Color My World Page 4

  She took his money, ignoring the sparks that lit off inside her as their fingertips touched. His hand was warm, just like she remembered, and she realized she’d probably been thinking about him way too much. She didn’t need to be floating in the sky right now. Her feet needed to be planted firmly on the ground. She had enough to worry about. She pulled her hand back from the money box.

  “Thank you for your business.”

  “My pleasure. I’ll see you around sometime.”

  She resisted the urge to ask when that would be, but instead, she watched him walk across the plaza until he disappeared behind a group of people. She followed the well-formed line of his shoulders before ripping them away.

  * * *

  Cassie found herself humming as she slid her swipe card into the reader to clock in for her shift. She was ten minutes early, which was unheard of for her. She usually swiped right on the dot, pushing being late. If it was a really good day, she’d be there one or two minutes early, but that was a once a month type of thing.

  She didn’t deserve to think about him. They had only talked on two separate occasions, and both were about work-related things. A person was only allowed to ponder on someone when they had talked a ton and developed a deep connection, right?

  It was embarrassing, really. She was a grown woman who had spent maybe an hour with him in total. She’d just moved here. She didn’t need to throw herself at the first attractive man she met, but there was something about him, something that drew her in. Was he really as interested in her as he seemed? Was it just because he liked her art, or because she was new in town? Was she reading his signals all wrong, to where it was just wishful thinking? He could easily see them as just friends, enjoying a short flirtation with a new artist he liked and nothing more.

  Still, this town and the fresh start it offered her seemed to be doing her a world of good, especially since she’d crossed paths with him. She was turning into a professional artist, a real salesperson, and finally Hank wasn’t the only one buying her art. Her prints and cards had sold some, but nowhere close to where she needed it to be. True, those sales didn’t bring in a lot of money, not compared to selling paintings, but there was something very reassuring about people purchasing her art, even if they were the cheaper options. It spoke to the fact that her work was likable and that, given enough time and opportunity, maybe, just maybe, she could really make it in this industry, just like she’d claimed to already be doing “up north.”

  She unpacked the first box of T-shirts and started on the second. She didn’t even notice when Heather came in. Normally, Cassie greeted her with a smile, seeing her as more of a friend than a boss, but today, she was so lost in thought she didn’t even look up.

  She thought of the way Hank’s eyes met hers, the intensity that had sparked between them. It had made her feel alive, even as it tied her tongue and turned her skin into a sea of tingles. And then there was his description of the perfect woman—it seemed a little on the nose. It had been too close, too pointed a comparison to be seen as just coincidence, no matter how her mind tried to argue her into believing that. He wouldn’t even commit to coming by the farmers’ market next week.

  “Stop it, Cassie.” She willed her heart rate to slow down, back to normal.

  “Stop what?”

  Heather’s voice jolted Cassie from her thoughts and she looked up, startled to see Heather standing right in front of her.

  “Ah, sorry.” Cassie blushed, horrified at being caught in such a moment. “I was just thinking aloud.”

  Heather laughed. “I noticed. I’ve been here for a few minutes and you haven’t said a word to me.”

  “It’s just…it was a big weekend with the market and all.”

  “Uh huh.” Heather didn’t sound very convinced. “Are you sure it wasn’t a big weekend for any other reason?”

  “Don’t I wish.” Cassie tried to sound confident and sassy—like she normally would.

  “It still sounds like you’re suffering from a bit of man trouble. Or maybe not trouble at all?” She raised her eyebrows, even as she came closer.

  “It’s nothing. I’m pretty sure it’s nothing, anyway. Just a nice customer I met.”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. It just passes the time while we’re stocking.”

  “It’s probably nothing. A guy came up to my booth and became my first customer.”

  “That’s great! Congrats. And you said he’s nice?”

  Cassie nodded. “Conversational, nice, confident…”

  “Good looking?”

  “Heather! He’s a customer.”

  “But…”

  “But yes, he is good looking if you must know. But that’s not important at all.” Isn’t it?

  Heather swapped out the label on the shelf just below the can she placed. “I just want you to be careful, okay? Don’t let your past keep you from finding the right guy when he finally shows up.”

  Cassie nodded. She and Heather had talked all about it, and Cassie was glad for someone who was willing to listen without judgement. She was right to warn her to be cautious. Cassie hadn’t guarded her heart very well last time, and it had cost her.

  “We’ll see,” Cassie said.

  Chapter Four

  By the time the next market rolled around, Cassie was keyed up and on edge. Part of it was from her finances, as she hadn’t been able to work any extra shifts that week, so her budget could use some help. The rest was wondering if she’d see Hank again. Would he come? If he didn’t, where would he be? Were there other farmers’ markets he went to on weekends, visiting randomly? Or had he been lying too and there was someone else he was seeing?

  Still, Cassie only had half an hour of uncertainty and stress before she saw the now-familiar outline of Hank coming toward her, wandering through the stalls. He walked with purpose, stopping only a few times, but he did stop, greeting people who seemed to know him and looking at a few of the items on display. He clearly wasn’t here just for her, but he didn’t seem to purchase anything, either. She felt an odd tinge of satisfaction at that, maybe a competitive drive in her resurfacing a little.

  After all, it certainly wasn’t a bad thing if he wasn’t interested in other artists. The more money that went her way, the sooner she could pay the movers bill, among others. Even if she couldn’t pay the whole thing, the closer she was to the total, the more they’d be willing to work with her. She’d feel the same way about any other repeat customer, she told herself.

  “Here you are again,” she said as he walked up.

  “Here I am,” he said. “The weather’s nice, so I thought I’d get some fresh air.”

  She tapped her chin. “And the other times?”

  He smiled. “Maybe I wanted to see someone special.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “Has that taco truck always been there?”

  She blinked. That was abrupt. “Every time. And yes, it smells that good all day long. I’m surprised you haven’t heard my stomach rumbling.”

  “I don’t blame you. I’m going to have to eat lunch soon, looks like.”

  He stepped up to her booth and examined a piece she’d made a few weeks ago, one that had been hiding in the back the last few times. “To tell you the truth,” he said, “it was getting a little boring here at the market before you arrived. A little bit predictable, I suppose. Sure, the items on their tables changed, but it’s mostly the same type of thing.”

  “I’ve heard there are other painters here at the market, though.”

  “Well, sure, but not everyone paints the same. You know that better than I do.”

  So that was it. He was only interested in novelty, just like she thought. “So…you don’t like predictable?”

  “Something unexpected keeps life exciting.”

  “Then I’m surprised you’re here. I’m nothing like that. I mean, I’ve been told I can be fun and spontaneous…at least back then.” She shrugged. “But here I am, on a Sat
urday morning, hunched over a folding table staring at people. I might be more predictable and boring than you think.”

  “I’d say ambitious and driven.”

  “Driven?” She shook her head, frowning. That sounded like Hanna, not her. “No one calls me driven—probably for good reason.”

  “That’s not true. I just did. You moved to a new place and followed your dreams. That sounds pretty driven to me. It’s a good thing. I like to think of myself as driven too. Once I make up my mind about wanting something, I go after it with everything I’ve got.”

  She knew the words weren’t meant for her, but they made her lean forward just that little bit more. She looked down, scrubbing at a stray mark on her table with her thumb and trying to ignore the intensity of his eyes, the way he looked at her, how his words sent a flutter through her. He made her feel wanted, even though she knew that she shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she was. She needed to calm down.

  But instead, she said, “Everything you’ve got, huh?” She adopted a playful tone, something the old Cassie would’ve said, but it came out breathless rather than flirty and bold. Rusty, indeed.

  He leaned in closer. “Always.”

  She couldn’t think of a comeback. She wanted to laugh, but she knew she’d be lucky just to break eye contact.

  Thankfully, he didn’t seem to expect her to say anything. He moved straight on. “Speaking of which, I’d like to talk a little business with you.”

  “Business?” She didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. After all, she’d been the one indicating she didn’t want to move things along too quickly, and Heather’s advice came back to her. She knew nothing about Hank’s personal life, about who he really was when he wasn’t at the farmers’ market. It was probably just as well that he wanted to talk business.

  “Yes. I want to buy another painting.” He walked around the booth, inspecting every single display until Cassie started worrying.

  Did he not know what he wanted, for once? Or was he disappointed with her art? Did he think her other paintings weren’t as good as the one he’d bought? She started looking critically at each one, reminding herself of their shortcomings—how this one had a tiny smudge in one spot, that one hadn’t quite balanced the colors the way she’d wanted, and another’s angle had probably been better as an idea in her head…as a finished piece of art, it struggled to really show what she’d hoped for.

  He joined her next to her table. “Don’t get me wrong. All these are great, but they’re not quite what I’m looking for. Maybe you could help me with that.”

  “Sure. What are you looking for?” She felt her body tense. What if this had to do with her “earlier successes,” where he was looking for her so-called best sellers and wanted her to show him something along those lines? What if he’d done some research on her and knew she was a fraud, and now he was trying to expose her in a dramatic way? He seemed like someone who liked a little flair.

  He looked away, one hand tracing along his strong jawline as though deep in thought. Or not sure how to move forward. Was it possible he was nervous? “It’s pretty specific.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “I’d like to see if you’d paint a studio. As a commissioned piece.”

  “What sort of studio?”

  “A painting one.”

  “Painting a…painting studio? Is that supposed to be ironic or something? Like a dream within a dream?”

  He chuckled. “It’s just a look I’m interested in. It’s like glimpsing creativity itself. Besides, they say to create what you know, and I’m sure you know painting studios.”

  “Not really. Mine isn’t a true studio. Not enough room to turn around properly, much less enough for the right amount of easels and jars and all that. I feel claustrophobic in there half the time.” She regretted saying it aloud as soon as she had. That sort of thing went against her story, not along with it.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You seem to manage pretty well with it, though.”

  She tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth. It was certainly an odd request, but it sounded like a challenge. She could tell this mattered to him with how he’d worded it. This wasn’t some whim he had, a challenge he was throwing out there just to see if she could handle it professionally. He clearly felt this painting would say something for some reason. Mean something, to him at least, even if no one else appreciated it.

  If anything, it made her all the more curious about him. What kind of man was he? She couldn’t picture any guy she’d known asking for a painting like that, or even being able to talk about it without bursting out laughing.

  She knew other artists, of course, but none of them had ever talked about painting a studio. Usually, they wanted a painting to take them somewhere else, like a window into another world. They all probably spent too much time in a studio to begin with. They didn’t need another one in their life, and an ideal art space might just make them a bit envious. But Hank probably isn’t an artist himself, so he doesn’t have to worry about that.

  “Is there anything specific you want me to include?”

  He glanced at one of her displays as if looking for inspiration. “I want it on the realistic side. As though you could walk right into the space. And…I don’t want any people in the picture. I want it to feel like a painter just set everything down and stepped out, leaving a work in progress on the canvas.”

  “It sounds like an irresponsible artist. Brushes need washing and the canvas might need covering.”

  “It’s kind of symbolic. That’s a way to think of it.”

  “Okay, I can do that. What size are you wanting?” She tried to decide how to price such a project. She usually estimated based on the size and complexity of the project, after it was finished, but she had no idea how long it would take for her to create this specific painting. Her first thought was to charge him the same price she had for the two others, but those weren’t custom.

  “At least the same size as the last one I bought, but I want it big enough to put in the details. I really don’t know that much about an ideal art space, but I’d imagine you need a good-sized canvas to make it look authentic and complete.” He gestured with his hands what he imagined the size to be.

  “Don’t worry about the money,” he continued. “I know you charge reasonably—and I’m sure you’ll have to add a bit for a custom order. Why don’t you spend some time figuring out the arrangement and composition and then let me know how much it’ll cost?”

  She nodded, feeling excitement bubble up inside of her. This was the big leagues now. He was making everything so easy. She almost wondered if he knew she was new to selling her own art and was doing all this to help her, but that didn’t seem possible. His request was so specific, so clearly thought out, and she hadn’t said anything to give herself away.

  Still, this was the first time anyone had been so interested in her art. She was beyond thrilled. She was exhilarated and nervous, a happy, eager energy humming just beneath the surface.

  But she made herself respond more professionally. “Sure, that won’t be a problem. I’d just need some way to contact you once I have an estimate ready.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be in touch.”

  For a moment, she just looked at him. He seemed so eager when it came to buying her art…and so reluctant to give her any solid guarantees as to how she could find him later. It made her think of Cinderella, only she was the one with the glass slipper.

  “It can just be an email if that works better for you,” she said.

  “I try to only check my email for work. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you next time at the market—but if you need more time to arrange your ideas, that’s fine. I don’t mind how long you take. I mean, the sooner the better, since I enjoy your work, but don’t worry if you haven’t finalized everything by next weekend.”

  Is this a test? Maybe he was trying to gauge just how successful she’d been with her art by seeing how
she handled a bizarre custom order? “No, I should know everything by then. No problem.”

  “If you don’t, it’s okay. I know I’m not your only custom order. It’s not like you can spend all day working on mine, so I’ll understand if it takes you a little bit longer.” He smiled, and she felt her worries melt away. He couldn’t smile like that if he was secretly suspicious. He just couldn’t.

  He was a genuine art lover, considerate and thoughtful. Just because she hadn’t met anyone like him before didn’t mean he was fake.

  “Well, I’ll get started today after I get home. If you change your mind about giving me a way to contact you, I could update you sooner.”

  He shook his head. “I can wait until next weekend. Sometimes the best things take time. After you get started, I’d like to see updates, though…maybe each week at the market? You could bring pictures. I wouldn’t expect you to haul the unfinished canvas back and forth, of course.”

  She was starting to wonder if any of this was real or if Hank was just a daydream she had every week at the farmers’ market. But his money was real enough. The selling of her painting had definitely happened, as she had slightly more room in her little house to prove it. Maybe there was something he didn’t want her to know about the rest of his life?

  But he was a paying client and a repeat customer. She couldn’t afford to be too nosy, not so long as the movers still had to be paid. They had started calling her this week, allegedly just to make sure she’d received the final bill, but she knew it would get worse if she didn’t pay them soon.

  She held her head up and even managed a bit of a laugh. “I can definitely show you progress images, so long as you don’t judge my unfinished work too harshly. My paintings tend to look a bit rough before they’re finished, but I promise they do get better.”

  “I know how good your finished ones are.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, very lightly, like a reassurance from an old friend…with a hint of something more. “Some things are worth waiting for.”

  She took a deep breath, reminding herself that the same thing could be said about people. His words felt like a promise of things to come, and she needed to accept them for what they were without second-guessing the life out of them. “Thank you. For your business. It means a lot to me.” More than you know.