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He shook his head. “It’s some good comic relief.”
Something passed over her face. Her smile almost slipped before she caught herself and the corners flew up higher. “So glad to be of service.” To Bronte, she said, “Can I help clean up or anything?”
“No. I got this. Give me a call when you want to come back.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Okay. See you then.”
London went back to the bathroom where she left her bag and slinky dress. Ezra followed.
When she came out, he said, “You know I was kidding, right?”
She stared blankly at him.
“The comic relief crack. Your pregnant snowman joke was funny. That was all I meant.”
She smiled again, much weaker than her previous ones, and waved her hand. “Oh, yeah. Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He watched her walk out the door, and a niggling feeling told him he’d managed to fuck up even though he’d been trying to be friendly. Bronte had been right. He should’ve just stayed out of it and away from London.
London stepped outsideand a blast of cold air whipped around her. She was hot and clammy from glassblowing, but her skin was heated from all of the conflicting emotions she’d experienced over the last ten minutes.
When Ezra smiled at her, warmth pooled in her belly—the good kind of warmth—the kind that saidmaybe we should get naked together. She was rarely that wrong when reading men. A few minutes later he was basically calling her a joke.
It shouldn’t bother her. She knew better, but the added scrutiny by an expert as she tried to focus on the tree topper rattled her. She drove back to her loft and crawled into bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She was a mess.
Between the adrenaline from the heist and working on the tree topper and misreading Ezra’s looks, her brain was firing in fourteen different directions. She threw off her covers and went to her studio. Staring at the canvases she had set up for the upcoming forgeries, she considered working on them.
But being in learning mode at the studio with Bronte and Ezra got her fired up to create—really create something new. Something for her.
She’d planned on reaching out to some galleries in the spring to see if she could have a show. She was still a no-name in the city, but she knew if she could get some attention on her work, people would like it.
She was a damn good artist. She just wasn’t feeling like it lately. Grabbing a sketchpad and her favorite pencils, she began to sketch. She drew by the twinkling lights of her Christmas decorations. The basic line drawing flowed from her fingers and before she knew it, she was onto another page and another. The sun crept up through the windows, peeking through the frost on the glass. London stood and stretched. For the first time in months, she felt productive. No, productive wasn’t the right word. She’d been plenty productive forging art for Mia.
Accomplished.
She felt accomplished because this art was for her, from her mind, with her vision. And after last night’s tree-topper failure, she needed a win.
What felt like five minutes after she crawled into bed, London’s phone was ringing and the doorbell was buzzing. Who the hell was bothering her now?
She stumbled out of bed with her phone in her hand. “Hello?”
“Open the door!” Nikki yelled in her ear. “It’s fucking cold out here, and I’ve been ringing your bell for like ten minutes.”
London went to the front door and yanked it open.
“Let me in. I’m freezing my ass off.” She thrust a cup at London. “It was hot, but it might not be anymore.”
London shoved the door closed against the freezing wind outside and followed Nikki back inside. She put the coffee down and pulled on a sweatshirt. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t celebrate last night, so I thought we should celebrate today.”
“With coffee? No champagne?” Expensive champagne was Nikki’s go-to celebration ritual.
“I was going to, but both Wade and Audrey said you’d prefer coffee. How’d it go last night?”
London sank onto the couch. “Not great. Bronte thinks we can still get it done, but it’s gonna take multiple tries to get it right.”
