Oliver’s always had a good poker face, his expression like stone. “I’ll give you the one percent if she does a show in my new gallery.” He inclines his head. “I think that’s more than fair.”
She huffs out a frustrated breath. “I can’t decide that for her—”
“I’ll do it.”
Piper is still lying down, curved against the couch, but her eyes are open.
Finley is already shaking her head. “Piper, you don’t have to.”
“I’ll do it, I said.” She looks at Oliver. “But I need time.”
“I’ll give you two months.”
She sighs. “You know nothing about art. Smaller pieces might take me a few days or weeks, but it depends on too many factors. Do you want originals? Commissioned pieces? Depending on how large some of them are, the number of pieces required, not to mention the size of the gallery, I might need a year.”
“Six months. And—” he hesitates, his eyes tightening, his mouth firming for a second before he continues “—you don’t have to fill the gallery completely. As long as we have a few good pieces to showcase, we have other artists that can supplement. But your pieces will receive main positioning.”
They stare at each other across the plane. Finally, Piper relents. “Fine.”
Finley raises a hand. “And we name it Camp Aria.”
His head tilts in assent. “Camp Aria it is.”
I tug on Finley’s sleeve, and we share a grin.
It’s almost midnight by the time we make it back to the airstrip in New Jersey.
“It’s late. You are welcome to stay in my building if you would rather drive back to Whitby in the morning.” Oliver is casual, making the offer once we’re off the plane and getting into the car that will take us to the lot where I parked my rental.
I‘m too shocked to respond for a few long seconds. I’ve come to New York dozens of times over the years, and he’s never extended an invitation. Those types of social graces are not in his wheelhouse. What is going on with him? And does it have anything to do with Piper?
“No, but thank you,” Finley answers for us. “I want to get home and sleep in my own bed, even if it means a couple more hours of driving.”
He nods and gets into his limo before we can do more than offer a hasty goodbye.
Piper sleeps the entire drive. Finley helps me stay awake by brainstorming ideas for the new kids’ camp and talking about how late we’re going to sleep in tomorrow.
By the time we get home, we barely have the strength to climb up the stairs, pull off our outerwear, and fall into bed in a tangled pile of limbs and exhaustion.
I come to awareness bit by bit. The sun is shining through the thin curtains, casting a glow over the room and the woman in my arms. We’re spooning, my body surrounding hers, my arm resting over her waist.
Her head twists toward me. “Archer?” her voice is low and sleepy.
I hold her a little tighter. “I’m here.”
She shifts, turning around to face me, her eyes still closed. “Oh, good. Any new disasters I should be aware of?”
I chuckle and kiss the furrow in her forehead. “Not that I’m aware of.”
She snuggles into me further, yawning against my chest. “Small miracles.”
I rub her back.
She pulls away, blinking sleepily up at me. “What if you were to stay here permanently?”
My mouth pops open in surprise.
She swallows and keeps speaking. “I mean for good. I know we talked a little about it, and you said you’d stay, but I want it to be for more than a while. I already invited Mason over for Easter next month, and if you aren’t here, that might be real weird.”