was even more attracted to her now. It was as though the more time I spent with her, the more I liked her—liked her in a way I knew I shouldn’t.

  I shook my head. It didn’t matter because nothing was going to happen between us. I could be attracted to her. Nothing was wrong with that. I just wasn’t going to act on it. The end.

  Charlie

  Ten minutes later, I was seated on the couch. The robe smelled like it hadn’t been worn in years. I bet this belonged to the former owners who used to live here. And to be honest, that was kind of gross.

  Connor paced the room, only wearing a towel. My eyes scoured his bare chest and the six-pack that had my mouth watering. Seriously, how much could one person work out? I purposely had to concentrate on his face because every time my eyes wandered, they would run further south down his abs to what lay underneath the towel, to what was visibly there. I swallowed.