“Gem?”
My head snaps up, and I narrowly miss smacking it on the edge of the trunk. “Bentley? What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you, by the looks of it,” he replies, seeing the bags of supplies in the trunk.
“You’re here for the art festival?”Duh, Gem. Of course, he’s here for the festival. He’s an artist.
He nods, and then a frown creases his ridiculously handsome face. “I saw you leave. What’s up? Why are you putting your stuff back in the trunk?”
“There was a mix-up with my booking. Apparently, Veronica never received my confirmation. The art festival was my chance to get the word out about my shop, you know, plenty of opportunity, sales, and exposure, but …” I shrug and give him a wobbly smile, still trying to hold back the tears of disappointment. I’m trying to remain positive. This is just a blip. I’ve had them before. No biggie.
The little tick in Bentley’s tightly clenched jaw tells me he’s not okay with what’s happened. “Wait here,” he instructs, and before I can open my mouth to object, he’s heading toward the building where the festival is being held.
What the …?
I consider climbing behind the wheel and driving off like the coward I am when it comes to him, but something keeps my feet rooted to the spot.
Within minutes, he’s back, his face set in grim satisfaction. “Let’s go,” he says, barely breaking stride as he grabs my bags from the trunk.
I quickly slam the lid shut and lock the car, struggling to keep up with his long legs. “What are you doing?”
“Taking your stuff back inside,” he replies, stating the obvious.
I follow him into the huge hall to an expansive booth where he has all his artwork set up. Guess he paid for the deluxe version, judging by the size of his display. Before I know what’s what, he’s rearranging to make room for my stuff.
“Bentley, I … You can’t—”
“Plenty of room for both of us, Gem,” he cuts across me, his dark eyes connecting with mine. “You’re damn good at what you do, and your art needs to be seen and appreciated. This mess-up isn’t on you, and I’m happy to help.”
Something lodges in my chest, and suddenly, I want to cry for a whole different reason. I’m already in this man’s debt for the sacrifice he made years ago, and now he’s bailing me out again. A mix of shame and gratitude envelops me, leaving me confused and unsettled.
“I … Thank you,” I murmur, unsure what else to say.
Bentley moves closer, lifting his hand and brushing his knuckles along my cheek. “You’re welcome.”
His fingers leave a trail of fire in their wake, and his gruff tone sends a shiver of pleasure straight through me. My panties may have spontaneously combusted, incinerating my pubic hair with them. Guess I can cancel my next Brazilian.
Someone jostles me from behind, and I stumble backward, knocking my purse off the table.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the lady apologizes, stooping to help me pick up the contents scattered on the floor. “Blind as a bat without these,” she adds, sliding her glasses from her head onto her nose.
“It’s fine. No harm done.” I give her a reassuring smile.
She’s an older lady with kind eyes and blonde hair streaked with gray. “I swear I trip over fresh air sometimes. Nearly knocked the whole stand over earlier,” she says, pointing to the adjacent booth laden with hand-crafted greeting cards.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, impressed with the intricate designs on the cards.
“You’re very kind, dear. Just a little hobby in my spare time to keep me out of mischief,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. Her gaze falls on the piece of paper that’s spilled from my bag. She picks it up. “My goodness, this is exquisite.”
My cheeks burn. It’s the sketch Bentley drew of me the other day.
“Whoever drew this has captured you perfectly. You should get this blown up and framed. Put it on display.”
“It’s just a doodle,” Bentley says from behind us.
“You did this?” the woman asks.
He nods, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.