“How generous of you.”
She looked up quickly. Her gaze locked with his and an unfamiliar breathless feeling took over as his dark eyes held hers steadily. They were clear and endless, without the red lids and fuzzy focus she’d seen in him in the past.
But was he really cleaned up or was she just looking and hoping for the best?
She took a mental step back. “Forget about all that for a moment. What are you doing with your paintings?”
He scooted past her. The room was narrow and there wasn’t much space to pass by her, but he managed to do it without touching her at all. Her gaze followed him as he made his way to the easel, touched the frame with a fingertip.
“I’ve been selling them to a shop in Portland. He buys what I have, calls when his stock is getting low. The summer was good for business, plus I had less time to paint once I started working for Jack. He probably won’t need as much now, with the tourist season dropping off.”
“Still … it’s Portland. Bigger population base, and the holidays are coming up. Besides, if it’s a bit slower it’ll give you a chance to stockpile some for next year, when the tourist traffic is high again.” Personally she was thrilled that Rick had taken them somewhere—that he’d seen the value in them. Even though he’d deliberately chosen someplace out of Jewell Cove. She looked at the finished work against the wall. There was no real signature. Just a small “RS” in one corner, marking the artist. Protecting his identity all the way.
“I suppose.”
She went up to him, made a point of looking at what he was looking at—the golden yellow sunflowers on the glass. “What if you had an alternate market for them?”
“What do you mean?” He lifted his chin and looked over at her. She was trying hard not to imagine him sketching in a hospital bed after leaving a war zone but it was difficult. He didn’t have to say it for her to know this was his outlet. The same way that she knit and melted wax for candles and designed jewelry and pieced quilts … this was Rick’s way of shutting out the painful part of his world. Well, one of his strategies, anyway. At least this was a way of dealing with his troubles that she wholeheartedly supported.
She marveled at the simple beauty of flowers on glass. After what he’d been through, she would have expected to see something more dark and ugly and, frankly, cathartic. But Rick didn’t paint the world he’d seen. He painted the world he wanted to see. It was remarkable.
If it wouldn’t have been incredibly awkward and potentially misconstrued, she might have hugged him.
“I mean, what if I sold some of them for you? We could do it on consignment like I do with my other clients. If you want to keep your privacy you can. But why take them all the way to Portland if you can sell them here? Besides, you’ll get a better return from me. You’ll make a better percentage than if you sold to me outright and then I did markup. With the boat season ending, that should be good news.”
He was frowning. “Well, except with him I get paid up front, and with you I’d have to wait for them to sell, so I’d never know when the money was coming. I’d probably be better off going to The Three Fishermen.”
Damn, he had a good point. The local art gallery was a perfect place for them. But on a personal level she wanted a crack at them first.
“They’ll sell. No question. And I review the consignment books every month. Besides, I’ll guarantee your anonymity. Paul at the gallery wouldn’t.”
“If I tell you I’ll think about it, will you finally tell me why you really came over here?”
Distracted, Jess waved in agreement. It was more than she’d actually expected for a response. Rick was a stubborn cuss when he wanted to be. But he was honest to a fault and if he said he was thinking about it, he was thinking about it and not just putting her off. She’d have to reorganize the shop floor to make room and in a spot where the light was sure to set the colors off to best advantage …
She was still trying to wrap her head around the discovery.
“Want a coffee? I put a pot on earlier.”
“Sure.” Following him into the kitchen, Jess couldn’t help but examine her surroundings. Despite being a guy and living alone, Rick kept the place up pretty well. Maybe there was a little dust in the corners, but the dishes were done and everything put away neatly. She’d seen worse. Like at her sister’s, after a day playing outside with the kids. Sarah’s kitchen often looked like a plague of locusts had gone through, razing everything in sight.
“How was the bachelor party?” she asked. She’d heard, actually, from Josh, but figured it was a good way to make conversation. According to Josh it had been fairly uneventful, though Bryce had fleeced them all at poker.
“It was good. Just a night with the boys and some cards.”
Funny he omitted the beer portion, as if he knew it would set her off. Though Josh—her inside source for everything these days—did mention that Rick had stuck with cola all night, much to everyone’s surprise. “I heard Bryce made out fine.”
Rick chuckled as he took mugs out of the cupboard. “He’s a shark. Good thing the stakes were low. I might have lost my inheritance.”
She laughed. “Abby’s shower was good, too. Presents, food, punch … we made Abby wear a wedding gown made from toilet paper and gave her a bouquet made from the bows from her gifts.”
He turned around and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms. “Cluck cluck. Sounds like quite a hen fest.”
She grinned back. “To be honest … it was good, but I think cards and pizza would have been just as fun.”
“You’ll have to come some night when we’re playing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then again, maybe not. Pretty girls are big distractions at the poker table.”
Pretty girls. Despite all their animosity, he’d just called her pretty. And she should not be flattered by it but she was. Rick Sullivan still had the power to be charming.