You Say It First
Page 16
“You okay?” Silver asked.
“Yeah. Fine. I just remembered I have to be somewhere. I’ll see you.”
He took off as quickly as he could without breaking into an actual run.
It was those ridiculous stockings, he told himself. They’d messed with his head. He was going to spend the rest of the afternoon with a piece of wood and his chainsaw. Because that was what men did.
* * *
DESPITE HER DEGREE in finance, Pallas didn’t enjoy the number side of her business. Going over the bank statements always depressed her. At the end of the month, bills due came perilously close to cash in. No matter how she tweaked and massaged, there just wasn’t much left over.
She supposed that was better than having nothing left over, or worse, a negative balance, but still. She wanted to make Weddings in a Box a success. To do that, she would have to invest in the company, and without money, that was going to be a challenge.
She studied the list of services offered. Raising prices was always an option. She just wasn’t sure it was a good one. After all, she had competition. Not only in town, but in other destination spots. She didn’t want to price herself out of the market.
She told herself she was still incredibly lucky. Thanks to Gerald, she now owned her own home. She had Weddings in a Box and plenty of determination and energy. She would figure out how to grow things and—
Or she could sell.
She tried to push away the thought but it refused to budge. Probably because selling was a legitimate option. Her mother certainly expected her to. Maybe someone else would do a better job. Maybe someone else would have better ideas or hey, an influx of cash.
Talk about a depressing thought. She saved her latest data, then closed her accounting program. She didn’t want to sell. But if she didn’t, she couldn’t go work in the bank and hadn’t that always been her dream?
She supposed the truth was, after so many years, she wasn’t exactly wild about the bank job anymore. Maybe she’d never been—maybe it had all been about belonging. Which was way too much to contemplate after looking at her bank statements.
She went downstairs, locked the front door behind her and started toward the river. It was nearly noon. She would take a walk, get some lunch and clear her head. If that didn’t work, there was always ice cream.
She crossed the pedestrian bridge but instead of turning toward her favorite Thai take-out place, she turned left and found herself in front of Willow Gallery.
She’d been there a handful of times, mostly for various social events or fund-raisers. She wasn’t exactly gallery clientele. Her home decor consisted of framed posters and garage sale finds. But she had to admit, the art in the windows was stunning.
On the left was a painting of a flower. It was huge—maybe four feet by four feet—done in every shade of yellow imaginable. From what she could tell, the painting was heavily textured, as if the artist had used a palette knife to apply the paint instead of a brush. And she might be totally wrong about that, she thought with a grin. What she knew about how to create a painting could fit on the head of a pin with room for directions to heaven.
Tucked in a corner was a smaller piece—also floral. But this one was created with torn bits of paper and featured more of a field of reds and oranges rather than any single bloom. Pallas smiled as she recognized Natalie’s work.
In the other window was a large vase of tulips, although to call it that was like saying Mount Everest was a big pile of rock.
The flowers, each created individually, hung down over the mouth of the vase in a cascade of reds and oranges and pinks. The stems were perfect, as were the leaves, and the petals were just imperfect enough to be real. There had to be dozens of them, forming the arrangement. The vase was simple and elegant, a swirl of gold and white and silver, and the entire piece from vase to stem to petal, was created from glass.
She didn’t know how it was possible. The flowers looked as if they would flutter in the lightest breeze. She supposed that was the genius of the work.
She walked into the gallery. There were more glass pieces on display, along with several wood carvings. She studied a large one of a nearly life-size ballet dancer up en pointe. Her arms were so graceful, her hands and fingers perfect in every detail.
“That’s one of Nick Mitchell’s creations,” Atsuko said as she came out of her office. “He’s my latest find. The one I shared with you. Hello, Pallas. I don’t usually see you in here.”
“I know. I’m checking things out.”
They hugged. Atsuko was a slim, fifty-something woman with short dark hair and beautiful features. She dressed like a fashion executive, had elegant jewelry and favored thigh-high boots—even in summer.
“Nick’s great,” Pallas admitted. “He’s helping restore the panels at Weddings in a Box.” She raised one shoulder. “He swears it’s an interesting project while he’s waiting to hear on the commission in Dubai.”
“I’m sure it is. Nick enjoys the unusual.” Atsuko motioned to the various items on display. “Have a look around. Oh, Natalie is probably going to want to take her lunch soon, if you two girls would like to hang out.”
“Thanks. I’ll go find her.”
Atsuko smiled and retreated to her office. Pallas moved closer to the dancer and desperately wanted to touch the smooth surface. Instead she tucked her hands behind her back, terrified that a “you break it you bought it” policy would mortgage her future for the next fifty years.
She walked around the girl and admired the lines of her body. Everything about her spoke to movement—from the turn of her raised foot to the forward thrust of her chin. Pallas could see the shadow of her ribs, the muscles in her calves. She had trouble imagining how Nick had seen this beauty inside of a block of wood. What must it be like to be so talented?
She moved to the next display. A small sign informed her that the stunning glass tulips sculpture in the window had been created by Ronan Mitchell. She found samples of Mathias’s more “real world” work in the rear of the gallery—plates and pitchers, vases and mugs, all in the various color schemes he favored. She smiled when she spotted the lower shelf with the cheerful sign proclaiming “Fails.”
There were mugs with crooked handles and plates with uneven color, all deeply discounted. Pallas liked that Mathias had a sense of humor about his less than perfect work and was sure people appreciated the chance to buy something by him, quirky or not.
She walked through the door marked Employees Only and found Natalie in her small office. Her friend looked up.
“Hey, you’re an unexpected treat. What brings you here?”
“I couldn’t face my own bookkeeping, so I took a walk.” She didn’t mention that she’d been secretly interested in looking at one of Nick’s creations in person. “Atsuko said you’re about to go to lunch. Want some company?”
“I’d love some.” Natalie typed on her computer for a second, then pulled open a desk drawer and drew out her colorful woven purse. “Thai?”
“I won’t say no.”
As they left the gallery, a car drove by with the windows covered with Just Married graffiti.
“Looks like the lovebirds are heading home,” Natalie said. “Or to their real honeymoon.”
Pallas nodded. Couples frequently spent a night or two in town after their wedding before heading to more exotic destinations.
“Yeah. Fine. I just remembered I have to be somewhere. I’ll see you.”
He took off as quickly as he could without breaking into an actual run.
It was those ridiculous stockings, he told himself. They’d messed with his head. He was going to spend the rest of the afternoon with a piece of wood and his chainsaw. Because that was what men did.
* * *
DESPITE HER DEGREE in finance, Pallas didn’t enjoy the number side of her business. Going over the bank statements always depressed her. At the end of the month, bills due came perilously close to cash in. No matter how she tweaked and massaged, there just wasn’t much left over.
She supposed that was better than having nothing left over, or worse, a negative balance, but still. She wanted to make Weddings in a Box a success. To do that, she would have to invest in the company, and without money, that was going to be a challenge.
She studied the list of services offered. Raising prices was always an option. She just wasn’t sure it was a good one. After all, she had competition. Not only in town, but in other destination spots. She didn’t want to price herself out of the market.
She told herself she was still incredibly lucky. Thanks to Gerald, she now owned her own home. She had Weddings in a Box and plenty of determination and energy. She would figure out how to grow things and—
Or she could sell.
She tried to push away the thought but it refused to budge. Probably because selling was a legitimate option. Her mother certainly expected her to. Maybe someone else would do a better job. Maybe someone else would have better ideas or hey, an influx of cash.
Talk about a depressing thought. She saved her latest data, then closed her accounting program. She didn’t want to sell. But if she didn’t, she couldn’t go work in the bank and hadn’t that always been her dream?
She supposed the truth was, after so many years, she wasn’t exactly wild about the bank job anymore. Maybe she’d never been—maybe it had all been about belonging. Which was way too much to contemplate after looking at her bank statements.
She went downstairs, locked the front door behind her and started toward the river. It was nearly noon. She would take a walk, get some lunch and clear her head. If that didn’t work, there was always ice cream.
She crossed the pedestrian bridge but instead of turning toward her favorite Thai take-out place, she turned left and found herself in front of Willow Gallery.
She’d been there a handful of times, mostly for various social events or fund-raisers. She wasn’t exactly gallery clientele. Her home decor consisted of framed posters and garage sale finds. But she had to admit, the art in the windows was stunning.
On the left was a painting of a flower. It was huge—maybe four feet by four feet—done in every shade of yellow imaginable. From what she could tell, the painting was heavily textured, as if the artist had used a palette knife to apply the paint instead of a brush. And she might be totally wrong about that, she thought with a grin. What she knew about how to create a painting could fit on the head of a pin with room for directions to heaven.
Tucked in a corner was a smaller piece—also floral. But this one was created with torn bits of paper and featured more of a field of reds and oranges rather than any single bloom. Pallas smiled as she recognized Natalie’s work.
In the other window was a large vase of tulips, although to call it that was like saying Mount Everest was a big pile of rock.
The flowers, each created individually, hung down over the mouth of the vase in a cascade of reds and oranges and pinks. The stems were perfect, as were the leaves, and the petals were just imperfect enough to be real. There had to be dozens of them, forming the arrangement. The vase was simple and elegant, a swirl of gold and white and silver, and the entire piece from vase to stem to petal, was created from glass.
She didn’t know how it was possible. The flowers looked as if they would flutter in the lightest breeze. She supposed that was the genius of the work.
She walked into the gallery. There were more glass pieces on display, along with several wood carvings. She studied a large one of a nearly life-size ballet dancer up en pointe. Her arms were so graceful, her hands and fingers perfect in every detail.
“That’s one of Nick Mitchell’s creations,” Atsuko said as she came out of her office. “He’s my latest find. The one I shared with you. Hello, Pallas. I don’t usually see you in here.”
“I know. I’m checking things out.”
They hugged. Atsuko was a slim, fifty-something woman with short dark hair and beautiful features. She dressed like a fashion executive, had elegant jewelry and favored thigh-high boots—even in summer.
“Nick’s great,” Pallas admitted. “He’s helping restore the panels at Weddings in a Box.” She raised one shoulder. “He swears it’s an interesting project while he’s waiting to hear on the commission in Dubai.”
“I’m sure it is. Nick enjoys the unusual.” Atsuko motioned to the various items on display. “Have a look around. Oh, Natalie is probably going to want to take her lunch soon, if you two girls would like to hang out.”
“Thanks. I’ll go find her.”
Atsuko smiled and retreated to her office. Pallas moved closer to the dancer and desperately wanted to touch the smooth surface. Instead she tucked her hands behind her back, terrified that a “you break it you bought it” policy would mortgage her future for the next fifty years.
She walked around the girl and admired the lines of her body. Everything about her spoke to movement—from the turn of her raised foot to the forward thrust of her chin. Pallas could see the shadow of her ribs, the muscles in her calves. She had trouble imagining how Nick had seen this beauty inside of a block of wood. What must it be like to be so talented?
She moved to the next display. A small sign informed her that the stunning glass tulips sculpture in the window had been created by Ronan Mitchell. She found samples of Mathias’s more “real world” work in the rear of the gallery—plates and pitchers, vases and mugs, all in the various color schemes he favored. She smiled when she spotted the lower shelf with the cheerful sign proclaiming “Fails.”
There were mugs with crooked handles and plates with uneven color, all deeply discounted. Pallas liked that Mathias had a sense of humor about his less than perfect work and was sure people appreciated the chance to buy something by him, quirky or not.
She walked through the door marked Employees Only and found Natalie in her small office. Her friend looked up.
“Hey, you’re an unexpected treat. What brings you here?”
“I couldn’t face my own bookkeeping, so I took a walk.” She didn’t mention that she’d been secretly interested in looking at one of Nick’s creations in person. “Atsuko said you’re about to go to lunch. Want some company?”
“I’d love some.” Natalie typed on her computer for a second, then pulled open a desk drawer and drew out her colorful woven purse. “Thai?”
“I won’t say no.”
As they left the gallery, a car drove by with the windows covered with Just Married graffiti.
“Looks like the lovebirds are heading home,” Natalie said. “Or to their real honeymoon.”
Pallas nodded. Couples frequently spent a night or two in town after their wedding before heading to more exotic destinations.
