Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 133878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Bay frowned but passed her the book. “It’s kind of new. I started it right before we left the last job, so it’s not quite full yet.”
Brooke took the book and flipped through the pages.
There were drawings of dogs and horses, a ranch she didn’t recognize. A young woman with tears in her eyes and a man watching her from the shadows. There was an odd menace to the work at the beginning of the notebook. Like no matter how sweet the subject was, there was a darkness surrounding it. And then it changed. There was a picture of Jennifer Talbot standing in front of an easel, little Logan playing with toy cars at her feet. Somehow he brought light to a black and white pencil drawing. There was a drawing of the Christmas trees at the town hall where they’d had the annual holiday party. She recognized her niece. Mel was holding her up and letting Paige put the star on the beet tree.
Tears pierced her eyes because there was so much sweetness in the drawing.
He was a master. He brought more than simple pictures to life. He’d caught Paige’s grin, her shining light. He captured Mel’s softness, his willingness to open his heart to all kids.
She turned the page and stopped.
It was her. She stood in the middle of town hall, a glass of wine in her hand and a brilliant smile on her face and yet…she felt her aloneness. She was beautiful, but a little lost. Lovely but damaged.
He saw her. He knew her. Somehow without spending hours and hours, he saw the basic truths of her life.
She turned the page again, and now every other picture was of her.
“Uhm, some of those obviously didn’t happen. They were in my mind or sometimes I sketched the pictures you posted on social media.” Bay sounded embarrassed.
But the pictures were gorgeous. There were pictures of her staring at him like she wanted to eat him alive, desire stamped on her features. She held out two hands, seeming to offer herself to them both. There was a picture of her lying back on a bed with big hands on her body. One of her with her head thrown back at the moment of orgasm.
He had a vivid imagination.
Then she’d obviously come to this point in the timeline of his book because it was her sitting in the booth at Stella’s, the sun on her face as she studied the menu.
The loneliness was back, the feeling that the subject of the drawing was hiding something.
He saw way too much.
She stared at that last picture. Odd how she was far more disturbed by that piece of art. And yet he’d made her beautiful. He’d made her warm, her softness a base for the work. It was the sorrow he managed to capture. And… “Max does not have fangs.”
Bay grinned. “Of course he doesn’t. That’s Rye, baby.” He sobered. “I can try to not draw you if you don’t like it. Or I can at least promise no one will ever see them.”
Did she want to hide such gorgeous artwork? Was she so horrified that someone had seen her, acknowledged her pain, and still thought she was beautiful and worthy of drawing?
The truth of the matter was she kind of liked the version of herself that Bay caught. She looked back at a couple of the ones he’d drawn from her socials. In the photograph version, she’d carefully controlled the image, putting filters on and cleaning up the imperfections. He’d somehow put them back. Like he knew her face well enough to give her back her laugh lines and the wrinkle she got on her forehead when she smiled.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked, and she noticed he hadn’t moved.
He was worried. He thought she would think it was weird.
It was. It was weird and wonderful and Bay had the kind of talent that echoed past the artist’s own age. She looked up at him. “Am I your muse?”
Bay’s expression tightened as if he was trying to control the emotion he felt. “I’ve never drawn anyone the way I do you. You should understand that I’ve painted a couple of those, and I have the deepest desire to sculpt you. You take up space in my head and in my hands.”
“You take up space in my soul,” Shane said quietly.
Could she ask for more? It was overwhelming because she wasn’t sure she could give them what they needed. Not long term, but she could be what Bay wanted tonight. She closed the sketchbook and handed it back to him. “Where do you want me?”
Bay’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
She leaned back against Shane’s chest, letting her arm drift up. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
She felt Shane relax behind her, his lips kissing her head. “That’s our girl. You might be his muse, but you’re mine, too.”