Authors: E. L. Todd
Coen squeezed Sydney. “I don’t think so, man.”
Henry winked at Nancy. “I think I need to upgrade.”
Ren glared at him.
“I’m just kidding,” Henry said as he kissed her on the neck.
“Wow. Cool painting.”
“Andre?” Nancy asked.
“Hey,” he said as he hugged her. “Wow. You look fine, Nancy.”
She blushed.
“And that’s saying something coming from a gay man,” Ren said.
Nancy smiled. “What are you doing here, Andre?”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “I had to come. You’re my friend.”
“That’s so sweet.”
He looked back at the painting. “And you did an awesome job. I’ll have to buy one of your creations.”
Diane stood on the stage and tapped the microphone. “Thank you everyone for coming tonight. After careful appraisal, Mr. Adams has decided the winner of this year’s gallery competition. The recipient will be featured in his gallery. Help me welcome the man responsible for this event, Mr. Adams.” She clapped as she stepped away from the microphone.
A man walked up the stage, wearing a vest and slacks. When he turned around and faced the crowd, Nancy felt her heart drop from her chest, into her stomach, then out her body. Her mouth gaped open, practically drooling.
“Oh my fucking god.”
Derek looked at her. “What?”
She ignored him.
He smiled at the crowd, his perfect grin shining bright even from the front of the room. Seeing his full body view showed the broadness of his shoulders, the expansion of his chest, and the tightness of his ass. A few of the girls in the audience smiled at him, waving from their positions in the room.
“Thank you for the wonderful evening everyone.
This competition was not easy. I was only allowed to choose twenty submissions for the contest and that was difficult. They were all beautiful and worthy of recognition. Then choosing just a single painting was even harder. The greatest joy about this night was getting to know the artists and the meaning behind their paintings. It’s been an honor and a joy to work with all of you.” The crowd clapped while Nancy stood there, her mouth gaping open.
“So, now it’s time to select the winner. I know you’re all eagerly waiting.” He cleared his throat. “The painting that I chose immediately spoke to me the moment I set my eyes on it. I stared at it for minutes and still saw something new. The emotion of the piece immediately went to my heart. The colors, the brushwork, the steady hand that created the masterpiece all impacted me, moved me. Nancy Erikson, you are this year’s winner.”
Nancy covered her mouth, trying not to scream.
Sydney jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “I knew you would win!”
Henry hugged her and lifted her from the ground. “Congratulations.”
“Congrats, baby,” Derek said as he smiled at her.
Coen patted her on the shoulder. “Badass.”
Thatcher looked at her from the stage, a smile on his lips. “Nancy, please join me on the stage.”
“Go!” Sydney said, giving her a gentle push.
Nancy walked across the room, feeling her mind float out of her body. She kept her back straight and her shoulders back, trying to keep her posture right. Her heart was beating a hundred times a minute. The blood pounded in her ears.
Thatcher came to the steps and extended his hand to her, his eyes glued to her face. She took it, feeling the electricity shoot through her arm as soon as they touched. His hand moved to her lower back as he directed her to the stage. He picked up an award and handed it to her. “Congratulations.”
She smiled at
him, feeling her body go numb. “Thank you.”
Everyone clapped as she held her award.
“I’m very honored to feature you in my gallery.”
“I can’t believe you picked me,” she blurted.
The crowd laughed at her words.
He leaned toward her ear, his lips pressed against her skin. “There was no comparison, Nancy.” He pulled away then smiled at her. Everyone in the room disappeared. It was just she and Thatcher. His blue eyes shined brighter than the lights overhead and his smile was the most beautiful grin she had ever seen. A more beautiful man she had never known.
She turned and left the stage, Thatcher’s gaze drilling into her back, and returned to her corner, hearing everyone congratulate her and cheer for her.
“Congratulations!” Shelly said as she ran over. “And you almost didn’t even submit your work.”
“I know,” Nancy said with a smile. “I can’t believe it either.”
She hugged Nancy. “You deserve it, girl.”
“Thank you.”
Shelly walked away, leaving Nancy with her friends. Nancy looked around the room and didn’t see the one face she wanted to see more than anyone else. She released a depressed sigh, wishing her father was here to share this moment. It could have changed everything, reminded him of what they lost. Now she knew he was too far gone. She didn’t have a mother or a father. It was inevitable.
“Let’s go out and celebrate,” Derek said. “Wherever Nancy wants to go.”
Nancy smiled, trying to pretend she was fine. “I still have to clean up and arrange all the details. Could we take a rain check?”
“We don’t mind waiting for you,” Derek said.
“I know,” she said quickly. “Can we meet in an hour or two?”
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“I’m just overwhelmed,” she said quickly.
“Let’s give her some space, guys,” Sydney said. “Call us when you’re ready to go out.”
“Okay,” Sydney said.
Derek hugged her then kissed her hard on the mouth. “Good job, baby.”
“Thank you.”
They turned and left the room, giving her the space to release the breath she was holding. She turned back to her painting and stared at it, seeing a past that was long gone, a dream that was never a reality. The other contestants gathered their paintings and walked out with their families, their mothers hugging them and their fathers patting them on the back. Nancy stayed in front of her painting, feeling more alone than she ever felt.
“I thought you wanted to win?”
She turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Mr. Adams?”
“I did. I don’t go by my last name. I prefer Thatcher. Mr. Adams makes me sound old and wrink
ly.”
“But, you still didn’t tell me.”
He shrugged. “I wanted to make it interesting.”
She stared at him for a long time before she looked back at her painting.
He came to her and placed his arms around her waist, standing in front of her painting so he had to meet his gaze. “Don’t let him get you down. You deserve this moment of happiness, not a future memory of sorrow.”
Nancy was surprised he could read her mind so easily. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize for it. I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You can’t lie to me, Nancy. Your eyes are canvases that convey your every mood and feeling. I can see the colors, the shadows, the lines, and the darkness that sits in your heart.”
She said nothing, not sure how to respond to such poetic words.
He pulled her closer to him and pressed his forehead against hers. The intimate touch didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. It felt strangely right, real. His hands rested on her back, slightly moving up and down. He looked into her eyes, not ashamed of being so forward and intimate with her. Nancy kept her eyes glued to his lips.
“Nancy, look at me.”
She obeyed and looked into his blue eyes.
“Now what do you see?”
Her hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscle underneath his shirt.
“I see sadness, darkness, desire, heat, emotion, fear.”
“You’re a true artist.” He rubbed his nose against hers, making her heart slow in time. She felt calm but nervous. She shouldn’t feel this way, feel this attraction for him. The calmness made her feel worse. She shouldn’t be enjoying this embrace so much.
“Please don’t kiss me,” she whispered.
“Okay.”
She pulled away. “I have a boyfriend.”
He dropped his hands and put them in his pockets. “I know.”
“You know?” she asked, stepping
back.
“And I also know he’s a total jerk. He’s no good for you.”
“How do you now Derek?”
“I don’t. And I don’t want to know him.”
She tucked a stand of hair behind her ear.
“I don’t go for girls that are in relationships. It’s not my style. But you’re different.”
“How?”
“When you know, you know, Nancy. And you aren’t happy with that guy.”
“How do you know?”
He stepped closer to her. “Then tell me yourself. Are you happy with him?”
She averted her gaze.
“Look at me so I can see your eyes.”
She obeyed his command.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I—I should go.”
He grabbed her arm, steadying her. “Please don’t run from me. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”
She didn’t move, feeling his hand touch her skin.
He closed the gap between them then wrapped his arms around
her again. “Please be here at ten tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
“We have to officially get your painting in the gallery. I want you to see it yourself. Believe me, it’ll make your spine shiver.”
She already felt her body shake under his touch.
He dropped his hand then pulled out his wallet, handing her a card. “This is the number to the office.” He flipped it over then scribbled a phone number on it. “And that’s my cell phone number. You’re welcome to call me whenever you want, even if it’s just to talk.”
She took it and held it in her fingertips.
He stared at her for a long time, his eyes staring at every inch of her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Nancy.”
“Good night, Mr. Adams.”
“It’s Thatcher.” He turned and walked away, leaving her weak in the knees.
12
Her father wasn’t home when she returned to the house. He was obviously staying at the other beach house, entertaining his one of his girlfriends. She never had the dishonor of meeting them. They were just after his money, Nancy was sure. That was why he would never remarry.
Her friends wanted to go out but she mad
e an excuse. She didn’t feel like celebrating, not when she was this confused and depressed. Thatcher wasn’t who she expected him to be. If she had known he and Mr. Adams were the same person, she would have behaved much differently.
And the attraction between them confused her even more. It was
n’t just physical, but intimate in a different way. She felt like her body had no covering, that he could see right through her, through the skin, the muscle, the bone—everything. He understood her in a way no one else ever had. He looked at her painting once and new exactly what it was. It was natural, unforced. It was real.
But she was with Derek and he was finally getting his act together. He had been an asshole to her for
so long, breaking her heart over and over, but now everything was how it should be. Derek treated her right, said the right things. And she said she would work it out with him. If she just ran off with some other guy, it would hurt him. And Derek wasn’t just her boyfriend, he was her friend.
The stress weighed on her so we she went to her balcony and resorted to the only therapy she had. She started to paint, gliding
her brush across the canvas as the paint dripped on the blank page. When she was in the moment, she didn’t think about anything else, just channeling her emotions in the art. When she was done, she sighed in misery. It was a picture of Thatcher. His eyes were the center of focus, the irises reflecting her own eyes. She stared at it, realizing what she had done. She couldn’t get the man out of her head. He was stuck there.
Exhausted from the day, she fell into bed, her unconscious mind consumed by the image of Thatcher’s eyes, blue and unyielding. His hand was on her lower back, touching her cold skin with his warm hand. When she felt his chest next to her, she felt the connection that formed between them, the connection that had been there since the moment they crossed paths.
She couldn’t get away from him. A part of her didn’t want to.
The next morning, she dressed herself then left
for Thatcher’s gallery and arrived just on time. She waited in the car for a while before she had the urge to walk to the front door. She knocked hesitantly, unsure if she should just walk in.
When the door opened,
she was expecting to see Diane, but it was Thatcher.
“Good morning,”
he said as he opened the door wider, allowing her to walk inside.
“Hello,
” she said as she stepped across the threshold. She wore shorts and a plain t-shirt, trying to seem as casual as possible. She didn’t wear makeup, trying to seem as unattractive as possible.
He wore jeans and
a brown t-shirt that clung to his chest. He turned to her and eyed her. “You look nice.”
“I just rolled out of bed.”
“Then that’s even more amazing.”
It was awkward while they stood across from each other. Thatcher seemed calm, his hand
s in his pockets while he stared at her, making direct eye contact with her. Every time she looked at him, he was staring at her, so he avoided his gaze as much as she could. His blue eyes were burning holes in her skin. After a moment of silence, she cleared her throat.
“Where’s Diane?”
“It’s the weekend—she’s off.”
“Oh.”
“She has two little ones. They are going to the beach today.”
“Are you two friends?”
“Of course. She’s my colleague and friend.”
She nodded, unsure why
she did. She wasn’t agreeing to anything.
“You’re really nervous around me.”
Her cheeks blushed and she kept her gaze averted.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Your eyes say otherwise.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Is it because of what I said last night?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I apologize.”
“Thank you.”
“Now let’s get down to business.” He walked into the other room then moved through the hallway until they came to his private show room. The walls were covered with his paintings. They were all different and unique. No two images looked alike.
She stared at them, memorized. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
She walked over to one that she was immediately drawn to. It was the image of the sea, powerful and strong with waves crashing down on jagged rocks. It didn’t remind her of the Hawaiian beach, but of a place she had never been. She stared at it for a long time. “What happened?”
He came beside her.
“My father passed away.”
She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. “He drowned?”
He nodded. “When we were surfing. His body was never recovered.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
She looked back at the painting, staring at it
intently.
“I haven’t sold it to anyone because I wasn’t able to part with it. But I let it sit here because people love to look at it.”
“It’s powerful.”
“Thank you for appreciating it.”
She turned to him and saw him stare down at her, his gaze heated.
“I know your painting is
supposed to be featured in my showcase room to be sold, but we aren’t doing that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m buying it.”
“What?”
“I’ll leave it in the room but it isn’t for sale. Name your price.”
“What—I can’t do that.”
“Why not? I buy artwork from artists often. You’re an artist and I’m a customer. Name your price.”
“I can’t accept money from you.”
“I’ll just write you a check for twenty grand then.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“You could sell that painting for more than that to the right buyer.”
“I—I don’t want you to buy it.”
“You’re refusing me as customer?” he asked.
“No, I
would rather give it to you than sell it.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t want your money,” she said.
“Too bad.
You worked for it. Something that beautiful shouldn’t just be given away for free.”
“I can’t accept your money.”
He sighed. “I have an idea. You give me this painting, and you sale a different painting instead.”
“As long as you don’t try to buy that one too.”
He smiled. “I can’t promise anything.”
“Okay. I have a few.”
“Bring it over tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
They stood in front of the painting and stared at it, the silence falling on them.
“Would you like to see where I paint?” he asked.
She looked at him. “I would love to.”
“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the house where a stairway stood. They reached the second landing then walked into a spacious living room. Large windows were spaced everywhere, making the house bright with natural light. Bookshelves marked the walls where statues and figurines stood. The kitchen table sat in the corner which overlooked the front yard. He guided her to the back where a large roo
m stood, windows comprising the outside walls which faced a balcony. Painting utensils, canvases, easels, and paint were in the corner, ready to be pulled out at any moment.
He walked to the middle of the room. “This is where all the magic happens.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He grabbed remote and pressed
the button. Classical music came on over the speakers, a symphony of violins and the quiet strings of a piano. “What do you listen to?”
“Nothing.”
“No music?”
“No.”
He placed the remote on the table then approached her, placing his hand on her lower back and taking her hand. He swayed with her, dancing with her in the middle of the room. Against her will, she let him guide her, looking into his eyes as he held her to his chest.
He pressed his face against hers and rested his hand on her lower back, rocking from side to side. “You’re a lovely dancer.”
She said nothing, feeling his face close to hers. The distant smell of cologne tickled her nose, making her want to smell him even more. The muscles under his shirt were prominent. She could feel them in her hands. His breaths fell on her skin, warm and delicate. His eyes never left her as he moved. She couldn’t believe they were dancing in the middle of his artistic room, but she didn’t want to stop. It felt oddly normal. His nose rubbed against hers, making her melt.
“Thatcher,” she whispered.
“Nancy.”
“Please don’t kiss me.”
He smiled while he looked at her. “Why?”
“I just don’t want you to.”
“Fair enough. I won’t kiss you until you ask me to. You have my word.”
“What makes you think I’ll ask?”
“It’s just a hunch.”
“You’re cocky.”
He laughed. “Believe me, I’m not.”
“It seems like it.”
“I feel something for you, Nancy. That doesn’t happen for me very often. You wouldn’t be dancing with me, swaying in my office, if your heart didn’t beat for me like mine does for you. And your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”
“And what do they say?”
“That you want me to kiss you—you need me to.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, pulling her eyes from his.
Thatcher slowly stopped moving, still holding her to his chest. He held her there, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Join me.” He moved to the ground then lied down.
She looked at him for a moment, watching his stare at the ceiling. Nancy moved to the floor and looked up, seeing
the paintings in the sky. “What are those?”
“Paintings I made when I was little.”
She stared at them, a smile forming on her lips. “They’re cute.”
“That’s supposed to be a shark,” he said, pointing up. “It came out more like a beaver, but I tried.”
She laughed. “It does look like a beaver.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s what my dad said.”
“He was a smart man.”
“I’ve always wanted to be painter since I was like two years old. My dad always supported me even though everyone said I would be a starving artist. He believed in me when no one else did, to the day he died.”
Her hand rested at her side and she felt his knuckles touch hers. His fingers gently rubbed hers, spending tingles up her spine. Her fingers responded until he grabbed them, holding them tightly in his grasp.
“Did you talk to your dad?”
“No. I didn’t see him,” she said.
“Where was he?”
“He stays at his other beach house on the weekends.”
“Why?”
“So he can fuck his bimbos without me seeing them. He always says he’s working but I’m not stupid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to talk to him?”
“What’s the point? He won’t listen to me.”
“Maybe you aren’t saying it in a way that he can understand.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your dad doesn’t respond to emotion, he doesn’t respond to words. What does he respond to?”
“Money.”
“That’s where you should start.”
“Steal from him?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “You should hit where it hurts.”
She looked at him, seeing him stare at the childhood pictures he created. It was easy with him, natural. “You live here?”
“I live and work here.”
“That must be nice.”
“People tell me I need to get out more.”
She laughed. “It does sound like you’re a hermit.”
“I go surfing every morning.”
“I’ve never been.”
“You should try it.”
“I’m too scared.”
“Of what?”
“Drowning…” She hated to be insensitive but that’s what she feared.
“You shouldn’t be. It’s very unlikely to happen.”
“You aren’t scared to go back in the water?”
“I was for a long time. But then I realized I shouldn’t live
in fear, and I should accept what happened. When I went back to sea, it helped me let go of my father’s death, really accepting he was gone.”
“Are you close with your mother?”
“For the most part. After she remarried, I came by less and less.”