He paused, looking up at me. “I'm afraid I don't know much about her.”
“She's one of my favorite artists,” I explained. “She's considered one of the best female impressionists. Her work sells remarkably well.”
“Then I'm glad she is on my walls, then.” He flashed me another quick smile that had my heart speeding up again.
“Did you not pick the paintings?” I asked, curious as to why he didn't know what he had in his own house. I picked up my lemonade and finally started drinking it, suddenly thirsty.
“Me? No.” He shook his head and made a face. “I bought this house a few years ago at auction. I wanted a beach house on the island, and the owners had passed away and the estate was being sold. It's time to sell it now while the market is good. What you are cataloging is what was in the house originally. I didn't pick any of it.”
I nearly choked on the last of my drink. I set the glass down and stared at him. “This was all here? This place is practically an art museum!”
He grinned and adjusted the sandwich on my plate before coming back over. “I don't know much about art, but I know a good business deal when I see one.”
I went to reach for the plate and in the process knocked over the empty glass. It rolled off the table but thankfully bounced on the floor instead of breaking. Bastian set the plate on the table and knelt beside me to pick it up.
He handed it back to me, our fingers touched for the briefest of moments, while our eyes connected. I gazed into eyes filled with the gray dawn and bursting with want and hope and so much more with every second I looked. He was close enough that I could smell the clean scent of his shampoo and my fingers ached to run through his hair.
“Hey, Bastian, Leo's on the line and he's...” Charlotte's called out, entering the room and breaking the spell. She had her phone to her ear but her hand over the mouth piece. “Oh, hey, Ava.”
She glanced around at the tableau in front of her, with Bastian kneeling before me in the kitchen, our hands on the glass together, and what I knew must be a frightful flush on my cheeks. I could only imagine what she thought. “Am I interrupting?”
Bastian quickly rose to his feet and set the empty glass on the table. “Of course not.”
Charlotte glanced back and forth between the two of us, one eyebrow arching higher than the other. I looked down at my plate, wishing I knew how to control my blushing. Charlotte took an inhale to say something and then followed my gaze to my plate and instead burst out with, “You made Rough-Day Sandwiches? Did you make me one?”
“No. You said you were on a diet,” he said with a shrug. That explained why she hadn't had any of the french toast this morning. She looked up at Bastian but before she could say anything he held up his hand. “See? I listen. No gluten, no Rough-Day Sandwich.”
Charlotte stared at my sandwich like a starving person. I could hear her mouth watering from my seat at the table and felt the urge to scoot the sandwich closer to me before she could steal it and run off.
“Sometimes, Bastian,” she said, turning to face him and crossing her arms. “Sometimes, you suck.”
Bastian grinned at her. “You said Leo's on the phone?”
“Yeah. Main line, so it's business,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. I wondered if they were secretly a couple since they were obviously close. The idea that Bastian might be with someone stung in places I wasn't expecting.
“Excuse me then, Ava,” Bastian said, catching my eye. Looking into Bastian's eyes was like looking into deep wa
ter. There was so much there that I couldn't look away. I hoped that he and Charlotte weren't an item. That would ruin all the wonderful fantasies my brain was now starting to concoct around him. He carefully slipped past Charlotte and back into the main house, my eyes following him the entire way.
Charlotte watched him leave and then promptly looked at me.
“He likes you,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“What?” I tried to laugh, but there was a thrill in the pit of my stomach. I wanted him to like me. “What makes you say that?”
“He made you a Rough-Day Sandwich,” she stated, as if that made everything terribly obvious.
“I don't know if you noticed, Charlotte, but I kind of did have a rough day,” I replied with a shrug.
Charlotte laughed, grinning at me and shaking her head. “He doesn't just make them for anyone. You have to be special to merit a Rough-Day Sandwich.”
“Maybe he just felt bad for me,” I suggested. She stared at my plate like a ravenous animal. I smiled. “Would you like some? This is my second and I won't be able to eat it all anyway.”
“He made you TWO?” she exclaimed. She shook her head incredulous, but it quickly shifted into an eager nod. “Yes, yes, I want some.”
She hurried over to the kitchen and brought me a knife to cut the sandwich in half. I grinned as I cut into it, her excitement at the food contagious. She reminded me of one of my best friends from high school, so bubbly and easy to get along with that it was impossible not be her friend. I couldn't help but like her, even if she was with Bastian.
Charlotte could barely wait for the knife to finish cutting before grabbing her piece. She took a huge bite and sank into a kitchen chair with ecstasy written all over her face. “Oh my god,” she groaned. “He must really like you. He made his special sauce.”