“He does not collect hair,” I say. “And I knew it was a mistake to send you and Lily to lunch without supervision.”
Turning away, I swatch the paint on my test canvas. Mossy green. Perfect for the springtime Central Park picnic piece I’ve sketched out.
“G,” Caleb says a bit impatiently.
I glance over and see his look of concern. “What?”
He sighs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the old Gracie—the one who always thought true love was just around the corner.”
I set my brush down. “Hold on. Are you calling me cynical?”
He purses his lips. “I’m saying that it’s going to be awfully hard to find that Prince Charming you always used to talk about if you don’t even try.”
I heave out a sigh. “Okay. You’re right. You are. But I’m really on a roll here, and this thing with Hugh Wheeler feels like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So how about this: I rain check tonight but promise to go out with your friend Adrian some other time.”
“Deal,” Caleb says, and I feel instant regret.
I don’t want to go out with some random guy. I want…
A knock at the door scatters my thoughts.
“It’s probably Keva,” I tell Caleb, turning back to my painting. “Can you let her in?”
My brother opens the door, and there’s a pause.
“Um, hello. I’m looking for Gracie Cooper?”
I whirl around from my easel at the masculine voice. One I never expected to hear at my front door.
“And you are?” Caleb asks, his tone protective.
I set my paint brush aside and wipe my hand on my smock as I walk toward the door. “Caleb, this is Sebastian Andrews.”
“The dude who put Bubbles out of business?”
Sebastian flinches. Almost imperceptibly, but it’s there.
“Hi,” I say. Is my voice breathless? Crap. My brother is still blocking the door, and I shove him aside.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening,” Sebastian says a little stiffly.
“Really?” Caleb says. “What would you call dropping by unannounced at seven o’clock on a Friday?”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, pushing him toward the bathroom. “Go get dressed.”
Caleb gives Sebastian one last warning look, followed by a what the hell? glance in my direction.
I ignore it. Mainly because I don’t have a clue what Sebastian Andrews is doing at my front door.
“Come on in,” I say, standing to the side.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to interrupt your… date.”
I blink. My what now? Gross.
Then I see the scene from his eyes—a half-naked man with a proprietary glower has just answered my front door.
I tilt my head in the direction of Caleb as he comes out of the bathroom, the towel thankfully replaced with jeans and a blue checked dress shirt. “My brother. He’s staying with me a few days while he’s in town.”
Sebastian’s aqua eyes snap to Caleb, his expression showing a blink-and-you-miss-it flicker of… relief?
“Nice to meet you,” Sebastian says.
“Uh-huh.” My brother is buttoning the cuff of his sleeve, still scowling.
“Caleb,” I say on a sigh. “Be polite.”
“Compared to our first meeting,” Sebastian says to me, “I’d say this is an improvement.”
“Hey! I was polite.”
Sebastian lifts an eyebrow. Were you?
Caleb’s scowl has lessened considerably as he gives Sebastian and me a curious look. “Nice to put a face with the name,” Caleb says to Sebastian.
“Which I imagine frequently goes hand in hand with profanity?”
My brother grins as he steps out into the hallway. “I’ll never tell. See you later. G, I’ll probably be late. I’ll try to be quiet if you remind your cat I’ve called dibs on the couch.”
“You’re never quiet,” I grumble.
“Be good,” Caleb calls as he jogs down the stairs. “Don’t forget about the cat.”
“Sorry about him,” I say, shutting the door.
Sebastian’s scanning my tiny, slightly messy apartment curiously, focusing on my in-progress painting before turning back to me. He must have come straight from the office, because as usual, he’s wearing a suit. Dark charcoal this time, with a dark purple tie.
I start with the most pressing question.
“How do you know where I live?”
“I walked you home that night after Central Park, remember?”
“I do.” Too well. “But you left me at the front door, how do you know which unit I lived in?”
He scratches just behind his ear, looking slightly guilty. “We have your info in the system. I broke company policy, and probably a few laws, by looking it up.”
“Why?” I ask plainly.
He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope. “I wanted to give you this. Normally we’d mail it, but…”
He shrugs, looking embarrassed.
I take the envelope, noting the now-familiar logo of his family’s company. I don’t open it. Raising my eyes, I look him straight in the eye. “Last time I got an envelope from you that looked like this, my life turned upside down.”
To his credit, he doesn’t look away. “I know.”
The straightforward honesty catches me off guard. Who am I kidding, this entire situation has caught me off guard. He’s close enough that I can see his eyelashes—black and spiky, the exact color of his five o’clock shadow.
Unsettled, I glance down, then use the envelope as an excuse to turn away slightly, my thumb sliding under the flap. There’s a check inside.
“Wow,” I say after a moment, staring down at it. “That is… a lot of money.”
“It’s the agreed-upon amount,” he says quietly.
I knew it was coming. And of course, it’s not all mine. It’s made out to the business. But still. Holy crap.
I give Sebastian a wry smile. “I’m guessing my very humble abode reaffirms your suspicion that I needed this money sooner rather than later.”
I expect him to look around my apartment, note its small size, the tired couch, the outdated kitchen. Instead, he holds my gaze. “That’s not why I came.”
My breath catches. “No? Then why?”
His aqua eyes lock on mine a second longer before he steps around me and goes to the easel. He studies it for a long minute.
He looks back at me. “It didn’t occur to me that you used pencil first.”
“I don’t always,” I say, sliding the check back into the envelope and setting it on the kitchen table. “And when I do, it’s usually only on a practice run, not the final.”
“How many versions of each painting do you do?”
“Usually not more than two unless I goof up. But I almost always plan out what I’m going to do in my sketchbook before it makes it to this stage.”
“What’s this one?” he asks, leaning forward to look closer. My pencil strokes are light, more guidelines than actual sketch.
“Central Park. A picnic. I haven’t decided yet if it’ll be a couple or a family. Maybe a girls’ day or just a lone woman reading with her dog.”