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Michelle smiled. “Of course, but do look around. I’ll see you later.”
“I’m hungry,” Connor said, pulling at his hand.
Gavin grinned, feeling strangely relieved. Connor being hungry, he could do something about. There were obviously things he and Brooke should talk about, but two things were making him feeling lighter somehow: he was going to see her again soon, and she’d painted the two of them. In every single painting, they were the subjects. That was what the exhibition was about.
For the first time in two weeks, the tight band around his chest had eased a tiny bit. “So am I,” he said to Connor. “Let’s see what we can find to eat.”
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Brooke took a deepbreath and closed her eyes for a moment before she walked into the gallery. She only hoped she wouldn’t have to rush to the bathroom again soon. The feeling of nausea she’d been experiencing since last week just wouldn’t abate. The flight to Seattle had been exhausting. Normally, she bounced back quickly after she’d lost sleep while painting, but this time the lethargic feeling lingered.
She’d bought another phone at the airport. Her old one was still missing. It wasn’t in any of the boxes she’d unpacked. She’d dropped off a few boxes at her mom’s—those were supposed to have been filled with stuff that Eleanor had left at Brooke’s studio over the years. Probably her stupid phone had ended up in one of those.
The place was packed. Relieved, Brooke looked around the big, open room showcasing her exhibition. The gallery had recently moved. The raw space on the ground level of a well-known building had been converted into a beautiful, light-filled gallery. It was located a block away from a sculpture garden, sheltered from the busy streets. There was a main exhibition salon, an art-research library where she’d spent a lovely few hours since yesterday, and this big exhibition room.
Michelle’s suggestions of where to hang which paintings were spot on. Turning three hundred sixty degrees, Brooke tried to find the two paintings she felt were her best work, which Michelle hadn’t yet put up when Brooke had visited that morning.
The KissandThe Forever-Kindwould always be close to her heart, and she couldn’t bear to part with them.
Michelle, dressed in a bright red outfit, spotted her, and with a wide smile, rushed over. “Brooke, darling, I’m so glad you’ve arrived.” She was out of breath, and with a laugh, she shook her head. “Too much excitement for someone my age. We’ve already sold half of the paintings, and we haven’t even started yet.” She grabbed hold of Brooke’s hand. “I’m going to introduce you in a minute, but I have a buyer forThe KissandThe Forever-Kind. Very persistent, I must add. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
But Brooke shook her head adamantly. “Sorry, I told you, those two are not for sale.”
Taking Brooke’s arm, Michelle walked her over to a small podium where a microphone had been set up. “As I’ve mentioned, a very persistent customer. If you still refuse to sell, he wants to talk to you afterward.”
Vexed, Brooke glared in Michelle’s direction, but the gallery owner was already on her way to the microphone. And for the first time, Brooke noticed where Michelle had put the two paintings. They were both behind the podium where the microphone was, hanging next to one another. Oh, look—how absolutely perfect. All her irritation with Michelle and her persistent client evaporated.
The next moment, though, the room swayed around her. Oh, dear. If she could only sit down, even for a few minutes, it would help. She really didn’t feel well. Frantically, she searched around her. But of course, there wasn’t a chair in sight. Everyone was standing or walking around. Concentrating hard, she tried to focus on her breathing. In and out. She could do this.
As Michelle cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention, the crowd moved closer, except for a lone figure at the back, Brooke noticed.
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As someone tapped ona microphone, Gavin turned toward the small podium. The woman in red was speaking. Brooke had to be here, somewhere. Scanning the room, he noticed a lone figure at the back. Everyone else was moving forward, except for this person.
The guy turned his head and, in that instant, Gavin recognized him. It was that creepy guy from the gallery in Missoula, he’d bet his life on it. What the hell was he doing here? What was his name again? Bill something.
With an eye on Bill, he turned to watch Michelle talk. And there...his heart skipped a beat before it kicked him in the ribs. There was Brooke, dressed in a floor-length, soft beige dress with a deep V-neck in front and at the back, and what looked like hundreds of tiny snowflakes sprinkled all over the dress. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Bill begin moving forward. He caught Blake’s eye and quickly walked closer to the ex-FBI agent who was now married to Lindsay. Maybe he was unnecessarily worried, but he didn’t trust Bill, not for a second.
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When Michelle beganto speak, Brooke turned to look at the flamboyant woman welcoming everyone. She’d worked with Michelle before on several occasions, and she loved her passion for her work.
“Please welcome Brooke Davidson. Feel free to ask questions!”
Loud applause followed as Brooke walked toward the microphone. Several journalists would also be attending the opening tonight. Being the center of attention was not something she felt comfortable with; it was the part of her job she could really do without. Over the years, though, she’d come to appreciate that buyers of her work wanted to know something about the artist whose works they were acquiring.
As she took her place in front of the microphone, her gaze fell on the person she’d just seen hovering at the back. Her breath left her body in one swoosh as she recognized him. It was Bill Norton, the manager of the gallery in Missoula. A sick feeling of dread settled in her tummy. He’d been fired from his job, so what was he doing here? Probably up to no good, of that she was fairly sure.
As she opened her mouth to speak, Bill swiftly began to move forward in her direction, a nasty smile on his face.
Squaring her shoulders, Brooke began to talk. Bill Norton was not going to spoil her opening night. “A big round of applause for Michelle, please. You’ve outdone yourself, thank you. It’s always such a pleasure to work with you.”
As everyone clapped, Brooke searched the crowd for Bill again. He was still slowly moving forward, forcing his way through the crowd, inch by inch. Frantically, she looked around. Surely there had to be security guards somewhere?
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