Dream On(42)

He peers at me from over the bouquet. “Why are you a lawyer again?”

I laugh. “What, like it’s a bad career?”

“No, but you’re obviously an artist at heart. Why did you choose law?”

“I’ve known since I was in elementary school that I was going to be a lawyer.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. My mom’s a paralegal, so I’ve been around the law most of my life. It’s a good career. Steady, rewarding. I might love art, but for all but a lucky few, it’s not a viable career path. It’s too uncertain, too mercurial. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned being raised by a single mother, it’s that you can’t rely on anyone else to give you security. You have to build it for yourself.”

“Do you enjoy being a lawyer?”

“For the most part. The law is fascinating. It’s constantly evolving, and to argue a case you have to see the world in shades of gray instead of black and white. It takes a certain amount of creativity to interpret the law and use it to bolster the strengths of your client’s case while downplaying its weaknesses.”

“Isn’t it all pretty dry though? All that reading, writing, and arguing?”

I shrug. “It can be.”

“Please tell me you’re still drawing on the side though. I saw your sketches of Devin—you’re really good. Hell, I could even sell your work in the shop if you wanted. People would totally buy it.”

I laugh. “I seriously doubt that.” Unless they were drawings of Devin, in which case I bet every straight woman in the greater Cleveland area would line up for the chance to have his likeness gracing their wall.

“Are you still sketching these days?” he asks.

“Not for a few months. I haven’t really had the time.”

“I bet you wish you had the time though.”

“Maybe not to sketch…” I meander around the table and settle onto one of the two empty stools. Taking a deep breath, I cross my legs and rub the goose bumps from my forearms. “Honestly? What I really miss is painting. Sketching was easier than painting when I was recovering from the accident, but in my brief stint as an art major, my preferred medium was acrylics. But painting requires even more time than picking up a pencil to doodle, plus I threw out all my painting supplies years ago… so pursuing art as a hobby simply isn’t in the cards at the moment.” I shrug.

“Hmmm.” He nods thoughtfully as he rounds the table to stand next to me. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope you manage to find the time someday. Us creative types need to feed our souls, you know. Creating art clearly makes you happy, and you deserve to be happy, Cass.”

Perry’s green-hazel eyes bore into mine, and energy sizzles in my stomach. His slanted eyebrows are as mischievous as ever, but his grin fades as our gazes lock. The air between us charges, heavy with unspoken understanding.

“Thank you,” I finally croak.

“You’re welcome.”

A metallic click and a slam jerks me out of my reverie. I blink. The Captain—no, The Colonel—woofs.

“Perry, you still here? Sorry I’m late,” Devin’s voice rings out.

Sliding off the stool, I stride to the other side of the room, smoothing my skirt down my thighs. I can’t keep my hands from trembling. I turn around when Devin opens the door. “Hey,” I choke out.

He blinks. “Cass. Hi. You’re here. I thought you usually left work around six thirty.”

“I took off early so we could talk.”

“We can, for sure, but can you give me ten minutes? I promised Perry I’d help him with the last couple orders of the day.” Devin pulls a double-take at the bouquet—my bouquet—on the table. “Are those for the Johansson order? Did he finally switch it up from roses?”

“No, Cass made that. For you,” he adds, flashing me a hint of a smile from behind Devin’s back.

My stomach flops. I hadn’t had Devin in mind when I made the arrangement, but Perry’s clearly trying to throw me a bone. I should roll with it.

“You did this?” Devin’s eyes widen in astonishment.

“To say sorry for earlier,” I say.

Devin’s expression softens as he looks between me and the flowers. He shakes his head. “No woman has ever given me flowers before.”

“Besides Mom,” Perry says, correcting him.

“Right, but she doesn’t count. Cass, these are beautiful.” Gathering my face in his hands, he plants a kiss against my nose. “You’re a natural.”

“That’s what I said. If the whole lawyer thing doesn’t work out, you should consider a career as a florist. Or some kind of creative endeavor. Maybe painting?” Perry says softly. Our gazes connect for half a heartbeat before he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I should probably go deliver these.” On the far side of the room, he scoops up the tissue paper–wrapped bouquets and balances one on either side of his slim waist.

“Do you need my help?” Devin asks.

“I got this. You guys have fun. Can you swing by in the morning to help me with the Leifkowitz wedding though? I still need to work up their invoice. Plus, I could use some help with the latest paperwork that came in from the state.”