The Art of Romance (33 page)

Dylan’s mouth started watering, and he set his menu down. “Sign me up for that.”

Across the table from them, Pax and Sage looked desperate for someone, anyone to come to their rescue and engage them in conversation. Dylan didn’t feel like obliging. He had Caylor’s attention, and he was going to keep it as long as he could without being rude—to anyone but Pax or Sage.

“Did I tell you I talked to Jack Colby this week about creating some sample cover artwork for Lindsley House?” Oops…maybe bringing up his cover design work wasn’t the most intelligent thing to do.

Caylor straightened, her expression hardening a bit. “No. That’s exciting. What kinds of books does he want you working on?”

“Some nonfiction right now—so some general landscape and iconographic work for books that don’t lend themselves to photographs. Your…your books all use photos, don’t they?” He’d only seen one of her books—on the table beside Perty’s chair in the sunroom—and though well designed, to him it had been apparent the publisher had used stock photography.

“Yes, my inspirational romances use photographs.”

The way she said it made him wonder why she’d emphasized the fact she wrote inspirational romances. Was she embarrassed—used to people assuming that because she wrote romances they were the steamy kind?

Like the kind his face and artwork appeared on.

“Is that the kind of cover work you did before? Nonfiction? Landscapes and graphics?” Caylor unfolded her napkin and draped it across her lap.

“Um…no. I’ve done some fiction covers as well. But it seems most publishers have gone to photographs for all fiction. It’s hard to get freelance gigs as a painter these days.”

As if in answer to the prayer for intervention crying from his heart, the waitress arrived to begin taking orders. Dylan was able to calm his mind, center himself, and really think about the current topic of conversation.

He should tell her.

At lunch? In front of family—and nonfamily?

It guaranteed she wouldn’t have an explosive reaction—Caylor was a consummate actress, or so he’d heard; she’d know how to cover her shock and outrage over learning something so horrible about him.

But if he told her, others would find out.

He looked down the table at his parents at the other end. No more screwups. Nothing that might cause a scandal for his mother’s campaign.

Caylor could be trusted to keep the secret. He needed her to know. Because if he couldn’t tell her about the covers, how was he ever going to tell her about Rhonda?

Not here. Not where others might overhear them.

He engaged Sage in conversation about her classes at the community college, and Caylor gave Pax the only encouragement he needed by asking what he was up to these days.

Though it had been presented beautifully and he ate everything on the plate, by the time lunch was over, Dylan couldn’t remember what it tasted like. But Caylor raved about it, so it must have been good.

Sage offered to take Caylor back to get her car in the little red convertible that had belonged to their grandparents.

Before she could answer, Caylor was interrupted by one of the older ladies, Lindy Patterson, who kissed her on the cheek and whispered something in her ear. Their grandmothers’ friend walked away, and Dylan caught Caylor’s elbow.

“Before you go—I…I need to talk to you about something.” His heart played leapfrog with his stomach when Caylor turned to look at him, curiosity in her turquoise eyes.

“All right.” She told her sister to wait for her then followed him down the sidewalk away from the valet stand so they could have some privacy.

Turning to face her, he instantly regretted this decision.

After a few moments, she broke the uncomfortable silence. “So what is it you wanted to talk about?”

“I wanted to tell you something about me. Something that may change the way you feel…the way you think about me.” He kept his eyes down, watching the toe of his shoe as he traced a crack in the sidewalk.

“I doubt that.”

Oh, she wouldn’t even hear the half of it today, and he had a feeling once he was done she wasn’t going to want to have anything to do with him.

Assertive and straightforward. That was all he had to do. Be assertive and straightforward.

“I started freelancing book covers when I was in college to make extra money. I did a few small projects, and then I was given a chance to do some artwork on spec for a new, up-and-coming novelist. I submitted my pieces and waited. A few weeks later, I learned that not only had my work been chosen, but the author and her editor requested that I do the art for all of her books.”

He wiped his hands down his chinos. “Because I was a broke college student, I couldn’t afford to pay models for the covers I’d been contracted to create. So I used catalog models for the girls…and myself for the guys. You see—I’d been hired to paint the covers of romance novels. Not the kind you write. The other kind. So my image is on the cover of half a dozen novels I’d be embarrassed for my grandmother to read.”

The sound of his parents’ car driving past filled the gap between them.

Caylor paused for a moment. “Your grandmother has read them.”

He looked up so fast his neck cricked. “What are you talking about? My grandmother would never read those kinds of books.”

She couldn’t turn any redder if she’d tried, and something—fear? embarrassment?—filled her eyes. “I know your grandmother has read them. I gave them to her.”

Even though the books were sensual without falling off the edge into dirty, he still couldn’t imagine Perty reading anything like them. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I wrote them. Dylan…I’m Melanie Mason.”

“Right.” But how would she know the name unless…“You’re serious?”

He took a step back. Not Caylor—sweet, innocent,
Christian
Caylor. Someone like her shouldn’t even know about books like that—or be thinking about the things in those books.

“I am serious. I wrote six general-market romance novels under the penname Melanie Mason. I handpicked the artist Patrick Callaghan for the cover work. And…” Caylor’s voice choked, and she worked at clearing her throat, her eyes downcast. “And I picked the artist Patrick Callaghan because…because the male model he used was good-looking and he…inspired me to keep writing more books.”

Dylan wasn’t sure if he should take the compliment or if he should press his hands over his ears.

“Caylor—come on!” Sage called from across the street.

Caylor backed away from him. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that. I…um…” She pressed her lips together. “We’ll talk later?”

“Yeah. Later.” Dylan raised his hand in a weak wave as she jogged across the street, her high-heeled shoes making a strange clattering sound against the pavement. She climbed into the backseat of the classic, two-door convertible and shoved on a pair of large sunglasses.

Though he could no longer see her eyes, her face left him in no doubt over her displeasure with discovering his alter ego. If she couldn’t handle the revelation of his pseudonym, how could he ever tell her about Rhonda?

He trudged toward his car, got in, and stuck the key in the ignition. But he didn’t start it, wanting to give the Evanses a good head start on him.

Caylor had written titillating romance novels. And he’d enjoyed reading them. Maybe he was once again assigning meaning that wasn’t there by believing her negative reaction was to learning he was Patrick Callaghan. Maybe she was embarrassed about having written the books.

The corners of his mouth started to pull up, almost against his will. She’d found the somewhat disguised likenesses of him
inspiring
. Could that mean…?

He started the engine and headed toward Gramps and Perty’s.

No matter what either of them had done in the past, in the present, he and Caylor were attracted to each other. And if he was going to win the heart of a romance novelist, he had some research to do—and he knew just where to start.

S
assy hurried around the end of the aisle to catch up with Perty. She didn’t really need to go through all of the organic spices again just to see if anything new had come in since last week.

“Did you enjoy your birthday luncheon yesterday?” Perty raised her reading glasses to peer through them at the label on a canister of oatmeal.

“It was the best one ever.” Sassy’s heart warmed with the memory of seeing Caylor and Dylan walk in together, sit together, and then stand on the sidewalk talking for several minutes before going home.

“Did Caylor tell you what they talked about afterward?” Perty dropped the glasses, letting them hang from their jeweled chain. “Dylan was in a strange mood yesterday afternoon—asked me if he could borrow all of Caylor’s books.”

“No—Caylor kept to herself on the ride home. To tell the truth, she seemed a bit upset—but I figured that was because she’s leaving to go out of town this week and maybe she’d had to turn down an invitation from him or something.” Sassy hoped they’d been discussing a date or get-together, since many young folks today apparently didn’t “date” anymore, but just “hung out” until they decided to get married.

“I’m worried about Dylan.” Perty slid her glasses back on and compared two boxes of cereal bars side by side.

Sassy threw a couple of boxes of frosted cherry and chocolate toaster pastries in her basket. Sage seemed happy to eat them any time of day—but thankfully she liked the store brand just fine. “What has you concerned?”

“Well…” Perty placed one of the boxes back on the shelf and put the other in her cart before moving on down the aisle to the cold cereals. “He’s been in therapy for almost two months now, and I can see that he’s making great strides in dealing with some…issues and problems in his life. But it’s also meant that he’s been opening up to us more about the relationship he had that ended and led to his moving home.”

Perty left her basket and came around Sassy’s to stand close to her, lowering her voice. “I love Caylor. You know I’d like nothing more than to see a marriage connection between our families. But I don’t know if Dylan is emotionally ready, if he’s taken adequate time to heal from this broken relationship. I’m afraid he’s—oh, what do they call it—bouncing?”

“On the rebound?” Sassy tapped her fingernails against the handle of the cart. How could Perty even begin to compare Dylan’s relationship with Caylor to the one he’d had before he moved back home?

“Yes—that’s it. I’m concerned that if he jumps immediately into another relationship that he’s never going to truly grow and develop into the man he’s supposed to be.” Perty rested her hand on Sassy’s arm. “This isn’t coming out the way I want it to. I think Dylan and Caylor would be great—perfect—together. I just think they need to take it much slower—wait until Dylan has had time to adjust to his new life, has had time to explore his renewed relationship with God. Because”—and Perty’s smile beamed—”he has made an almost miraculous turnaround when it comes to his attitude toward church and toward God.”

“That’s good to hear.” Sassy wasn’t sure how to respond. She could understand that, only a few months out of a bad relationship, Dylan might still have some issues to work through, but Caylor could help him do that.

They finished their shopping and hurried to get Sassy home and her groceries unloaded from Perty’s car before the threatening rain started. Sure enough, the first few drops splattered on Perty’s windshield as she backed out of the driveway.

Sassy stood for a brief moment in the new breakfast room and breathed in the new-room smell, then returned to the kitchen to put the food away.

A little before four o’clock, Sage hurried into the kitchen, hair, coat, and jeans pretty well drenched.

“Forgot to take your umbrella again today?” Sassy wedged a package of spinach into the packed freezer.

“At least I remembered to put the top up on the car. But I left the umbrella in the backseat. Got soaked coming back across campus.” She grabbed the dish towel from the refrigerator handle and squeezed it around her sodden ponytail.

“It only takes getting wet a couple of times to remember to pay attention.”

“I know, I know.” Sage opened the box of chocolate toaster pastries and took out a package. “Caylor asked me to tell you she’s going to be later that usual getting home tonight. She had some meeting rescheduled to this afternoon from Friday.”

“I figured she’d be putting in some extra hours this week before she goes out of town.”

Sage heaved a deep sigh then chomped into the pastry, sprinkling crumbs all over the floor Sassy had just mopped that morning. “Manhattan in the springtime. I wish I could go on this wedding dress shopping excursion with them.”

Sassy turned to put cans in the pantry so she didn’t have to see more crumbs soil her brand-new bamboo floor. “It’s not really even springtime here.…It’s definitely not springtime up there.”

“That’s right.” Sage’s disappointed tone was followed by the sound of a zipper. “I’m going to throw my coat in the dryer.” The door banged closed behind her.

Sassy sighed. She loved her younger granddaughter. Truly she did. But she wasn’t certain she always
liked
her. She couldn’t pinpoint it to anything specific—other than Sage’s seeming inability to commit to anything or plan anything in her life—but she and Sage just didn’t click the way she and Caylor did.