Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
It’s my turn to rest my chin on a fist and gaze in adoration at him.
“I don’t have any more pineapple,” he murmurs, peeking up at me through his lashes.
I grin back, about to open my mouth and let some drippy, infatuated words fall out, but my phone buzzes on the table with the first call I’ve received in days.
It’s Mel.
My manager never calls just to check in.
And I realize with a jolt that the art exhibit must have opened, and not only had I not been obsessing about it, I hadn’t even remembered.
I throw Liam a nervous smile and stand without excusing myself, answering the call before I’ve even made it past the hostess stand near the entrance.
“Hi.”
“Are you sitting down?” she asks, and a vibration spreads through my blood at the smile I hear on the other end of the line.
“No, in fact I essentially just hit the eject lever and launched myself out of a chair. What’s going on, Mel?”
“Your paintings sold,” she says.
Her words bounce around inside my ears before landing. “Which?”
A pause. “All of them, Anna. And they went for a thousand dollars each.”
I stare out at the beach, unseeing. “What?”
“Your paintings sold,” she repeats, laughing. “All three of them. Snatched up.” Mel waits for me to say something, but my entire vocabulary is stuck in a traffic jam in my cranium. “Anna?”
Finally, I become unstuck, and it sinks in. I sold my work. I, Anna Green, sold three paintings. This might be the start for me. The path to a career I chose and trained for, a following—even a small one. Hope makes me feel weightless. “This is—this is amazing, Mel, oh my God.” I walk in a small circle in front of the restaurant, my free hand in my hair, and when I look over, I see Liam at the table on the patio, craning his neck to watch me. I beam at him, lifting my hand to give him a thumbs-up.
And only a man worthy of these enormous feelings ballooning in my chest would smile in sun-bright relief back at me like that. Holy shit, I am so gone for him.
“Is there anything you need from me?” I ask.
“Not yet. We’ll touch base when you’re home, but for now, I’ll get to work on finding some more openings for you. Congratulations, Anna.”
We hang up and I stare at my screen for a few astounded moments.
And then, in my palm, the phone rings again.
But this time it’s Vivi. And Vivi never calls.
Panic spreads in an icy chaser, and I let it ring twice, three times, wondering whether I’m hallucinating this or whether the universe really is this fucked up. The best news ever followed by the worst. If something happened to my dad while I was here, sunbathing and fucking and drinking—
“Hey,” I answer just before the fourth ring. “What’s going on?”
“No emergency,” she bursts out, immediately. “My texts weren’t going through, and I had something time-sensitive to run by you.”
I fall gracelessly onto a bench outside the restaurant, relief making my head swim. I drop my head into my hand, willing my heart to start beating again. “Jesus Christ, Vivs.”
“Sorry. Your dad is okay. He’s kicking my ass at chess right now.”
“Why didn’t he call instead of you?”
“Because he won’t pressure you into this like I will.” She laughs.
“Pressure me into what?”
“So—okay, he mentioned that the oncologist recommended some in-home rehabilitation care?”
I nod, still shaking. “Yeah, um, a few weeks ago they gave us the order, but we were waiting for insurance to approve it while we sent out some requests to different agencies.”
“Insurance didn’t approve it,” she says bluntly. “The letter came yesterday. Which is very unfortunate, since we heard back from one of the agencies and they have someone who can start now. But she isn’t cheap.”
“Oh.” I take a deep breath. “I mean, that’s okay, right?”
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Vivi says, and in the background, Dad calls out, “No way, Anna. There is no way you’re doing this.”
“He’s worried about the money,” Vivi says with a meaningful lean to her words.
“Well,” I say, “I just sold three paintings.”
I hear footsteps, like she’s moving to another room. A door closes and her voice comes back as a whisper. “Like really? Or as in, you want me to tell your dad that version?”
“Really.” I turn my face to the sun and feel its warmth spread through me. Residual panic drains away and I feel only contentment. I have money from West, I have the start of a potential—maybe, let’s hope—career as an artist. I might be falling in… I cut the thought off. “Mel just called me. Tell Dad I can cover it, absolutely no problem.”
Vivi screams out a happy “Congratufuckinglations!” and I hear her jog back to the other room where I get to eavesdrop while she tells my father. He shouts in disbelief and then celebration, and the two of them do what sounds very much like dancing.