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I glare at Jack, who’s stifling a laugh. “You knew about this?” I accuse him.
I swear I’m going to kick his ass if he did.
He shrugs. “Johanna might have mentioned she heard Marlow had an exhibit in town, and I merely suggested she get tickets for us to come see it.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” I demand.
If I had known sooner, I would have been here when the show started, and brought flowers for Marlow.
“Maybe this will teach you to think twice before you have someone arrested.” He winks and takes Presley’s hand, leading the way into the gallery, denying me the chance to reply.
When Presley brought Jack to Aspen Grove for the first time and pretended they were dating, Harrison was suspicious. After some recon, we found out that Jack was actually Presley’s boss who had been tormenting her for years. We decided to prank him to teach him a lesson for messing with Presley.
It was the first time in a long time that Harrison, Cash, and I had played one of our famous pranks, and we might have gotten carried away. Jack wasn’t thrilled when he had to spend a night in jail, and now, for some reason, he thinks I’m the only one who should pay the price for the stunt we pulled.
“Well, this night just took an interesting turn.” Cash claps his hands together.
I ignore him as we step into the dimly lit gallery. The place is packed with people, but there’s only one person I’m interested in finding.
I scan the room, coming to a standstill, when my eyes land on a painting of a daffodil illuminated by track lighting. It’s white with a peach-colored center, like the one Marlow gave Lola the day we met.
My pulse races when I see the nameplate next to the piece—The New Beginning.
There’s a lump in my throat as I frantically scan the crowd. Why didn’t she tell me about her art show? This has to be important based on the turnout and theSOLD sign next to almost every exhibition label, including the daffodil piece.
I don’t have any right to be upset. We haven’t exactly defined this thing between us, and I’m the one who suggested that we didn’t have to.
Now I regret ever saying that.
I don’t think I even told her where I was going on my business trip or that Lola ended up coming with me. Since Lola and my parents will go back to Aspen Grove on Sunday and I fly home after my Monday morning meeting.
It doesn’t sit well with me that Marlow and I aren’t open with each other. We’ve admitted our feelings, but until now, we’ve let the logistics and a million reasons why we shouldn’t be together get in the way. That ends now.
I want to be the first person she shares her successes with and the one to hold her when she cries. Whether we have a day, a week, or a year together, I’m willing to take the chance. Because aside from Lola, she matters more to me than anyone else.
There she is.
Marlow stands on the other side of the gallery, wearing a black floral knee-length dress with sheer sleeves. The intricate mesh overlay of red, pink, and green flowers entwined with stems suits her perfectly. She’s paired the ensemble with her favorite silver sneakers, and her flowing golden hair falls in waves down her back.
She’s a goddamn vision and I want to make her mine. Only mine.
Just as I’m about to approach, another man sidles up next to her. He’s tall and lanky, with curly black hair, and is dressed sharply in a navy-blue suit. The world spins around me as Marlow grins when he places a chaste kiss on her cheek. I reach my breaking point when he has the nerve to put his hand on her lower back.
I move across the gallery with determination, oblivious to the other patrons giving me a wide berth as I pass.
As I approach, I move in between her and the man, forcing him to drop his hand.
“Dylan?” Marlow’s eyes widen in surprise, and her cheeks turn red when she sees me. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I didn’t know this was your show when I walked in, but thank god my mom decided to meddle again because I couldn’t imagine missing this,” I say as I place my hand on her back.
Marlow blinks up at me like she’s not sure she heard me right. She deserves to have her accomplishments recognized, and I’m so damn grateful I’m here to help her celebrate.
If this weren’t her art show, I would throw her over my shoulder and take her to the nearest hotel room.
“Babe, you said the GQ hottie wasn’t going to be here,” the man interjects with a raised brow.
The only word I pay attention to is babe.
