AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Huh? I replied, then realized I’d said that in my head. “Come again,” I said aloud.
“A Winter Meadow,”he enunciated impatiently. “The painting hanging in my gallery, Mr.Meadows.”
I haven’t confirmed who I am yet, asshole,I wanted to say, but the words got jammed in my brain behindAWinter Meadowandgallery.I’d forgotten that Noon had confiscated one of my paintings for the gallery downtown. Mostly because I thought it was in a dark supply closet, or better yet, their alleyway dumpster. And I had no idea he’d given themthatpainting. Noon had named itA Winter Meadow.I simply called it the story of my sad fucking life.
“Mr. Meadows?”
“Ah, yeah, that’s me.”
“Your painting has sold. Normally, we would send payment by postal mail, but our client has requested to see more of your work.” He sounded more shocked than me. “I promised we could have a few options for him to review by this evening.” Now he sounded nervous, desperate even, as if he’d made a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.
I lowered onto one of the kitchen chairs.Holy shit.
“Mr. Meadows,” Neil nearly growled this time, losing his snobby cool.
“Ah, yeah, still here. I can be there in an hour,” I said, jumping to my feet and charging for my bedroom closet.
“Good,” he said on a deep exhale. “See you in one hour. Bring your best.” And then the line went dead.
Bring my best?They were all crap to me. They weren’t aimless or pointless, because my art tended to depict whatever I was going through at the time, but that only meant something to me.
I dragged the wide chest from the closet, flipped open the lid, closed my eyes and grabbed whatever my hands touched first. My version of eeny-meeny-miny-moe. I didn’t let myself think about the options I ended up with. I sandwiched them between foam boards, wrapped them in a sheet to protect them from the rain, then ran for the door.
***
I waited at the front counter while Neil pranced toward a back office, bow-tie and glasses firmly in place.
He’d taken the two paintings off my hands as soon as I showed him my identification, explaining that I would be notified and expected to retrieve them promptly if his client wasn’t interested. His attitude implied he believed the sale ofA Winter Meadowwas a stroke of luck, and that lightning would not strike twice for me.
Neil couldn’t ruin my mood, though. Not after being told I’d be paid a thousand bucks for what took me no more than a couple of hours to create. He’d better hope his client didn’t come barging in here for a full refund after coming to his senses, because like hell he’d be getting that money back. If it meant he’d then hold hostage the junk I just handed over, then so be it.
Neil returned with my check. “I bid you farewell, Mr. Meadows.”
Who the fuck bids farewells in this century?
I took that to meanget the fuck out of my gallery, but once his back was turned, I got lost amongst the other art enthusiasts losing themselves in the world of interpretation. Figuring out what an artist attempted to say with their work was half the fun, making a piece mean something specific for you rounded out the whole of the experience.
I didn’t know how much time had passed as I made my way back down from the third floor, but I could’ve spent all night there, especially after stopping in front of the empty wall space with the title tag that readA WinterMeadowby Leland Meadows. I could have curled up and slept right below the space, making it my home, making it my little slice of hope.
It’d been stuck in the back section near the restrooms, but I didn’t care. All the better. It meant the person who now owned it deserved it because they took the time to find it. They’d ventured to this dark, dank area in search of something more, and they found me.
My steps were light and carefree as I made my way to the exit, tugging my umbrella from under my armpit in preparation of using it.
“I’ll take them both,” came a low, rumbling voice, halting my footsteps. It was full of command and take-charge energy, and if you paid close enough attention, you’d hear it was mostly bark with only a little bit of bite. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Neil stood in a lounge area off to the side, holding up my paintings for the inspection of a man in a maroon-colored suit.
The man’s muscular body towered over Neil, the single recessed light above haloing him and glinting off the graying strands along his hairline the way the moon had a couple weeks ago on our roof.Our roof?Where had that thought come from?
“Are you sure?” Neil asked, and Franky glared at him as if he didn’t appreciate being questioned on his decision. I winced, feeling sorry for anyone who had to weather that glower, even a prick like Neil.
Neil nodded repeatedly, backing away. “I’ll get them wrapped and ready to go, Mr. Kincaid,” he said wisely before scurrying off.
Franky’s serious nature brought out an urge in me to tease him, to bend over backward for the pleasure of seeing one of his almost-smiles. But more important than that was the realization thathe’dbeen the one to buyA Winter Meadowand the one buying my other pieces now. Was the universe on drugs?
“Franky?” I said, approaching him. He did a double take, a fleeting expression of shock dissipating to reveal his resting-indifference face, and I felt it was my duty to ruffle his feathers a bit. “So you wear your armor to buy art, too, huh? What I wouldn’t give to see you out of it.” I grinned when the corner of his lip twitched.
“Hello, Leelee Bear,” he said, and damn Deb and that stupid, childish name tag. My cheeks burned, because of course they did, and his eyes lit with victory. “What are you doing here?” he asked, thankfully not dragging out the shoe-on-the-other-foot routine. He didn’t strike me as the playful or gloating type anyway.
