Every Day (Brush of Love 2)

“Yes to all three of them,” I said.

“What about taking an ad out in the newspaper? You could do a small advertisement and run it for a couple weeks or something like that.”

Suddenly, I remembered that woman, the reporter who’d come into my gallery about a month ago. Our conversation ran through my head as I leaped for my purse and immediately started digging for her card.

“I take it I had a brilliant idea,” Anna said.

“Yes, you did. Thank you. Seriously,” I said.

“Well, my work here is done. Let me know if you need anything. I’m going to go look for apartments.”

“Wait, what?” I asked.

“Hailey. I told you I wasn’t staying here forever.”

“And I told you that you were welcome as long as you’d like,” I said.

“Well, I’m established in a little part-time job secretarial position, and it pays me enough to afford rent in San Diego along with renter’s insurance and internet, so that right there covers half of what I’ll need. I’ve found some really cute places, so once I narrow it down to two, maybe you could come take a look at them.”

My fingertips finally found the card as I pulled it out of my purse. I had to admit, moving my sister out and into her own place affected me more than I thought it would. I enjoyed having her around, having someone to come home to after the gallery had closed, but I also understood her need to have her own space and live her life on her own terms.

After all, it was why she’d moved out here.

“Good, because I want a say in where you’re living,” I said, grinning.

“That’s the spirit. Thanks, sis.”

Anna embraced me, and I hugged her close. I clutched the card in my hand as I watched Anna walk out the door and then turned for my cell phone to call Jennifer. I knew this would be a wonderful angle for a story in her column, and that would be the perfect type of exposure for the beauty that would be this gallery of John’s paintings.

I wanted everything to be perfect, complete with the announcement of his artwork to the community.

“Jennifer Skyles, entertainment reporter. What do you have for me today?”

“Jennifer, hi. I don’t know if you’ll remember me, but it’s Hailey Ryan.”

“The woman with the art gallery in the middle of nowhere, how could I forget? What brings you to my ear today?” she asked.

“You told me to call you if I ever came across a story you might be able to use,” I said.

“Well then, hit me. I’ve been struggling all week to find something,” she said.

“I have a slew of paintings from a dead artist, a student I used to teach in one of my art therapy classes. I think it might be a good angle for your column.”

“Okay. Talk me through the angle,” she said.

Wait, that wasn’t enough of an angle? What in the world did she want to know about it? How much should I tell her?

Would this upset Bryan?

“Um, well, the artist was homeless when I found him. He was selling his sketches on the street for money.”

“Are you serious?” she asked. “What were his sketches of?”

“Anything he saw in front of him. Lampposts, dogs, traffic flying by. He sold them for ten bucks a piece to buy food for himself,” I said.

“So, how did you find him?” she asked.

“I was in L.A. at the time and kept passing him on the street. So, I offered him the chance to come into my little art studio I had at the time, and I taught him how to paint and shade. All the things that make up the foundation of the art pieces I’m going to be showcasing in my gallery,” I said.