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With all we'd been through, my damn knees still went weak. “I guess over there near the river, so I'm out of the way.”
“Broderick's in with the building inspector, but when he's done, he'll give you the tour.”
“It's much bigger than I was expecting.”
Bastian looked back at the house. “It's an amazing house.”
He had the same look of awe I always had when working on my art—he was coming into his own in his field and I loved it. The next words sort of tumbled out of my mouth. “I could live in this crazy little town.”
“It's funny you should say that, because I was thinking the same very thing.”
Bastian gave me another mind-numbing, body-tinglingkiss, leaving me quite flustered as he walked back to the site. Maybe I wasn't so very different from my mom after all, at least in respect to Bastian, because I was definitely an addict and he was my drug.
When he disappeared around the back of the house I got to work. I wasn't at it long when I heard a cry and peered up to see an eagle fly overhead. The sight pulled my attention for a good while because I had never seen an eagle in person. It was magnificent. When it circled the top of a tree before landing, I knew there must be a nest up there.
I worked for a good two hours before I heard my name and turned to see Broderick approach. He stopped just beside me but his attention was on my painting. After a minute, his focus turned to me. “Would you consider painting a mural for me?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, for the house, I've been toying with an idea for the dining room.”
“I've never done one, but, yeah, I'd love to.”
“Excellent, I was thinking maybe you and my brother could work on it together.”
I blanched at the thought of painting a mural with Logan.
“What's wrong?”
“Painting a mural with your brother doesn't seem very fair to him. I’mstill only learning.”
He moved suddenly, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. I had the sense he had more to say, but thought better of it. Was he about to confirm my suspicion?
“So, would you like that tour now?”
I guess not. “Please.”
In the house tour, I understood Bastian's love for his craft because art and science came together in perfect harmony.After the tour, I spent another two hours on my painting, then packed it up for the day.
Everyone was meeting at Logan's for dinner, but beforehand Logan and I wanted to compare our paintings. We set up on the beach so everyone else could study them too, but before we did so Logan cleaned our brushes. He was so focused on his task that my fingers itched to sketch him. I reached for a pad of paper and a pencil and while he worked, I did too.
He wore a T-shirt, faded jeans and his feet were bare. There was a tattoo wrapped around his left bicep, some kind of scroll work, probably Celtic in origin. He was built very much like Bastian, tall, and thickly muscled. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, some of the strands pulling free from their confines as the wind gusted around us. Sketching his face sealed it for me—despite the facial hair—the lines and contours were familiar, because I saw them every morning in the mirror. I couldn't deny I was bitter because I had missed out on a lot, but then would either of us be where we were had things gone differently? Would I have met Bastian? Probably not, and so despite the bitterness, I couldn't be too angry. Everything happened for a reason.
“Okay, I'm done.” Startled out of my thoughts, I looked up to see Logan watching me. I had taken a seat on the beach as I worked.
“What are you doing?” Heasked with curiosity.
Suddenly I felt embarrassed, so I tried to pass if off, but Logan wasn't having any of that. He walked over and hunched down in front of me. “May I?”
My face went beet red as I passed him my notepad. The sketch wasn't completely finished, I still had some shading to do, but the overall image was done. He examined it for several minutes then those eyes looked up into mine and I swear they looked a bit bright.
“Can I have this? I would really like to have this.”
“It's not quite done, but yeah you can have it.”
He looked down at the sketch again, his finger lightly tracing the lines, and when he spoke again his voice sounded rough. “Thank you.”
Our gazes met and held, then he smiled. “You ready?” He asked as he gestured to the paintings behind him.
