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Chapter Nine
Ella stood back from the canvas and eyed it critically. She wasn’t happy with what she saw. It seemed disjointed and chaotic. Then again, the feelings that she was trying work through with her paints and canvas were disjointed and chaotic, too. So it made sense.
She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel about Donovan stepping back into her life. Hell, she didn’t even know how she did feel, let alone if it was what she should be feeling!
On the one hand, he’d sent her into a tailspin. There was definitely no denying that. And, although one part of her longed for the lovely peace that she’d felt in her art room before his return—this place that had always been her sanctuary from the world around her—another part of her felt excited, not only for what his presence might mean for her future, but what it could mean for her art.
After all, great artists suffered. And, while she had certainly not had a perfect life, she hadn’t gone through any kind of drama or tragedy that would necessarily translate itself into a masterpiece of the art world. Maybe now there was a chance to change that.
She shook her head. That was crazy thinking. Like most of the people she’d gone to art school with, she’d always romanticized the idea of the “tortured artist.” Now that she was finally feeling something approaching “tortured,” she wasn’t quite so sure that the concept was all it was cracked up to be.
She chose a smaller brush from the glass mason jar that sat next to her easel. Maybe filling in some fine details would give form to the chaos. By adding some structure to the piece, her art wouldn’t be mirroring her life at all—but maybe it could lead it. Maybe she could use the painting as a tool to get her mind and heart under control, bring some order to her inner tumult.
Yeah, right.
She took a deep breath and dove in. It was worth a try, at any rate.
After she’d been painting for what felt like only a few minutes, she was surprised by the sound of the bell over the front door. She had kept the place closed after lunch, knowing she would need to lose herself in the process of making art. The front door was closed. That meant it must be someone who had a key. Only a couple of people did.
She was just starting to feel the first tickle of butterflies in her stomach when the mystery was solved. Genevieve opened the door to the back room and stepped in.
“What are you doing here?” Ella asked. She knew Genevieve didn’t get off work until 5 o’clock, so why would she be in the shop right after lunch?
“We’re going to the softball game. Did you forget? Is that why you’re not dressed yet?”
Ella’s brows drew together. “What are you talking about? That’s not until six.”
“Yeah, exactly. What time do you think it is, Ell?”
For the first time since she’d heard the bell, Ella glanced up at the clock. Shock flowed through her. “Oh, my God. It’s 5:30! I would’ve sworn that it was, like, two o’clock!”
Genevieve laughed. “Did you lose track of time because you’re so up in your head with painting? That’s actually kind of cool. You haven’t done that since we were kids.”
Ella was too frantic to absorb the coolness factor. “Holy crap, Gen! I’m covered in paint! I have to get cleaned up before the game.”
“Who cares what you look like? Throw on your jersey and let’s go. I want to grab a beer before the first inning.”
“I care what I look like. Because Donovan’s back in town. He dropped by the shop this afternoon, and he’s going to be at the game tonight.”
Genevieve’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an O. Understanding dawning, she gestured at the canvas and said, “Oh, okay. All this makes sense now. Got it.”
“Yeah, probably,” Ella admitted as she grabbed up her purse and keys. “But I don’t have time to go down that particular road of self-analysis at the moment. Right now, I kind of have to shower. And, although I never thought I’d say this before a softball game, there are definite hair and makeup concerns to be dealt with.”
“Yep, definitely. Let’s get a move on. Don’t worry. Your place is only two minutes away, and I will be there to be your personal styling goddess. We got this, girl. But you have to do one thing for me first.”
“What? Anything.”
“Admit that you are fully in love with Donovan Valentine. Why else would you care so much whether or not he saw you covered with paint? Lord knows he’s seen it plenty of times before.”
“Okay, okay. You think you’re real funny. But we don’t have time for this now!”
“Precisely. That’s why you should just go ahead and admit it. You’re hot for his bod.”
“Shut up.”
“Warm for his form, as my grandmother used to say.”
“Again. Shut up.”
Genevieve gave her an evil little grin. “All right, you win. In the interest of time, I’ll drop it for now. But I just want you to know that I know. And now you know I know.”
“I might be more worried if that made a little more sense.”
“Oh, it makes all the sense in the world. You just don’t want to admit it. But that’s fine. Because the truth is going to come out. And when it does, we are both going to know that I was right. And, honestly, not a whole lot else matters except for that. Now let’s go make you hot.”
