“It was too hot most of the time and too cold some of the time. Even so, I painted in here quite a bit. I was desperate for privacy from my sisters.”
“How many square feet is it?”
“Five hundred.”
He held open the door.
She entered, wonder filtering over her. The exterior had appeared impressive, but you had to enter to fully appreciate it. “Did you upgrade this at the same time as your bedroom and bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
He’d bricked the floor and replaced three of the walls with wood. The remaining greenhouse frame supported windows—one whole wall of them as well as a peaked ceiling of them. She could both feel and hear the whir of central heat. “It’s magnificent.”
“Thanks. In good weather, I open some of the ceiling panels and these doors.” Demonstrating, he pushed the double glass doors set in the wall of windows open partway. A gust blew in, stirring through her hair. He shut them with a click.
“I’m glad I’m here on a rainy day,” she said. “The droplets are making amazing moving patterns.”
“I love this space more than any studio I’ve worked in before because it’s so in tune with the weather, the light, nature. From my stool, I can look up and see the mood of the mountains. It’s beautiful at sunset. When storms are rolling in. When there’s mist and clouds.”
“I’m jealous. This is a dream studio.”
His materials sat on shelves. Tarps stretched below easels holding four different pieces of art in various stages of completion. He was still pursuing the genre that had always interested him—contemporary abstract art. However, at a glance, she could tell that he’d matured greatly in the years since she’d last seen his work.
She approached the wooden apparatus waiting on the table. “Is this a silk screen?”
“Yes. In college, I settled into a mixed media approach. I use a combination of painting and silk-screen work. I add texture to the piece with several different tools as I go.” He stuck his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans.
“So, is creating art your calling and teaching art the thing that pays the bills?”
“The first few years after college, I tried to support myself with my art alone. I didn’t have a following yet. Like most artists, I couldn’t make a living at it. So, I took classes and eventually got my teaching certificate. It started out as a way to pay the bills, but it turned out the balance of work and art suited me more than I expected.”
“How so?”
“Teaching forced me past my tendency to live like a hermit. My art benefitted when I started getting out in the world. I benefitted from getting to know the kids and my coworkers.”
Word on the street was that he was an excellent teacher. Patient, a man who genuinely liked people. She could see how he’d gain satisfaction from sharing his knowledge and encouraging teenagers.
“We were lucky to have Mrs. Kirby as our teacher,” she said. Mrs. Kirby had been grandmotherly and enthusiastic. She’d believed so much in her students that she’d inspired them to believe in themselves.
“Very lucky,” he agreed. “She was a phenomenal teacher.”
“And now you’re that same source of inspiration for a whole new generation of students.” No doubt, a swath of his female students were taking art specifically so they could swoon over Mr. Bryant.
“I hope to be a source of inspiration. Though I can’t fill Mrs. Kirby’s shoes.” Then, dryly, “Especially not the high-heeled pairs.”
On a sound of amusement, Shay moved to the most finished-looking piece of art—a stunning work on a large canvas easily five feet by four feet. Blue, beige, white, and gray, the piece gave testament to the long hours of work he’d invested. It was subtle and calming, yet powerful. An intriguing interplay of texture and color. She considered herself to have a decent eye for art and this was exactly the kind of painting she’d have loved to own.
The longer she pondered it, the more her appreciation grew. “Connor?”
“Yes?” he asked, uncertain. She understood the uncertainty. It always made her feel vulnerable when she allowed others to view her card and stationery designs in progress.
“I think this is brilliant.” She glanced at him.
His expression said, You do?
“Are you ready for me to go poetic on you?” she asked.
“I’m an artist. You can go poetic on me anytime.”
She motioned to it. “It reminds me of thunderclouds departing over water at low light.”
“Thank you.” His gray eyes communicated gratitude.
“You’re welcome.” Their gazes held. Time pulled like sweet caramel.
Who is Molly? Who was the person who was going to score this gem of a man?
If Molly was near Connor’s age and living in Misty River—Wait. She shouldn’t assume this person lived in Misty River. Maybe she didn’t. But if she did, chances were good that Shay knew her. Indeed, that was probably why Connor had declined to reveal Molly’s identity.
She really hoped Molly wasn’t Finley Sutherland from Furry Tails Animal Rescue Center. Finley was gorgeous and a living saint when it came to animals. When compared to Finley, Shay didn’t stand a chance.
“Can I use Thunderclouds Departing Over Water at Low Light as the painting’s title?” he asked.
“Certainly.”
“In fact, I don’t like titling. So, before you go, can you title the rest of these?” His lips curved sheepishly.
“Is Thunderclouds Departing Over Water at Low Light complete?”
“Nearly.”
“When the next one gets to this same stage of completion, let me know. I’ll swing back by to spread more of my titling magic.”
“Deal.”
“Where do you sell these?”
“At a gallery in LA and also the Cameron Gallery here in Misty River.”
“Let’s stop by the Cameron Gallery before we hit the clothing store so I can shower you with more compliments.”
“What if shopping for new clothes takes a lot of time? I wouldn’t want to monopolize your whole evening.”
“I don’t think it’ll take a lot of time. But if it does, great. You’re my best shot at high-quality entertainment today.”
“Nobody’s ever called me high-quality entertainment. Not sure I’ll measure up.”
Connor was a unicorn—both gorgeous and modest.
His clean-shaven face was disarming in a way his bearded face hadn’t been. With his thick, faintly disheveled hair and lean, fit frame he looked like what he wasn’t—a wealthy New Englander who’d casually accepted the gifts of wealth and looks that had dropped in his lap.
“It’s not every day that handsome, talented men ask me to provide my advice,” she said. “I happen to enjoy providing advice. Especially to handsome, talented men. So, c’mon.” She turned toward the studio door. “This is going to be fun.”
• • •
“In the name of full disclosure,” Shay said to him from outside his dressing room an hour later, “I’m realizing that this might be the first time I’ve been inside a clothing store that’s just for men. That said, I don’t want you to revoke my consultant credential. I still think I can do a really good job at this.”