Love Starts with Elle(80)

If she had to look close, had he really changed?

He walked beside her, graceful and casual. “So, who’s this Mitzy Canon person you’re talking about?”

“She’s a gallery owner in Manhattan and based on her experience and networking, she’s earned this reputation as an artist maker. If she says an artist is good, then they are good.”

“And she thinks you’re good?”

Elle shrugged. “From your lips to God’s ears. So far, she’s only reviewing my work for a possible place in her spring show.”

He paused to watch a couple of jet skis, reaching for Elle, locking her between his arms. “Hmm, interesting.”

Really? Could’ve fooled her. But he was trying. His breath and lips were hot on her cheek, then neck.

What if they called Pastor O’Neal? Would he even marry them? Jeremiah’s hands moved around and up her waist. Elle caught her breath. “So, Jer—”

He backed away at the ring of his cell. “Alex, what’s up?”

Elle fell against the concrete pylon as Jeremiah released her. New rule: make no decision while in physical contact with Jeremiah. Brushing a mist of perspiration from her forehead, Elle steadied her pulse with deep breaths.

In the distance, Jeremiah’s footsteps smacked against the pavement. “You’re kidding . . . He signed a letter of intent? Excellent. I’m sure Coach was relieved . . . Yeah, Florida almost convinced him . . .”

As he circled back toward her, Elle grabbed his arm and steered Jeremiah toward the swings, where she’d come that night with Heath and the girls. She hadn’t thought of it until now, but Heath’s Freddy story still resonated in her heart.

She sat, setting the swing in motion, feeling her senses returned. Run off and get married. No, she would not do it.

Jeremiah walked back and forth, talking. He was all smiles when he snapped his phone shut.

“We’ve been in huge competition over this high school quarterback with the University of Florida.”

“And you won?”

“We did. This is really going to rev up the team and the boosters.” His cell rang again. More animated talk about football stars and who was going to beat the Gators next season.

The conversation lasted a few minutes and the moment Jeremiah hung up, Elle moved to recapture the conversation. “So, you wanted to know about Mitzy Canon? She asked for samples of my work and I e-mailed them off.”

Jeremiah eyed her for a second. “Babe, am I wrong here or did you just send this artist maker mediocre work? Artists paint for years to get some kind of recognition. You, you know, owned a gallery. Just started painting a month ago. Are you sure you want this Mitzy looking at your paintings when you’re not confident it’s your best?”

Dread steals one’s breath away at the oddest times.

“I sent some of my recent paintings, Jeremiah. Heath thought they were good.”

“Heath? That guy’s in love with you, Elle. What does he know? What does he do anyway?”

“He’s a lawyer and a writer.”

Jeremiah made a face. See?

“He wouldn’t lie to me, Jer.” They’d tangoed enough times for her to know he was an upfront, honest man.

“Not on purpose, but, hey, men have gone to war over a pretty face.”

“Thanks a lot; you’re no help.” Her heart raced. Don’t panic, Elle. He’s just yapping.

“I’m sorry, but I’m in the business of perfection. If you can’t show or do your best, wait until you can.”

Go ahead, panic, Elle. He’s right. Jeremiah’s little speech resurrected every doubt and fear Elle thought she’d conquered during her summer of prayer and painting.

“What should I do, then, call her and say never mind?” Help me, Jeremiah. Advise me.

“That might not be a bad idea—” Cell phone again. “Franklin.” Jeremiah listened, his slow, white smile forming. “Yeah, Pete, I heard. Alex called . . .Yes, it’s great news . . .”

Why was it so hot? Elle lifted her hair off her neck. Was Jeremiah right about sending her work to Mitzy? When he finally hung up, she pressed him.

“What if she likes my work, Jer? Wouldn’t that be incredible? I’d have my first New York show.”

“It happens. But, Elle, come on, those kind of situations are rare. Making it as a writer, artist, even athlete takes years and—” Cell phone, again. He answered. Why not? He wasn’t doing anything important.

“Yeah, can you believe it? This kid will bring the other recruits who are teetering . . .”

Anxious, a little angry, wanting to make a point, Elle snatched Jeremiah’s silver nuisance from his hand and hurled it toward the murky marina water like it was a pulled-pin grenade.

“Elle, what’re you doing? My new phone—” Jeremiah lunged for it, way too late, as it made an insignificant splash. Probably didn’t even bother the hungry fish. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m sick of competing with that thing. You’re a cell-phone whore, Jeremiah.”

“It’s business.”

“No, it’s yuk-yuk-yuk, look who we stole from the Gators. Well, bubba, good for you. I’m no Gator fan, but I’m not going to compete for your attention. This”—she circled her hand between them—“is what I was talking about. We can do together, eat, go to church, walk, talk about you, but there’s no room in your world for me, Jeremiah. Can’t you see?”