Frostbite

I didn’t find one. Instead, I found a server who offered me a glass of champagne. I took it and downed it in one gulp before asking him if I could get something stronger.

He directed me toward a bar set up in the corner of the gallery.

I asked the bartender for a straight shot of whiskey, and he didn’t disappoint.

He refilled my glass almost immediately after I emptied it.

Now, I’m wandering the crowded gallery looking at a display of oil paintings.

My body tenses as I feel someone behind me. I hope it’s my sister. I can’t fault her for telling Calder I’d help her. I know in her excitement to get Rocco the gift of his dreams, she didn’t stop to consider that I have a lot of work of my own to do.

As long as I leave Calder’s studio by six p.m. each day, I’ll have time to paint the ornaments that have already been ordered.

“Which painting is your favorite?”

I suck in a quick breath. That’s not Dexie’s voice. The woodsy cologne filling the air around me isn’t from the scent of her perfume.

Calder Frost is behind me.

“I don’t have a favorite,” I offer without turning around.

“Why not?” Calder asks with a hint of amusement in his tone. “I have a favorite.”

I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t.”

“You’re not curious about which one is my favorite?”

I spin around to face him.

I don’t know if it’s the champagne and whiskey or his face. Something is making my stomach flip around as though there are a hundred butterflies in it.

“I’ve never worked with a sculptor who uses metal,” I say. “Do you really think I can be of service to you?”

He focuses his gaze on my bottom lip. “I know you can be.”

“How do you know that?” The alcohol has apparently stolen my common sense.

Dexie is relying on this man to make an extraordinary gift for her husband. I should excuse myself before I say something I regret.

“I assure you that you can be of service, Raelyn. You’re a talented artist, aren’t you? If memory serves me, you don’t just paint oils on canvas. You paint balls too.”

The glass in my hand shakes as realization takes hold of me.

Oh my god.

Calder Frost is the man who almost ran me over yesterday.

He’s the arrogant jerk who wouldn’t apologize.

“You’re him,” I accuse while balancing the almost empty glass in my hand. “How long have you known I’m me?”

I shake my head. “That didn’t come out right.”

He steps closer. His eyes lock on mine. “When you stood up to celebrate your sister’s winning bid, I saw you. I knew it was you right away.”

My hand darts to my lips. “You knew when you told Dexie you needed my help with the sculpture?”

He reaches for my hand to uncover my mouth. With his gaze trained on my red lips, he smiles. “That’s the reason I insisted on your assistance.”

I work my way through that declaration word-by-word. I shake my head to ward off the fog that’s taking over. I can’t be drunk. I can’t be.

“You look pale, Raelyn.” He holds my palm against his chest.

Holy hell, he’s rock hard under his shirt.

Tugging my hand away, I stop a passing server so I can put my glass on his tray. I have to cut myself off right this minute – no more alcohol for me.

“I need to find my sister.” I glance around the room until I spot Dexie talking to Mitzi Hemley. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” He steps back to let me pass. “I’ll see you very soon, Raelyn. Feel free to bring your balls. I’m interested in seeing them.”***Calder Frost thinks my balls are beneath him.

Wait. Why did that sound so messed up?

The look on his face last night when he mentioned my hand-painted Christmas ornaments said it all. He doesn’t see it as real art.

I get it.

Some people value talent based on the price it lures. Others, like me, see it more abstractly. If a work of art strikes an emotion inside of me, I consider it priceless.

Based on some of the reviews on my Etsy store, I know that I’ve done that for many people. If they open their ornament box each year and see my creation and a smile touches their lips, I’ve done my job.

I finish putting on a pair of black jeans. Since Dexie has already left for work, I feel confident that I can put in at least twelve hours painting ornaments today. If I accomplish that, I’ll be on track to finish the orders I already have. Unfortunately, I’m probably going to have to stop accepting any new orders for delivery by Christmas.

My phone dings with the arrival of a new text message.

It has to be my mom. When she texted me last night, I told her I’d get back to her today.