Every Day (Brush of Love 2)

“Max,” I said as I got up. “Some people just enjoy different things. Yes, we all use different brush strokes and different methods of blending color, but that doesn’t make one better than the other.”

“It does when you’re talking about how it appeals to the eye.”

“Then I suppose what’s being purchased would answer that question for you.”

His gaze slowly panned toward me, and in an instant, I regretted my choice of words. I took deep breaths, trying to calm the anger and hurt I felt rising in the pit of my stomach. I was freely giving him this space without charging him a monthly fee so he could hang his paintings that weren’t doing well, and this is how he talked to me? Did he think he could just come in and insult the other artwork that surrounded his in hopes of feeling better about his failures?

“Max, I honestly don’t know what to do. I’ve tried centering it on the wall and displaying it in the window. I’ve tried giving it an entirely decorated corner all its own as well as dispersing it within my paintings. You just need to be patient. The subject matter of your paintings does tend to bring out the sadness and the hurt in individuals. It takes a special person to purchase that type of painting to keep in their home, but they do exist. We just have to find them for you.”

“For me,” he said, snickering. “Like I’m some child who can’t find his favorite toy.”

I wanted to tell him the description was apt since he was acting like one, but I decided to sit back down and pick up my sandwich.

“If you have any other paintings you’d like to switch out, maybe try a different subject matter or something more relatable to the seasons, I’m more than willing to try anything to find your audience,” I said.

“You’re very kind, Miss Ryan.”

“And you’d do well to remember that.”

His gaze locked hard onto mine while I took a bite of my sandwich. I wasn’t going to let some man come into this gallery who was hurt over his paintings not selling and put down the artwork surrounding his. Yes, we were all different artists, and yes, the emotional focus of our paintings were different, but that didn’t mean my sales were contributing to his losses. He needed to understand that.

“Well, I shall leave you to it,” he said.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” I said. “And if you do want to switch out that painting-”

“Won’t be necessary,” he said.

He walked out in a huff from my gallery, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I hated being around people who were upset with me, but there was something about him that was slowly growing awkward against my skin. He was slowly rubbing me in ways that didn’t make me comfortable, and part of me wondered if I should still be showcasing his paintings in my gallery anymore.

I ate the rest of my sandwich while my heart continued to race. It was the first time I’d ever truly been uncomfortable with Max around. He was upset, that much was for certain, but there was also a twinge of jealousy there. The way his shoulders pulled taut and the way his six-foot-whatever stature seemed to grow with his anger worried me. The light in his eyes had flickered into a slow-burning ember, threatening to rage as the fire had grown within him. His entire demeanor had darkened and the pleasant, considerate man I?

??d come to know had temporarily shifted into something that could only be described as darkness.

That must’ve been the same darkness that fueled his paintings, and I was suddenly painfully aware of the morbidity of his paintings.

I took deep breaths and tried to calm myself. I drank my water and reveled in the silence. My mind drifted back to Bryan with his glistening smile and his bright eyes and his chiseled muscles. I thought about all the ways he’d held me close that morning while his body had connected with mine. I thought about all the places he’d kissed and nibbled and sucked, all the places I’d had to cover up with makeup I didn’t know how to wear.

I thanked my stars that Anna knew how to use concealer.

I picked up my bag of grapes as the door opened again. I braced, my gaze whipping up toward the door as every muscle in my body tensed. I was concerned that Max was back. I was concerned he was still going to be upset. I felt this unidentifiable dread waft up my throat that caused me to put my grapes back down on the counter.

But the moment I looked up and saw Bryan coming in, a smile crept across my cheeks.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” I said.

I could tell something was wrong. His face was serious, and his body was rigid. He strode over to me and enveloped me in his arms, pulling me closer and closer with every breath he took. I wrapped my arms around him and tried to calm him down, feeling his pulse quickening against my cheek while I sat there on my stool.

“Bryan,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“I had dinner with my parents.”

“When?” I asked.

“Last night.”

He didn’t offer up any more than that, so I simply continued to hold him. I got up and turned us around, sitting him down on my stool before I grabbed another chair. I could tell he was rattled by whatever had happened last night, and every part of me wanted to press. But we were still in a delicate stage, and I didn’t want to push him away.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I asked as I pulled up a chair.