Heart Block (36 page)

Emory looked down at the painting “I’d say you could have it, but I don’t think I’m willing to let it go.”

“That’s okay. I was kind of hoping for joint custody.” And giving in to the temptation that had been with her since she awoke, she slid her fingers into Emory’s sun-streaked hair and pulled her in for a kiss that left them both breathless and stumbling back to the bed.

Six months later

The gallery was still bustling as they approached the last hour of the showing. Intense-looking people dressed to the nines perused the various pieces that lined the walls as waiters moved about the room with trays of champagne and canapés.

Emory felt the butterflies in her stomach enter into a last dance and sighed in relief that she’d almost made it through. It was one thing to head up a multimillion dollar company, but quite another to have your art, your innermost expression, on display for the world to see and critique at will. She’d be lying, however, if she said it wasn’t exciting at the same time. Because it really, really was. As she sipped her champagne in the corner of the room, she heard a patron’s voice behind her.

“I can’t stop looking at it,” the male voice said. “On each reexamination, I see something I hadn’t noticed before, but by far, the most intriguing aspect of the piece is the way the artist juxtaposes nature against the urban landscape. I mean, look at that and tell me it’s not thought provoking.”

“Find the gallery owner,” his female companion said. “Let’s see what it’s listed at.”

Emory hadn’t been able to contain the small smile that grew steadily on her lips as the evening went on. She knew the opening’s success would hinge on how many of the pieces actually sold, but for her, it was enough to hear that others appreciated her work, saw value in something she’d created. It came with a certain kind of gratification unlike anything else she’d experienced. The rush was palpable, indescribable, and immediate. She realized very quickly that she could get used to this.

“There’s the famous artist now!” Emory smiled in recognition of the familiar voice and turned just in time to feel the arms of Yolanda Matamoros envelop her in an all-consuming embrace. Yolanda, Emory had come to discover in recent months, gave the best hugs in the history of the world.

She felt herself light up. “I’m so happy you both came. You didn’t have to, you know.”

“Are you kidding? And miss all this? Never. It’s an important night for you.”

Roberto placed a hand on her arm. “Your work is beautiful, Emory.”

Yolanda thrust a camera at him. “Take our picture, Berto. I’ll say I knew her when.” Emory wrapped an arm around Yolanda and smiled warmly into the lens.

“We’ll let you get back to your show,” Roberto said. “We’re off to see the rest of the paintings. See you Sunday for dinner?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” And she wouldn’t. She smiled after the people who had become her surrogate parents, still surprised at how much they’d come to mean to her in such a short time. She made her way into the next room, where most of the work was displayed. The lights were dim, and mellow music emanated from the classical guitarist in the corner. She hadn’t made it but ten feet into the room before Grace was at her side like a rocket. “Emory, only two paintings are left.”

She smoothed the back of Grace’s hair and looked down at her. “That can’t be right. Who told you that?”

“The gallery owner, Melody. She said I’m her assistant. See? Here’s the inventory.”

She thrust the clipboard upward for Emory to see. Emory scanned the page in mystification. “I didn’t think too many would actually sell,” she mumbled to herself as Grace scampered away.

“I did,” her favorite voice in all of history said in her ear. Emory turned around to Sarah’s sparkling eyes. “You’re a hit. It’s confirmed. I just finished talking to a reporter from
CityBeat
. She’s in love with your work and said to look for her review on Monday. How does that sit?”

Emory shook her head. Something about being in Sarah’s presence made her incredibly honest with her feelings and emotion was now bubbling to the surface in rapid waves. “It all feels so surreal, in a good way, but still surreal.” This was the kind of night she had imagined growing up when she was young and the world seemed to have endless possibilities. She’d long ago stuffed those idealistic daydreams aside and now, to actually have one come true struck a chord. “I don’t know what to say, other than, thank you.”

Sarah quirked an eyebrow. “For what?”

Emory took Sarah’s hand and pulled her into the corner of the room, outside the earshot of the meandering guests. “For this. If I’d never met you, Sarah, I’d be sitting behind a desk at the office up to my elbows in paperwork, alone and unaware of how much of life I was actually missing out on.” Her voice softened. “So, yes, thank you for coming into my life.”

Sarah didn’t answer. Instead, she kissed her simply. “I love you, you know that?”

Emory smiled. “I do. It’s awesome.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Melody said, approaching. “But I wanted to break it to you myself.” She looked somber and Emory didn’t like that.

“Okay. What’s up? Is there a problem?”

“Unfortunately. I’m afraid you’re going to have to part with every last piece we’ve displayed at this little showing of yours.” Melody broke into a triumphant grin.

“Wait. So that means…”

“Sold out. Entirely. And we’re still getting inquiries. How fast can you paint exactly?”

Emory laughed out loud. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s pretty impressive, actually. I don’t recall another artist I’ve worked with doing this well their first time out.”

Sarah squeezed her hand. “Of course not.”

Melody checked her watch. “We should be wrapping up soon. Shall we get drinks and discuss the future?”

“Ah, can’t tonight.” She glanced at Sarah. “We kind of have plans.”

Sarah nudged her shoulder. “It’s fine. Go.”

“No way. I’ve been looking forward to this. Melody, can we do it Tuesday?”

“Tuesday’s great, actually. I’ll call you. And congratulations, Emory, you deserve it.”

Emory watched her walk away and turned back expectantly to Sarah. “How quick can you wrangle the kiddo and meet me in the car?”

“Time me, superstar.”

*

An hour and a half later, the kitchen table at the beach house was covered with blueberry French toast, hash brown potatoes, maple bacon, and Emory’s contribution, “Hobo Scramble,” which consisted of eggs, cream cheese, scallions, and ham. Sarah had to admit, it all tasted amazing.

Grace helped herself to a second spoonful of hash browns. “I think I adore breakfast for dinner.”

“Not more than me,” Emory echoed. She sliced excitedly into her French toast.

Sarah watched them, amused by their matching kid-like expressions. Over the past few months, she’d watched Emory slowly relax into life. She went into the office a couple of days a week to consult on any pressing issues, but for the most part spent her time in the spare room they’d converted into her art studio or painted on the beach. Her eyes shone brighter and she seemed so carefree, unencumbered. It was wonderful to see her so full of life.

“Mom, can I give Walter a piece of bacon?”

Sarah glanced over at Walter, who sat obediently back from the table watching each and every move they made as if his life depended on it. “Sure. Make his day.” Walter accepted the offered piece of bacon with lightning speed and then licked his lips in gratitude. He collapsed comfortably back into his spot on the floor and rested his chin atop his toy raccoon, his best friend in the world next to Grace, whom he followed throughout the house religiously.

“That’s a good buddy boy, Walter,” Emory said affectionately. “You’re the cutest of the cute, you know that?”

His tail wagged in seeming appreciation.

When dinner was done, Sarah and Grace worked together to clear the table, as Emory started the dishes. “Go get your pajamas on, monster, if you want to watch the movie. I’ll finish up.” Grace scampered up the stairs to her room and Sarah brought the last dish to the sink. In doing so, she couldn’t help but let her eyes drift down Emory’s body in appreciation of her in those yoga pants. Her mouth went dry, as it always did where Emory was concerned.

“Mom, it’s your turn to pick the movie!” Grace’s voice from upstairs brought her back from where she’d drifted, but not before Emory caught the stare.

Emory was smiling as she shook her head. “You cannot look at me like that. Not when our daughter will be back down here any second to watch a two-hour movie.”

Sarah feigned complete mystification. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m trying to clear the table. Could you focus, please, on the dishes?”

Emory moved in and stole a playful kiss. “You’re a bad liar. I will deal with you later.”

Sarah grinned. “Then my plan has worked.” Hearing Grace in the living room, she headed that way.

“Did you pick a movie, Mom?”

“I’m in the mood for a classic. How about
To Kill a Mockingbird
?”

“Oh, that gets my vote.” Emory snuggled in next to Grace on the comfy couch, a Matamoros contribution to the beach house when they’d moved in. “You’ll like it too, kiddo. It’s right up your alley.”

“Okay, cool.” Walter wedged himself tightly on the other side of Grace, placing his head in her lap as Sarah set up the DVD. She then settled in next to Emory and took her hand just as the opening credits appeared on the screen. Sarah looked across at Grace and exchanged a private smile, her mind drifting to how far they’d come in just a year’s time. So much had changed. So much had fallen into place.

But now they were home.

Her family was complete.

And she was so very lucky.

Melissa Brayden currently works as a theater director at the performing arts center of one of the largest high schools in the state of Texas, a job she completely enjoys. Recently, she’s fallen down the rabbit hole and rediscovered her love for creative writing. Her first novel, Waiting in the Wings, was honored with two 2012 Goldie Awards for Best Debut Author and Best Traditional Contemporary Romance.

Melissa is married and working really hard at remembering to do the dishes. For personal enjoyment, she spends time with her Jack Russell terriers and checks out the NYC theater scene several times a year. She considers herself a reluctant patron of the treadmill, but enjoys hitting a tennis ball around in nice weather. Coffee is her very best friend. www.melissabrayden.com

“This was an engaging book with believable characters and story development. It’s always a pleasure to read a book set in a world like theater/film that gets it right…a thoroughly enjoyable read.”—
Lez Books

“This is Brayden’s first novel, but we wouldn’t notice if she hadn’t told us. The book is well put together and more complex than most authors’ second or third books. The characters have chemistry; you want them to get together in the end. The book is light, frothy, and fun to read. And the sex is hot without being too explicit—not an easy trick to pull off.”—
Liberty Press

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