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Chapter 14
“Why don’t you look excited?”
It wasn’t that Blake wasn’t excited for her to have a teaching position offered to her—it was that he didn’t see the need behind it. Having worked as a doctor, then a professor, for most of his adult life, he had more than enough money to take care of Hayley and Tanith. After all, being a single man, working all the time without any real expensive tastes, all of his income was just sitting in his bank account, a good chunk of it collecting interest from investments.
“I’m…not excited,” he managed, hating that she had climbed off of him and her face had fallen. He should have been more enthusiastic in his response, but he couldn’t help it. “I just worry that all this added responsibility will make things more difficult for you.”
“Not if I teach part time and manage the gallery part time,” she insisted. “Some days are definitely busier than others. I can afford to shut down, change my hours around, and I’d still make the same amount of money.”
“But you’ve been under so much stress lately,” Blake said, trying to phrase it as delicately as he could. “And you can’t just jump into teaching thinking that will change things. I think it might be a mistake to accept a job right now, given how things have been going.”
“I’ve taught before. I’m not jumping into this blind.” Oh, he’d upset her. He hadn’t meant to, but from the shift in her tone, Blake knew he’d fucked up. His inner bear snarled, as if berating him from the inside while Tanith’s disappointed stare beat him up from the outside.
“Tanith, I didn’t mean that—”
“And while I appreciate your opinion,” she continued, raising her voice slightly to speak over him, “you don’t know my financial situation. You don’t know what I need to make things work, okay?”
“But I can help with that. If you ever need anything, I can make sure you—”
“I don’t need my boyfriend to take care of me.”
“I know that. I want to. I care for you so much, and I think a new job right now will make your burdens heavier, not lighter.”
She studied him for a moment, and he noted her hands had balled to fists. Not good.
“If I were teaching something else,” she said slowly, cautiously, like she was testing him, “and not art, would your opinion change?”
Blake drew in a deep breath—quietly, so she wouldn’t interpret his flared nostrils as annoyance. He just knew that conversation from their first date was going to come back and bite him in the ass at some point, even if he had apologized for it already.
She had a right to feel insecure about her profession: the whole world thoughts artists were one big collective joke. Blake didn’t agree. He might have once, but not after watching Tanith struggle and work her gorgeous backside off to make something of herself, to make her dream a success.
“Tanith, of course not,” he told her, slowly, hoping that it would sink in. However, he instantly realized it might sound patronizing, or that he was trying to quiet a riled up bull hell-bent on running him down—and that also wasn’t his intention. “Even if you decided to teach plumbing, a profession that is probably the most practical in the world, I would object.”
Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Oh, really?”
“Really.” How could he make her see that he was just voicing his opinion because he cared? It had been torture watching her struggle; he wanted to lift the burden as soon as possible, and her adding a whole new job to her work week was at odds with his goal. “Teaching isn’t just in the classroom. You realize you have to bring your work home with you every night, on weekends—”
“Like I said, I’ve taught before.”
“In your twenties, yes,” he said before she could get too ahead of herself, “but you’re not in your twenties anymore. You have a child. You have a dream career that you work damn hard at. I just think this is going to make things more difficult for you. If you’d let me, we could work something out. I’d set it up as a loan if that makes you more comfortable.”
A loan with zero interest that he would never make her pay back, of course, but if it made her more willing to let him take care of her, Blake would do it. However, her pursed lips and flushed cheeks told him that wasn’t what she wanted to hear—at all.
“Tanith…” Tell me what to say that will make it better. His inner bear snorted noisily, clearly enjoying the way Blake floundered. Like that furry idiot could do any better. He tried not to glare up at his forehead in case Tanith, like any sane person, would take the expression the wrong way.
“Sometimes…” She sighed, and finally he saw the anger drip out of her features, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t take my profession seriously. It’s like you don’t think art matters. Like it isn’t valid.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. Did he think every artist out there was justified in shirking a “real” job and living the life of a starving artistic martyr? Absolutely not. Unfortunately, not everyone had Tanith’s talent or tenacity. It was those people who shaped Blake’s perspective sometimes, and perhaps his fated mate had picked up on that more than he meant her to.
“Tanith, you are the most talented, beautiful, wonderful person I’ve ever met,” he said, scooting to the end of the couch and taking her hands. They were still in fists, but they relaxed a little when he stroked his thumbs across them. “I think art is valid. I think it has a place in society. I think we need art, and I’m sorry if I’ve said or done something to make you think otherwise. I…” Love. Blake loved her, and it almost slipped out. His inner bear tensed. “I care about you so much, and your profession fits into my realm of feelings. I promise.”
While her body eased toward him, her face was still reserved—guarded, even—and Blake knew he hadn’t convinced her as much as he would have liked.
“Would it make you feel better if we, I don’t know, worked on something together?” He had no idea where he was going with this, but her features visibly perked at the suggestion—so clearly, he was on the right path. “Maybe a painting, or—”
“I’d love that,” she said quickly, one of his favorite smiles—the one that told him his words had touched her in the best way possible—spread across her face. “Come on… I’ve got a few blank canvasses in the basement.”
***
