"Do you think changing the subject will help?"
"Can’t hurt."
He grinned again and she shot him a wary look as she set about cleaning her brushes.
"You have a meeting with one of the gallery curators this afternoon in"—he checked his watch—"about two hours."
"Two hours? Are you…Two hours?" She looked at the mess she'd made of paints and gesso and brushes and cleaner. "Why didn't you tell me before now?"
"I didn't want you to get nervous."
"Yeah, well, guess what? It didn't work!" She scrambled to organize the mess she'd made, well aware of Everett watching her every move.
By the time she got everything cleaned and put away, she'd lost a solid twenty minutes. "I have to go shower. What am I going to wear? If you'd told me, I could've had this figured out already!"
"Isabel."
She stopped her hasty exit and turned to see him still standing right where he'd been all along. "What?"
He moved toward her, every step slow and deliberate, like an animal stalking its prey but without the threat of death, she mused. Well, if one didn't count the fact she wanted to kill him.
Everett cupped her face in his palms and lowered his head toward hers. Her breath turned shallow and she parted her lips in welcome. Kissing Everett was never a chore or a bother. That much she knew for certain. It was the only thing she knew for certain.
After a slow, sweet, mind-whirling kiss, he lifted his lips from hers and brushed them against her forehead.
"Breathe. You've got this, sweetheart. They'll be putty in your hands."
Izzy closed her eyes and embraced the moment. The gesture.
Could anything be as romantic and wonderful as Everett stating that he believed in her?
Isabel insisted she go alone.She understood that Everett had gotten her foot in the door, but now? It was up to her to make the connection work for her. If she couldn't do that, then she had no business playing with the big dogs.
"Beautiful," Max, the curator, said. "I'll admit it's not our normal style of showcase but you have a definite talent, Ms. Shipley."
"Isabel, please. Or Izzy," she said before ordering herself to stop before she came across like an idiot.
"You convey emotions very well. Not only with color but the lines. Your work has feeling and movement."
Pride burst throughout her body, and she felt her face flush with pleasure. "Thank you. That's high praise coming from you."
Max set his iPad aside and leaned back in his office chair. "Are you working on anything now?"
"Actually, yes," she said, silently thanking Everett yet again for the makeshift studio in his penthouse. It was the gift that kept giving. "I've completed two pieces since arriving in town."
"Impressive. You haven't been here long, have you?"
"No, but…the city inspires me." It was true. Her heart would always belong to the beach she loved so much, but right now she loved the change of scenery. The difference in lighting and textures, the pace of the city over the more relaxed feel of island time. "I'm loving the contrast between the concrete and block buildings and the people passing by. To me there seems to be many ways of looking at them. Whether the people are happy or sad, or the buildings reflect their purpose. It’s a different energy than my seascapes."
"Intriguing. Have you given any thought to having a show here? I do believe my colleagues would approve sponsoring such an event."
Heart in her throat, she clenched her fingers together until the pain forced her to focus. "I...am certainly open to the option."
“That’s good to hear,” Max said. “As to what I have in mind…”
The moment Isabelstepped from the building, Everett knew her meeting had been a success. She hadn't seen him yet, standing across the street waiting for her exit, but she carried her head high, every line of her beautiful body graceful as she moved toward the curb.
She spotted him then, and as their gazes locked, Everett felt his heart squeeze a bit. She looked happy, and happy on Isabel was a sight to behold. He liked the thought that he'd had some small influence in that.