“Oh well then, thank you to you both,” I say, placing my order and it’s not long before Sara and I claim one of the cute wooden booths in the back of the shop, with Mick’s promise to bring us our drinks.
“So, you own the gallery and the coffee shop,” I say. “That’s a great combination so close together.”
“Well, there is a connection, which is Rebecca. It’s a long story, but she worked for the gallery. She spent a lot of time here. We were going to re-name the gallery Rebecca’s, but had some name recognition issues and decided to make the coffee shop Rebecca’s. We remodeled it to add these cute booths, and overhauled the menu. We wanted it to be her place.”
Our order arrives and by the time we’re alone again, despite my curiosity about Rebecca, I never get the chance to ask questions. “Oh yikes,” Sara says. “I just realized I left my purse and phone next door. I need to run back.”
“Of course,” I say, and we hurry to the door, and back to the gallery.
“Before you go back to work,” Sara says, “I want to show you something in my office.”
I follow her to the corner office and step inside, my lips parting instantly. “Oh my God,” I whisper at the sight of a mural on the wall behind the massive mahogany desk.A painting of the Eiffel Tower in Chris’s signature black and white. “It’s incredible,” I murmur, crossing to stand behind the desk, studying the tiny details that few artists ever master.
“Look up,” Sara says and obediently, my gaze lifts to find another European scene.
“The Spanish Steps,” I say, and I can’t help myself. I set my cup down and lay down on the floor, staring up at it. More details. More perfection. “Wow.”
Sara laughs and appears above me. “How’s the view from down there?”
“Spectacular. He’s incredible, Sara. Each step is different. The shadows. The shading. The texture.”
“Sara.”
At the sound of Chris’s voice, my eyes go wide, a cringe following. How did I let myself end up on the floor?!
“Chris,” Sara says, whirling around to greet him.
“Fuck, Sara,” he says, his voice growing closer. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
Sara is around the desk in a heartbeat, and I don’t know what to do. Stay down or get up?
“I forgot it when we went to the coffee shop.”
“Baby,” he breathes out. “It’s only been a few months.”
My brow furrows at the curious comment that seems to explain his over-the-top reaction.
“Seven months,” she says. “I know that’s still not a long time, but we both need to let it go. We need some semblance of normalcy.”
“Normal?” he asks. “Have we ever been normal?”
“No,” she says, her voice softening. “And I love that about us.”
“Keep your phone with you, baby,” he says. “Please.”
“I will,” she promises. “Stop worrying.”
“I won’t,” he promises. “Did Faith already leave?”
“Actually,” Sara says. “She’s on the floor behind the desk.”
I cringe all over again and suddenly Chris is standing over me, big, blond, and wearing a t-shirt that displays the artistically perfect, multi-colored dragon tattoo sleeve covering his right arm. “Why are you on the floor?” he asks.
“I was admiring your work. It’s stunning. The detail is perfection and yet you had to do it on a ladder.” I sit up, hands behind me, holding me up. “Is it bad for me to admit I have a crush on you right now? Completely professional, of course, but it’s powerful.”
Sara laughs and hitches a hip on the desk. “A lot of people feel that way about Chris.”
Chris squats down in front of me, his intense green eyes boring into mine. “But not you,” he says.