Temptation on Ocean Drive - Jennifer Probst Page 0,65
“Bad combo. But sure, I’ll pick it up, just call it in.”
Her sister brightened. “Thanks.”
“What piece are you stuck on?”
A shadow darkened her features. “All of the new ones. I’m a bit concerned I could be one of those artists that create when there’s no deadline or pressure. I keep trying to force the image I have in my head onto the canvas, but it keeps shifting, which pisses me off, so I yell at the bitch in my head who—”
“The bitch in your head?” Bella repeated.
“Yeah, my muse. But then she just shuts up to get even with me, and I get nowhere.” She picked at her thumbnail. “Maybe this isn’t going to work out.”
Bella sat down. It was so rare that Taylor worried about things, it just showed how important this art show was to her. Finally, something mattered, and it was freaking her out. “It’s going to work out,” she said firmly. “But it may not be the path you imagined. I think we like to sketch out these ideas of how our life is going to go, but when it differs, the majority of us don’t know how to handle it. This is the first time you’re learning how to cultivate your art on a schedule. It may not go easy, but you’ll get there, T. On deadline. I know you will.”
“How?” she demanded.
“Because you don’t let yourself fail,” she said simply. “You’re too hotheaded and stubborn, and even if you wait till the last week, you’ll paint night and day and show up with your quota. Did you honestly think you’d just paint a bit each day and stay on a perfect schedule like some robot?”
Her sister frowned, considering. “I guess not.”
“I know not. If your muse mirrors you, she’s going to make things interesting. Hey, why don’t we hang out, and you can take some time off? Let your inner artist stew a bit.”
“I don’t wanna watch rom-com movies or Disney,” she warned.
“We can play a board game.”
“Poker? With real money?”
Bella sighed. “Fine.”
“Cool.” Her sister’s phone rang. A hip-hop song that had been customized for Pierce screamed out with a bunch of lyrics. She watched as Taylor glanced at the screen, declined the call, and threw it back on the couch.
Bella’s jaw dropped. “Did you just not answer a call from Pierce?”
A funny look crossed her face. “We got into a thing. No big deal. Just think we need to cool off.”
“You guys never fight.”
“We don’t when he’s not an asshole.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you want to talk about whatever happened with you and Gabe at the meeting last week?”
Bella got up. “I’ll get the food.”
“Good idea.”
She drove to Iron Pier and wondered if Pierce had finally found out Taylor was moving away soon. They’d been close for so many years, Bella always wondered if they’d ever thought of crossing the line to be more than friends. But her sister kept declaring nothing had ever happened between them, and nothing ever would. She would have taken Taylor’s word if it hadn’t been for the way Pierce looked at her when he thought no one was watching. Or how Taylor sought him out in a crisis, sometimes over Avery and Bella.
But it was complicated. Kind of like her and Gabe. If they’d decided to pursue a relationship, that is.
Which she’d rejected.
This past week had been different. Gabe was different. They worked side by side, tightened up all the last-minute details, and spoke easily to each other. He’d checked in once to make sure she was okay, then let it go. But all she could think about was the tender way he’d comforted her when she cried. For so long, she’d barricaded herself within her loneliness, thinking it was strength, but his words had allowed her to finally open up.
She’d hoped their connection from that night would remain, but his gaze stayed shadowed and his aura distant. His words repeated over and over in her head like a mantra, slowly driving her crazy.
I don’t belong here with you.
Why did his statement cause so much pain? It was as if a hammer had struck and drove away her very breath. Was it awful to admit she missed the way he’d been around her? She kept thinking about their road trip, and the way they had laughed and eaten Sno Balls and how he’d talked about his father. She wished she’d asked more, listened harder. She’d wasted so much time keeping him at arm’s length,