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He was perfectly silent as he perused. Elle felt exposed and vulnerable, and she looked away and held her breath.
When a good five minutes had gone by and he hadn’t said anything, but was still carefully flipping through the pages—maybe for a second or third time—she said, “They’re just studies.”
As if that made them illegitimate or somehow let her off the hook, released her from the liability and labels that might be slapped on from the opinions he was silently forming his head.
She wished he would say something. And then she hoped he wouldn’t, as a sinking, drowning feeling made her wish she had never brought out her journal, inviting opinions.
But then a funny thing happened. The negative self-talk receded, and it was replaced by a soft voice that reminded her that she didn’t need validation to be whole, to be an artist. A love of art was a gift and the gift she’d been given was hers. No one could take that away from her.
“These are great,” he said, a note of wonderment coloring his voice. “Really great. Have you done any canvases since school? Wait, was that your work that was hanging in the dining room before we started the renovation?”
She suddenly remembered it was her work that he was talking about. Someone, probably Gigi or her mother, had taken the canvases down before the renovation had started so that they wouldn’t get damaged.
“Yes, that’s my work. It’s from when I was in school at SCAD.”
“Elle, why aren’t you painting more? You are so talented. I always remembered that in high school you were so artistic, so well-rounded.”
The thought of going into the speech about teaching being a time and inspiration suck and the whole ugly reality of needing to make a living so she could support herself...and Roger stealing her joy and maybe even a little bit—okay, a whole lot—of her self-confidence when he’d left her seemed exhausting. They were excuses.
So much had changed in the years since then. She already knew it was time to stop wallowing and start using her God-given gifts, even if she had to start with giving classes on art journaling to the guests who stayed at her family’s inn. She’d still have time to paint.
That was the least she could do while she waited for word to come down about a teaching job.
“I have a surprise for you,” Daniel said. There was a light in his brown eyes that hinted that she was going to like what he had to say.
“Chloe’s friend Emma’s mom asked if Chloe could go home with Emma after camp the day after tomorrow and have a sleepover. If you’re free Wednesday night, come over and I’ll fix dinner for you.”
* * *
“How did the inaugural Forsyth Galloway Inn art class go?” he asked as he handed her a glass of Malbec on Wednesday evening.
It was the first time she’d been to his house. Actually, it was the first time in a while he’d spent any time there. He hadn’t even put up any Christmas decorations. Since Aidan was still in the hospital and Daniel had been staying with Chloe at Aidan’s house in the Habersham Woods area, his own house off Skidaway Road wasn’t exactly convenient for dropping in or swinging by with Chloe in tow.
After Elle had agreed to have dinner with him, he’d gone by the hospital to check on Aidan—who was still improving, but not quite enough for them to ease up on the Propofol that was keeping him in deep sleep. Then he’d gone to the grocery store to pick up a couple of filets and lobster tails. He wasn’t a chef by any means, but he did have his easy go-to meals. This was about as easy as they went, because he had no intention of spending the evening in the kitchen.
This was their first night alone: wherever it led, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with her.
“The class was a lot of fun, actually,” she said. “Everyone who signed up—all five of them—” she laughed and rolled her eyes, as if the whole thing was no big deal “—showed up and they all seemed genuinely interested.”
He touched his glass to hers. “That’s fantastic. Do you think this could be an ongoing thing?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, we’ll see. I forgot to tell you that my mom has had a change of heart. For the time being, she has agreed to take her turn running the inn. She’s not happy about it, but she realized it’s the right thing to do.”
