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I lean back in my chair and glance around my office, pictures of the winery on my walls. Not a one that is personal. Nothing in this office is mine, and yet, I guess if I inherit this place, everything is mine. My cellphone rings, and I glance down to find Nick’s number. Adrenaline surges through me with crazy fierceness, and I look at the clock that reads noon.
“Nick,” I answer. “Don’t you have a deposition?”
“We’re on our lunch break. How did I make you feel, Faith?”
“Like you’re my enemy again.”
“I’m not your enemy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why would I be your enemy?”
I inhale and let it out. “You’re making me feel like the minute you discover any mistake I’ve made in my life, it’s over. We’re done. You’re making me feel I can’t ever let you see a flaw, of which I have many.”
“That is not my intention, sweetheart. You’re perfect to me. Too fucking perfect for my own good.”
“See. I know you mean that as a compliment, but the underlying implication is that you want to find a flaw. Stop being an asshole, Nick Rogers.”
“Right. Stop being an asshole. This is new territory for me, Faith.”
“You said that. I get that. It is for me, too, and I don’t even know what this is, but I apparently need to know.”
“That makes two of us, sweetheart. Tell me about Chris calling.”
“You have work.”
“Tell me.”
“He wants to showcase my work. I’ll fill you in later, but I apparently need a date for Saturday night in San Francisco. Will you be my date, Nick?”
“You damn sure aren’t taking anyone else. Yes, Faith. I’ll be your date. I’ll arrange to have a charter plane pick you up and bring you to me.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Can you come up Thursday night?”
“Friday night.”
“I’ll call you tonight with details. Faith?”
“Yes?”
“You’re an artist. My artist.” He hangs up.
I smile. I think it’s my first real smile since my mother died. And for the first time in years, I am filled with possibilities, for my art and for this man who’s taken my life by storm. And the possibilities are amazing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Faith
Friday afternoon comes quickly, but not quickly enough, and brings me to my house to pack, since I’ve been staying here all week. And I stayed here despite the fact that the winery has been crazy busy, but none of it has been collection calls. Nick assures me he has things under control and that I should trust him until he can give me a full update in person. And I do. I tell myself it’s because he’s an amazing attorney, and he is, but after spending hours on the phone with each other every night, it’s the man I’m connecting with, not the attorney. And while our conversations have been more about our youths, his school and mine, it’s groundwork. It’s a path to more. It certainly brings more to my canvas. I start a new canvas. The gardens. My mother’s gardens. It’s somehow therapeutic.
But it’s staying here, and I’m heading to San Francisco, where I hope maybe I’ll get news of those sales that I still hear are pending, but I’ve had no confirmation. I’d really like to hear about the L.A. show, too, but Josh swears I’ve not been ruled out yet. More so, I am going to the Chris Merit event, with Nick by my side. Nervous and excited, I pack my weekend bag and fret over what to wear tonight. Nick wants to stay in at his place and have quality time together, so jeans should work. But jeans feel so plain. I’ve finally decided on black dress pants and a pink silk blouse when my doorbell rings. Dread that the bill collectors are back fills me, and I walk to the door to find a delivery driver standing there.
Frowning because I’ve ordered nothing, I open the door.
“Faith Winter?”
