And yet, he itched to forget about them for a while and go find Cat.
She'd left early the night before, her mother said something about an errand. But Lachlan noticed how once Cat's mother had returned to the table, she'd looked a little worried and maybe even a wee bit sad.
Something had happened between the two of them; he was sure of it.
However, everyone had taken Sylvia at her word and spend the evening trying to get him to talk.
And while he'd survived—it seemed when the dragonmen sat with their mates, they tended to behave a bit better—Lachlan had glanced at Cat's abandoned plate a few times and wondered what had happened to her.
He didn't doubt her family loved her—all of their banter and teasing proved it to him—but one of them should've gone after Cat to check on her.
But no one had.
Which meant no one knew if she was doing okay.
He let out a frustrated sigh and stood. Even though Lachlan was due to talk with Cat later in the afternoon, it was almost his duty to check on her sooner. After all, he needed her help with coordinating with the other clans and artists. And she certainly couldn't do that if she were missing or upset.
This is ridiculous. She's a grown woman and can sort out her own problems. Get back to work. He stared at the laptop again. But the words swam and he still couldn't concentrate.
So much for his iron-clad discipline.
Maybe once she smiled and teased him—maybe even threw a few swear words his way to try and make her point—then maybe he could bloody focus on his ever-growing to-do list.
Decision made, Lachlan walked to the door and out of the cottage. On the day he'd arrived, the dragon-shifters had given him a tour of the dragon clan. And during it, they'd pointed out Cat's art studio. They said any time he couldn't find her elsewhere, she'd probably be there. So he was going to check.
A few people waved, and he returned the gesture, but kept walking. Once Lachlan had his mind set on something, he carried it out. Maybe the others would think him rude, but he didn't care at the moment.
Three dragons flew overhead, and he watched them disappear into the distance. He most definitely wasn't back home in Glasgow.
He finally approached Cat's studio—an addition added to a cottage—and knocked on the door. At first, silence. But just as he was about to knock again, the door opened, revealing Cat wearing a smock covered in more colors than he could count and several paint smudges on her face. She blinked. "Lachlan? I thought our meeting was in a few hours?"
He shrugged. "It was." Not wanting their conversation to be broadcast to anyone passing by, he motioned past her. "Can I come in?"
Her brows furrowed slightly. "I would say yes, but it's a mess, and I really need to finish what I'm doing before the paint dries."
"I can stand off to the side until you're done. But we need to talk as soon as you finish."
She studied him a second, and he couldn't blame her. There was nothing urgent for them to discuss. After all, there were almost two months until any of the events began, or artists arrived, and the nearest deadline wasn't for at least a week.
However, she finally stood back and waved inside. "Come in. Just be careful where you walk. I'm not the tidiest of painters."
His eyes darted to the paint on her face, her smock, and finally, her fingers. He smiled. "No, you're not."
She almost smiled back. "I can imagine you are, though. Pristine and perfect."
He shook his head. "I'm not a painter at all, lass. I just like to admire it."
Her smiled widened. "Well, maybe we'll have to get you to try your hand at it at least once." Before he could say that would be a waste of paint, she motioned again. "Let's go. I really need to finish what I'm doing."
He followed her down a small hallway and toward the door at the end. She gestured to the doors at either side of it. "One is storage, and one is a toilet. I'm telling you this because I get rather engrossed in my work, aye? So I don't want you to start dancing if you need to take a piss."
He nearly blinked at her words but then brushed his surprise aside. She probably did it to try and rile him up. And who the hell knew why, but he shot back, "I'm a man, which means I can just go find a bush somewhere."
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, one of the things males take pride in about their dicks."
"I'm not sure it's so much pride as convenience." She stuck out her tongue, and he snorted. "A very cogent argument, that."
"You clearly don't have any annoying siblings because it works well with them, especially if you want to rile them up as payback."
Lachlan had only the one, but rather than darken the mood with how he'd fucked up that relationship for years before fixing it—mostly—he pointed at the door. "Are we going in or staying here in the dark hallway?"
She put her hand on the doorknob. "Just be quiet whilst I work, aye?"
He nodded, and she opened the door. Lachlan followed on her heels.
The room was much bigger than he expected, each wall about fifteen feet long, with windows and sunlight coming in from three directions.
Even with it being overcast, light filled the room, making it almost cheerful.
But as his eyes glanced around the room, the bright colors of the paintings made it more so.
Cat watched him, but he waved toward the huge easel at one side, which had a cart and a stool in front of it. "Go finish what you're doing. Looking at all your work will distract me for a while."
She opened her mouth as if to ask something but then promptly closed it and nodded. "Aye, all right. I shouldn't need more than half an hour or so to finish this layer."
So as Cat focused on her piece, Lachlan slowly went from painting to painting, studying the subjects, colors, and tones. Art could tell quite a bit about a person, especially if you knew the artist behind it even a little.
And for some reason, he looked more closely than normal, almost as if Cat MacAllister was a puzzle he wished to solve.
Cat usually hated when someone was in her studio. Mostly because anyone who had come before tended to chat, or ask questions, or make a lot of noise. They didn't seem to understand that art took concentration, just like anything else.
However, Lachlan was quiet, didn't talk, and she barely noticed he was there as she focused on finishing her latest layer.
As she blended some green in one place and then some blue elsewhere, she once again became lost in her piece. Everything else melted away until it was just her and her art.
It could've been hours later for all she knew, but as Cat finished the last detail, she could tell from the daylight that it hadn't been too long. She took her palette and was about to go clean up when she glanced at the leftover paint and smiled. Turning toward Lachlan, who stared at a piece representing an ancient battle between the dragons and some human English soldiers centuries ago, she said, "Lachlan."
He took a few more beats to study the painting and then turned to her. "Are you finished?"
"Aye, I am. But before we go and have our meeting, there's something we're going to do first."
He raised a dark eyebrow. "I hope you're not going to suggest for us to tidy up together. Aye, I have a few ideas of how to make this space more efficient, but it'll take days."