The Fifth Lesson (The Bay Boys #2) (20 page)

Adam choked on a laugh, his cheeks warming when he remembered the way she came around his fingers.
 
“Yeah, I know,” he said, smiling.

They sat quietly, simply looking at each other.
 
With any other person, it may have been awkward.
 
But with Christie it just felt natural.

He remembered the time and frowned.
 
“I should get going.
 
I have to be at work by nine.”

“Of course.
 
Do you want some coffee before you go?” she asked, already shifting the sheets off her naked body.
 
He watched as she swung her long, tanned legs over the side of the bed and stood.
 
His mouth went dry at the sight of her backside.

Clearing his throat, he commented, “I thought you didn’t like coffee.”

“Well, I enjoy the occasional cup,” she drawled, winking at him over her shoulder as she threw on a robe.
 
“Come on.
 
I’ll make you some before you go.
 
You can take it in the car.”

He started to roll out from underneath the covers, but then remembered his nudity.
 
Shooting her a look, he realized she’d deliberately turned around so she could enjoy the show.
 
Little minx.

Well, it’s only fair
, he thought, standing from the bed.
 
He’d seen her naked in the morning light, after all.
 
He wasn’t as open about his nudity as Christie was—hell, he was downright thrilled she flaunted it—but he didn’t necessarily mind if she saw him.
 
She’d seen him last night and he didn’t have anything to be ashamed about.

Christie’s grin was positively pleased and Adam only half-flushed at her stare.
 
He tugged his jeans up his legs and buttoned them hastily—despite his erection—before snagging his t-shirt off the floor.

He followed Christie into the main, open space of the apartment and watched as she moved into the kitchen.
 
Her thin robe clung to the curves of her hips as they swayed, drawing his gaze.
 
Like he needed to be reminded of how sexy she was…

Adam glanced around as she pulled out a french press from one of her cabinets.
 
He’d never really taken the time to look closely at her place whenever he’d been there, but in the bright morning daylight, he was pleased with what he found.
 
Everything was very Christie: bright splashes of color, toned down by warm hues of gold and bronze.
 
Paintings decorated her walls and off to one side of the apartment, nearest her windows, was her studio.

He moved closer, glancing at her art on the wall as he approached.

“Are these yours?” he asked curiously.

“Yes,” came her reply from the kitchen.

Adam had never been one for art, despite one particular hobby he had.
 
He’d been to a few art galleries in his lifetime, mostly benefits or openings with his parents, but he’d never been able to truly appreciate the odd, abstract paintings he’d encountered over the years.
 
He did, however, enjoy landscapes or portraits.
 
Realism.
 
Paintings that were beautiful in their simplicity, but complex to the discerning eye.

So, naturally, he loved all of Christie’s painting.
 
There were many decorating the walls, paintings of women, wild flowers, a rocky, overcast beach.
 
Simple and beautiful.
 
But inspecting them more closely, Adam saw that one woman looked unbelievably sad.
 
It was a slight downturn to her lips, a slight furrowing of the brow.
 
And her eyes were haunting.
 
But farther away, it looked like an innocent portrait of a beautiful, blue-eyed woman.

A spark of pride lit up Adam’s chest at Christie’s talent.
 
He’d never seen her paintings before, but he’d heard her talk of them on occasion.

His eyes turned to her makeshift studio.
 
The canvas painting on her easel was nearly finished, but it was already breathtaking.
 
A seductive woman dancing in a gusty wind.
 
For the subject matter, it was surprisingly dark, but Adam figured it had more to do with the color scheme she’d chosen: reds, golds, dark greys.
 
But the woman shone bright.
 
A sensual, alluring light against the dark sky.

Christie’s voice sounded behind him.
 
“What do you think?”
 
Her tone was inquiring, if a little hesitant, as though she was nervous about what he thought.
 
Which was ridiculous, because Christie always exuded confidence.

He turned to look at her.
 
Their eyes connecting, he said, “I think your boss is completely crazy not to feature you in the gallery.
 
You’re very talented.”

And, surprisingly enough, Christie
blushed
.
 
Her cheeks tinged a light pink and the pleased look on her features would give Adam a high all day long.

“Thank you,” she murmured shyly.

He looked back at the paintings, his mind working.
 
“You know, my mom knows some gallery owners in Napa and in the city.
 
I’m sure she could reach out to them to get your work featured.”

The smile gradually faded from her features and then she looked down at the coffee thermos in her hands.
 
“No, that’s okay,” she said, her voice quiet.

“She’d be happy to do it, Christie.
 
Especially if she saw your paintings.”

“No,” she said again, her tone surprisingly clipped.

Adam blinked, figuring he’d fucked up again somehow.
 
He looked at her questioningly, trying to gauge her mood.
 
Except for the small frown on her features, she was completely closed off.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized after a few seconds of awkward silence, blowing out a sharp breath.
 
“But I don’t…I don’t want charity, Adam.
 
Especially from you or your family.”

“It’s not charity,” he protested, brows furrowing.
 
“People network all the time.
 
If it can help get you into a gallery, then who cares?”

“I do,” she argued.
 
“
I
care.
 
It doesn’t feel honest to me.
 
I’d rather see my paintings in one gallery knowing
I
got them there, then be in a hundred galleries across the nation!”

“Christie…” he trailed off, shaking his head.
 
She didn’t understand.
 
Networking wasn’t dishonest.

“It’s important to me, Adam,” she beseeched.
 
She gazed up at him with her icy blue eyes, shining with both frustration and determination.
 
“For me to do this by myself.
 
I know you’re just trying to help, but I don’t need it.
 
Okay?”

He stared at her a moment longer, his mind spinning.
 
It had been a harmless suggestion.
 
But she’d obviously taken offense.

The room was rife with simmering tension.
 
He didn’t want to see it boil over.

“Okay,” he murmured quietly.
 
With one last look at the painting, he moved over to his keys, which he’d set on the kitchen counter last night.

He heard Christie sigh behind him.
 
“Adam,” she called.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine, Christie,” he said, flashing her a small smile over his shoulder.
 
She walked towards him with slow steps, her thin robe swaying around her gently.
 
“I should get going.
 
I have to be at work soon.”

She nodded, biting her lip.
 
She held out the coffee thermos to him and he took it, murmuring his thanks before turning to her door.

He didn’t feel right about leaving, especially since the easy going nature of their friendship now seemed strained.
 
But if he didn’t leave, he’d be late to work.
 
And Christie seemed like she needed some space.

Adam turned to her one last time before he stepped out of her apartment.
 
“You know,” he started.
 
“It’s not bad to ask for help, especially from people who want to give it to you.”
 
She stared at him from the doorway, but otherwise remained silent.
 
He took that as her answer, giving a short nod.
 
“I’ll see you later then, Christie.”

SEVENTEEN

Christie stared into the mirror, turning from side to side, unsatisfied.
 
Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she decided which dress to wear.
 
This evening called for a dress, something classic yet casual.

Dresses always seemed to give her a boost of confidence…something she’d surely need when she saw her father for the first time in almost seven years.

Adam had texted her earlier, wishing her a good dinner with her family.
 
Seeing it gave her courage.
 
Even though it had been the only communication between them since he left her apartment yesterday morning, it warmed her, knowing he remembered and thought of her.
 
She wished he was here with her now, giving her strength to go through with tonight.

But the memory of their cold goodbye yesterday swarmed her mind.

Crossing to her closet, she plucked another dress from its depths and swapped outfits.
 
It was a simple fuchsia dress, with capped sleeves, that hit right below her knees.
 
After inspecting herself in the mirror, she was finally satisfied and glanced at the clock on her nightstand.
 
Her aunt said dinner would be at seven.
 
It was only six.

To pass the time, Christie plopped down at her laptop and did some research on a potential gallery exhibition they were thinking of opening in the winter, even though her mind kept wandering.
 
When her clock finally hit 6:30, she couldn’t wait any longer.
 
She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

Her aunt’s house was in Piedmont, a wealthy, quaint little city in the East Bay hills.
 
Her uncle, the man Aunt Barbara had married, was the creator of a small tech start up that grew into a very lucrative company.
 
Christie absently thought that he and Adam would get along great.
 
They could talk nerdy to each other for hours, most likely.

As Christie parked her car across the street from their house, she wondered what her father looked like.
 
Did he still have that same scruffy beard?
 
Were his eyes still bloodshot and glassy?
 
Did he still wear the same cologne her mother had bought for him?

She stared at the brightly lit house, wondering what room her father was in.
 
She’d been a nervous wreck all day, but now she felt a strange calmness wash over her.
 
This is meant to be
, she realized.
 
Maybe some part of herself could make peace with her father.
 
Maybe she could let go of all the anger and guilt she’d felt over the years.

With that thought, she pushed open her car door and made her way up to the house.
 
What she loved about this particular part of Piedmont was that the houses were all different.
 
They weren’t cookie cutter suburban development houses.
 
They all had character, unique architectural styles.
 
She always loved coming to visit.
 
She’d loved
living
here with her aunt and uncle when she’d left her father.

The house was a modest, compared to some of the other homes, two-story with a picturesque wrap-around porch.
 
It was light blue with crisp white trim.
 
But the door she especially loved.
 
Heavy dark wood with an antique knocker.
 
It looked like something out of the English countryside.

She used the knocker, preferring it over the doorbell.
 
It made a satisfying, heavy thumping noise before she withdrew her hand.

Christie could hear her aunt’s clicking footsteps—no doubt she was wearing her lucky black heels—on the wood floor of the entryway and a moment later, the door was tugged open with a creak.

She gave her aunt a hesitant smile before being pulled in for a hug.

“Hello, my dear,” Aunt Barbara whispered.
 
“I’m so glad you decided to come.
 
We’re all in the living room.”

Christie’s heart gave a little jolt of fear before it calmed down.
 
Taking a deep breath, she nodded and followed her aunt deeper into the house.
 
The warm smell of pot roast and buttery potatoes greeted her, reminding her that she’d hardly eaten all day.
 
She’d been too nervous to do much of anything.

Christie saw the back of her father’s head before she saw his face.
 
He was sitting in an armchair, his head turned as he spoke with Christie’s uncle.
 
The first thing she noticed was that his hair was more grey than the last time she’d seen him.
 
For some reason, that struck her as wrong, but it
had
been seven years.

When he turned his head and their eyes connected, a deep sadness stole her breath.
 
It was so unexpected, but for the first time, Christie felt
sad
that her childhood hadn’t been what it should’ve been.
 
Her father had been a wonderful dad.
 
And then it all changed.