Every Way (Brush of Love 4)

It was the tone of her voice that told me whatever she was hiding was still looming over her. She had her laptop in her lap as she scrolled through something on her screen, but her gaze was distant. Whatever she was working on, she wasn’t focused. She had retreated back into her mind and was mulling over whatever it was she was keeping from me.

Why couldn’t we get past this part of her personality? What was I going to have to do to get her to open up to me? To lean on me? To trust me with her bad as well as her good?

“Checking up on a worksite. You weren’t in bed when I woke up, so I assumed you had gone off to work today,” I said.

“Nope. Just sitting in here and going over some applications,” she said.

“Anyone jumping out at you?” I asked.

“A few. Four, to be exact. I’m flipping through their applications right now,” she said.

“Need some help?” I asked.

“If you don’t mind, I actually could.”

I was glad to be of any service. The only talking we did currently was me asking her what was wrong and her telling me she was only ‘stressed.’ She had closed herself off again to me completely, and it was draining me emotionally. So any conversation where she invoked my help for something gave me hope that she would open up to me eventually.

Hopefully, at least.

“All right. Shoot. First applicant,” I said.

“Twenty-nine years old, Masters in Art History from California State. Favorite type of art is sculpture, dabbles in watercolors, worked at the on-campus art museum all through her graduate studies, and no prior work history other than that.”

“Okay. Next applicant,” I said.

“Twenty-five years old, just graduated with a Bachelor’s in Art Education from California Tech. Favorite type of art is hyperrealism, dabbles in natural sculpture—”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Remember that museum we went to, and you called the outdoor sculptures a ‘glorified junkyard’?”

“Ah. Those. Okay,” I said.

“Dabbles in natural sculpture as well as woodworking and has a prior work history of two grocery store chains and some volunteer work at a donation-only children’s museum in upstate California.”

“Wow. Nice. Next one?” I asked.

“Thirty-three years old and currently pursuing a Master’s in Fine Arts for sculpting. Has a work history a mile long at places that don’t mean anything except for one.”

“Which one’s that?” I asked.

“This person got their bachelor’s degree in Paris and worked at The Louvre.”

“Wow,” I said.

“Wow, indeed. Last one. Thirty-one years old with a bachelor’s degree in music and a minor in art education. Volunteered the last three summers at an art camp for disabled children and spent what looks to be their winter breaks working at The Metropolitan Art museum as a ticket-taker. Has no art specialty, but enjoys helping others express themselves through the fine arts.”

“Sounds like someone who fits in with your motive for starting your art gallery in the first place,” I said.

“You think?” she asked.

“That the one you’re leaning toward?” I asked.

“Honestly? Yes. But I wanted your opinion as well. All of the applicants are wonderful and very qualified, and I wasn’t sure if I was making the right decision.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. You’re always so confident in the decisions you make,” I said.

“I know. I’m just—”