Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

Saylor

I've just made a cup of coffee when there's a knock at the door. I'm still in my pajamas so I peek out the peephole and smile when I see Canyon. He's been on a road trip for a few days and got home late last night. He didn't know whether he would have practice this morning, so I hadn't been sure when I'd see him.

"Good morning," I say, opening the door.

"Hey, beautiful." He comes in, kicks the door shut behind him and scoops me up in his arms. "I want to say or do something romantic, but I really need to touch you."

That's the best thing he can say, as far as I'm concerned. We haven't had nearly as much sex as either of us would like.

"I'm so ready for that."

He dumps me on the bed, and we scramble to get undressed.

Then he's inside me and I'm screaming his name, nails digging into his back as he takes me over the edge much more quickly than usual.

"Damn, baby." He's breathing hard as we finish. "That was fast. Miss me?"

"So much."

We lay there in the aftermath, bodies intertwined, a light sheen of sweat covering us.

"I skipped practice," he says, shifting so he's on his back and I'm nestled against him. "It was optional, and I really needed some quality time with my girl."

I love hearing that.

"I'm glad you're here," I say.

"I was thinking Friday night could be date night," he says. "Ally has been invited to a sleepover."

"Really?" My eyes widen. "That's awesome. Both for us and for her. It means she's making friends."

"Yeah, I hope so. She seems pretty lonely because most of the kids have known each other for years."

"She's friendly with one of the girls in the art class," I say. "At least, they talk a lot during class." Ally had reluctantly started my class at the gallery.

"Yeah, she complains about having to go but comes home in a good mood."

"I'm sure she's struggling," I say. "And missing her mom."

"The overdose came up in therapy and she refuses to talk about it."

"I wish there was a way to make this easier for her, but she just has to fight her way through the grieving process. There are no shortcuts in my experience."

"What about your family?" he asks. "You don't talk about anyone."

"My mom and I aren't close, and my dad died when I was a kid."

"Where does your mom live?"

"Florida. I bought her a house in a retirement community. She works part-time at a clothing boutique and has a live-in boyfriend who pays the bills. We talk maybe three times a year. She does her thing, I do mine."

"I'm sorry."

"She was never very maternal, and when I started modeling, she was jealous. Once I was old enough to do my own thing, I put some distance between us. It's fine. I see her once a year, usually at Christmas, and four days is about all I can stomach."

"Yeah, I see my dad once a year on the dads' trip, and then maybe once in the summer, but it hasn't been the same since my mom died. She would hate what's happened to our family."

"Life is complicated," I acknowledge. "I hope I'm a better mom than my mother was, you know?"

"And if I ever become a dad, I definitely want to be better than mine. My mom was pretty awesome, but my dad kind of checked out. Even before Mom passed."

"It seems to me you already are."

"Already am what?"

"A better dad than your father was. I mean, you've stepped up to the plate for Ally even though you had no idea what you were doing. You've made a home for her, and your own little family, even if she doesn't appreciate it yet."

"Thank you for saying that. It's been hard as hell."

"I know. And look at you, kicking ass and taking names."

"I don't know about that, but I'm trying."

"That's all any of us can do." I tilt my head so I can press my lips to the underside of his jaw. "And you're doing an amazing job."

"Yeah, but how am I doing in the boyfriend department? I'm pretty sure I suck at that."

I can't tell if he's joking or not, so I pull away a little, resting on my elbow. I look into his handsome face and run my fingers across his cheek. "I have no complaints, Canyon."

"You sure? Because I basically come over for a bootie call when I take Ally to school, or you come to the condo, and we sit there listening to Ally complain or whine until it's time to go."

"It won't always be like this. She hasn't been here long, and we haven't been together long. We're all adjusting."

"I don't want to let either of you down," he admits.

"Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl. Ally has to be your priority. I've got my own shit going on, plus I'll be in New York for a week coming up at the end of the month."

"For that sitcom?"

"Yeah, this is going to be my final appearance. They're killing me off." I laugh even though he makes a face.

"How come?"

"I play the main guy's mistress and I've been blackmailing him. He's basically a good guy who made a mistake and he's going to finally come clean to his wife and she's going to kill me." I shrug. " C'est la vie ."

"And then? What's next in your acting career?"

"I have an appearance on a soap opera coming up next week, actually, but that's local. And then I'm walking in a runway show—with both Cheyenne and Stevie—in May."

"Stevie's going back to work?"

"Well, she's supposed to. But it's in London, and she hasn't wanted to travel yet. We'll see if she bails."

"So you're going to London in May?"

"Yup. Why? You want to tag along?"

"If we're not in the playoffs, absolutely."

"Oh. Well, then let's hope you can't come because Harper is practically hyperventilating at the thought of you guys making the playoffs."

"Tell me about it. It's been a pretty exciting season. I just wish I was playing better."

"You've had a lot on your plate."

"Yeah, but they pay me millions of dollars per season to perform. They don't care about my personal life."

"Harper cares," I say gently. "And so do I."

"You're special," he says, tugging me up so I'm on top of him again.

"And you're hard," I tease, bending to kiss him.

"Yes. Yes, I am. You got a problem with that?"

I angle my hips and sink down on him. "Not at all."

* * *

I'm getting ready for my date with Canyon late on Friday afternoon when Stevie calls me.

"The gallery is officially empty," she says with a giggle.

"What?"

"I sold the last two pieces today. You have nothing left. Zero. Zip. Zilch."

"Fuck." Instead of being happy, I'm frustrated. What good is an art gallery with bare walls? I'm proud to have sold every piece of my art, but now what will I do? The classes I'm teaching will be over soon, and I don't have another show until fall.

My own work is coming along, but I can't rush it.

I'm going to have to come up with plans B, C, and D sooner rather than later.

"It's going to be okay, you're working on new stuff, right?"

"Yes, but I have a three-painting series that's barely begun and a couple of small self-portraits that I'm not super happy with yet. Creativity takes time, and that doesn't seem to be something we have an abundance of. I saved up paintings for nearly ten years before I opened the gallery. I never thought they'd all sell so fast."

"And I've put myself out of a job," she says with a laugh.

"I wish I knew what to do. I can only work so fast, and the two artists I know who want to have shows won't be ready until fall and spring. That's six months with nothing."

"You need to do some networking in the art world."

"I guess so."

"Let me reach out to a friend in New York. Maybe she'll have some ideas."

"I appreciate you, Stevie."

"No worries. Have fun on your date tonight!"

She disconnects, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I put in a pair of earrings.

Have I made a mistake in stepping back from modeling to focus on my art? I can't paint fast enough to keep up with demand, and while that sounds like a good thing, I'm not so sure anymore. An empty gallery is…embarrassing. But I had over a hundred and fifty pieces before I opened. And they weren't cheap. The fact that I sold them all is flattering, and I have a nice padding in my bank account, but what do I do going forward? The art classes brought in a few thousand dollars, and I can do another round because we'd wound up with a waiting list, but I want to spend my time painting and selling my art.

I simply can't work any faster.

I honestly thought I had at least a year's worth of art stockpiled. The plan was to finish the three I've started, complete the trio I was currently working on, and then do a series of self-portraits as a kind of homage to my modeling career.

Instead, I'm out of stock, time, and inspiration.

It's hard to produce under this kind of pressure, and I've spent all week staring at my canvas without adding a single stroke of paint.

In the past, creativity poured out of me.

Now I feel stressed, pulled in too many directions, and confused about which path is the right one.

Do I want to paint or take on as many modeling and acting jobs as possible until the industry deems me too old?

The doorbell rings and I grab my clutch as I hurry to answer it.

"Hey, babe, just give me—" I freeze as I realize it's not Canyon standing there, but Joel. "Oh. Hi. Sorry about that."

"Got a date?" he asks with a grin.

"Yes, Canyon and I are going to dinner and the theater. What's up?"

"There seems to be a leak in the bathroom."

"Oh. Is it bad? Is there flooding?"

"No, I turned off the valve, but now we don't have water."

"Well, give me a second and let me get you the name of the plumber I use. If you tell him I sent you, he'll probably come out first thing tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Joel follows me into the house. "How are we going to go to the bathroom?"

"I'm so sorry," I say, digging in the drawer where I kept business cards. "But I don't know what you want me to do. I can't fix it myself." I pull out the card and hold it out to him. "Max is great and affordable. If you want to pay top dollar, you can try to get someone out tonight, but that's probably expensive."

"I assumed you would pay for it," he says with an edge to his voice.

"I will. But that's why you need to use Max. It's six thirty on a Friday night. I don't know that you'll find someone who can come out right this minute."

"Jesus fucking Christ." He turns on his heel and stalks through the house toward the front door.

"Joel, just let me?—"

"Never mind!" he snaps, throwing open the front door just as Canyon has lifted a hand to knock.

"Hey, man." Canyon says.

"Fuck off."