Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
With a new plan in my mind, I take the painting from the wall and signal to Wayne, my assistant.
“Did she buy it?” he asks as he approaches.
“No, I did. I have some errands to run, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Just call me if you need anything.”
“It’s pretty chill in here today,” he says, glancing around. “Need help with that?”
“I’ve got it. Thanks, Wayne.”
Thirty minutes later, I walk into the guesthouse, relieved to see that Sarah hasn’t been here yet. It doesn’t take long for me to hang the painting above the couch, and then I get to work on the rest of my plan.
I stock the fridge and freezer, fill a fruit basket for the table, and put a bouquet of flowers in a vase.
“Delivery.”
I glance over at the open doorway and grin at Montana Jericho, the owner of Huckleberry Delight.
“You have impeccable timing.”
She grins, a dimple flashing in her left cheek. “I know. One dozen lemon cupcakes with whipped strawberry frosting. Where do you want them?”
“Just here on the counter.”
Montana frowns at me. “Are you going to leave them in the box?”
“Where else would I put them?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
I called her from the car and told her what I needed, and why, and she assured me that she’d have the cupcakes to me inside of an hour.
She didn’t lie.
Montana and I tried to date a couple of years ago. She’s a beautiful, bright woman who runs a successful business. But after three dates, and one night of sex, we decided that we’re much better as friends.
She hurries in, carrying a pretty cake stand. The base is made out of driftwood, and it has a handblown glass dome that fits over the top. She painstakingly arranges the cupcakes on it, then fits the dome over them.
“I’ll pay you for that.”
“You sure will.” Her smile is bright as she winks at me. “I’ll add it to the tab. It looks great in here. Sarah will love it.”
“I just want her to feel welcome.”
“I think you succeeded in that, and I love that you want it for her. Sarah’s awesome.” Montana pats my shoulder and turns for the doorway. “Have a good day, Tanner.”
“You, too. Thanks, Montana.”
I grab the simple card I brought with me from the gallery and write Welcome home, Sarah. –Tanner
Once it’s leaned against the cake stand, I take one last look around and nod in approval before I let myself out, locking the door behind me.
This is one step in the right direction of making Sarah feel at home, with no awkwardness in sight.
“But I wanted to buy it. I told him that it was mine. This is absolute bullshit.”
I frown at the shrill voice as I walk back into Whalers Gallery. The woman from earlier is standing at the counter, scowling at Wayne.
“What’s up?” I ask as I approach.
“The painting I wanted is suddenly gone.” She points to the wall where the seascape hung earlier. “I came back to buy it, and your incompetent employee isn’t doing his job.”
“I don’t have any incompetent employees. Unfortunately, the painting you’re referencing sold shortly after you left.” I give Wayne a nod, indicating that I’ll take care of this.
He walks away without hesitation.
I don’t blame him.
“How is that even possible?” she counters, waving her arms about dramatically. “It hasn’t been more than an hour since I was here.”
“Like I said, it sold.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re hiding it from me.”
“I assure you, I’m not hiding it. I’m in the business of selling art, not playing games. I can see if I can get another print of that piece for you.”
“I don’t want a print, you moron. I want the original.”
“And that has sold.” Clearly, this woman isn’t used to being told no. “I have other seascapes on the wall, if you’d like to look around, or I can find out if the artist offers prints of that particular piece. Otherwise, I can’t help you.”
If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under right now.
“Fuck you, and fuck this stupid, hick excuse for a gallery. I bet you would have been a pathetic lay, anyway.” She turns and storms out of the gallery, and I let out a long breath.
“Well, she was pleasant,” Wayne says as he joins me at the counter. “She threatened to sue if I didn’t produce the painting. I told her I couldn’t produce what I don’t have, and she was welcome to contact her lawyer.”
I grin at him. “Good one. I’d been meaning to buy that piece for my guesthouse, and after she left, I assumed she was passing on it. So, I took it home. I rented out the guesthouse earlier today and wanted to hang it before the new tenant moved in.”