Page 16 of Wanting His Girl

I lean back against the polished bar, arms crossed over my chest. "Yeah, well, sometimes you have to swing big if you want to hit a home run."

Wes just shakes his head.

He’s never been one for baseball metaphors. I don’t blame him, though. Not everyone can spot an opportunity from left field.

It's Saturday afternoon, the day of Melanie's art expo event at Pitcher's Brew.

My brothers and I are putting up the final touches, hanging paintings, and arranging sculptures while Melanie gets ready in her apartment. I want my girl to be feeling her best for her big day, and I know she likes to take her time getting ready.

As I look around the bar, I let the grin fully stretch across my face, feeling how right this moment is.

Inviting Melanie's boss was a strategic move, one that could change things for her in a big way. My girl’s got fire and her ideas are awesome.

She just needs the right audience to see it.

"Her boss needs to see what she's capable of, and there's no better way to show him than this," I tell Wes. "Trust me. This gala is going to be the perfect pitch for her proposal."

“I don’t know, man,” Chase's eyebrows are hitched high as he sets a framed landscape on an easel. "Mel's boss showing up could spook her."

"Could fire her up too," Duke chimes in, his arms full of abstract sculptures. "Bold moves are game-changers."

Wes groans. “Would you two stop with the baseball metaphors already?”

But he's grinning now, the infectious kind that says he's on board, skepticism be damned.

I adjust a painting of a mountain vista, the brush strokes bold and confident – much like the move I've just played. My gut twists slightly at Chase's words. What if Melanie does freak out? No, that's not her style. She's got grit, that one, and she thrives when challenged.

If anyone can appreciate the unexpected, it's Melanie.

And deep down, I know this is the kind of grand gesture that'll show her exactly how much faith I've got in her vision.

The doors swing open, and the buzz of conversation swells like a wave crashing into The Pitcher's Brew. Lights gleam off polished wood and colorful canvases. I stand back, arms folded across my chest, and let the sights and sounds wash over me.

"Look at this turnout," Dean, Melanie's brother, says with a low whistle, nudging me in the ribs. "You've hit it out of the park, man."

"Team effort," I correct him, but I can't help the grin that tugs at my lips. The place is teeming with life—locals mixed with out-of-towners, all here because of what we've created.

They move from piece to piece, heads tilting, eyes wide, some reaching for the complimentary wine as they go. Every nod, every appreciative murmur, feels like a pat on the back. This town needed something fresh, and together, Melanie and I served it up.

But then, through the throng of art enthusiasts, I catch sight of him—Melanie's boss, Mr. Calloway, his silver hair unmistakable even in the crowd.

He's flanked by a couple of folks who look equally out of place in their fancy attire, their gazes skeptical as they scan the room.

My stomach tightens, a coil of nerves that wasn't there a second ago.

This guy's opinion matters, not just to the success of tonight, but to Melanie's future. She's got ideas big enough to fill any museum, and I've seen the work she's put into them.

I watch as he pauses before a large oil painting, its strokes bold and vibrant, a representation of Cooper Hills' rugged beauty. There's a hush around him, a circle of space as people give him room to contemplate.

"Come on," I urge silently, willing him to crack a smile, to nod, to show a sign that he gets it—that he sees the heart and soul poured into every frame hanging on these walls.

The community has come alive tonight, united by the power of art, and if he can't see the value in that, then he's missing the point entirely.

I rub a hand over my jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble under my fingers.

It's out of my hands now, and I hate that. But looking around at the mingling crowd, I know we've accomplished something great here, no matter what the verdict is. We've brought people together, and that's worth more than any single approval.

Still, as I watch him, I can't shake the hope that he'll see what Melanie and I have seen from the start—that art is more than just a pretty picture; it's a heartbeat, a memory, a piece of someone's soul laid bare. And maybe, just maybe, he'll see why Melanie belongs at the helm of such a vision, leading the charge with her passion and her drive.

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