Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(26)

He nodded. “Yeah, I think that’d probably be best for both of us.” I watched the thick Adam’s apple in his throat bob on a swallow, and I wondered how I never realized how hot his neck was before.

Wait — did I just think his neck was sexy?

“Let me walk you home?” he asked.

I smiled. “Alright.” We took three more steps, and I stopped again. “Welp, this is me. Thank you.”

Logan’s brows bent together, and he looked up at the last shop in the brick building behind me. I didn’t have signage up yet, and when his gaze fell to the windows — to the empty space inside those windows — his eyes doubled in size.

“You live here?”

I chuckled. “I live upstairs, above the shop.” Following his gaze, I smiled at the empty building behind me — a blank canvas — before I turned back to him with a beam of pride. “This is going to be my art studio — the first one in town.”

“Wait, really?” He stepped past me, framing his eyes with his hands and pressing them to the windows to see more inside before he turned to face me again. “This is yours?”

“Mm-hmm. Well, technically, it’s in my father’s name for now… but we have a deal and…” I shook my head. “Anyway, yes — it’s mine.” I swallowed, not sure why my stomach sank to my feet when the next words rolled off my lips. “Want to see it?”

“Like, go inside?”

I nodded.

Logan smiled enough to show that little dimple in his left cheek, which somehow made my stomach flip even more. “I’d love that.”

It was definitely the cold Tennessee night that had my hands trembling as I unlocked the doors. It was absolutely the fact that my leather jacket was more of a fashion statement than anything that could actually keep me warm. That’s what I assured myself as the bolt unlocked and I pushed inside, Logan following close behind me.

It definitely wasn’t because I was nervous, or because I hadn’t shown my studio to anyone other than my parents and my best friend, and surely it wasn’t because showing someone my naked studio felt a lot like showing them my naked body.

Which meant I was stripping down bare for Logan Becker.

I kept my jacket on, hoping it would calm my tremors as I pulled off to the side once we were in the studio, Logan walking past me, his eyes wide as he looked around the space. I tucked myself into the corner, as if I could hide, as if I could disappear and not watch him dissect the space.

Does he hate it?

Is it stupid?

Is he thinking no one will ever pay to take classes here?

Is he thinking art is a waste of time, just like my father?

I shouldn’t have cared. I didn’t want to care, but thoughts like those raced through my mind as I watched Logan from the corner of the room. He traveled the space quietly, slowly, eyes roaming, hands reaching out to trace the walls, the windows, the exposed brick on the back wall. Not much had changed since Chris was there on Saturday. We’d painted the walls, cleaned the brick, swept and mopped the tile floor, and cleaned out what was left in the back storage. Where it was a dusty blank slate before, at least now it was a clean one.

But it was still blank, and I wasn’t sure anyone could see the vision except for me.

“Mallory…” Logan whispered, like speaking too loud in the space would disrupt it somehow. He stopped in the middle of the room, eyes scanning the ceiling before his gaze found me. “This is incredible.”

I blew out a breath. “Really?”

“Are you kidding?” He smirked. “You have your own art studio, your own business. I’m so impressed.” Logan shook his head, looking around again. “I can’t wait to see what you do with it.”

“Right?” I said, excitement bubbling over the anxiety as I pushed out of my corner and flew across the room. “I want it to be a multi-channel visual arts studio, with more than just one thing to offer. Like, over here, we’ll have painting classes, with live models and still life and scenery inspiration, with all mediums — watercolor, oil, pastel, maybe even spray painting to jazz it up from time to time. And over here, sketch classes.” I pointed to the far corner. “I want to transform that little office back there into a dark room to develop photographs, and do some walking tours around town where I can teach the photography essentials, help those who are interested in the art. Oh!” I skipped to the other side of the room. “And, over here, I thought I could put in an electric kiln, offer some pottery and ceramic classes. I think it’d be great for kids, and I could have more advanced classes for the adults — like vases and other things they’d love to decorate their homes with. And of course, I could host parties, do a sort of paint-by-numbers fun class like they do at those little drink and paint places in Nashville.”

I whipped back around, smile nearly splitting my face — because though we were standing in an empty studio, it wasn’t empty to me anymore. I could see it — all of it — every little picture I’d just painted verbally coming alive as if I’d dreamed it into reality in that dark space.

When my eyes found Logan again, he was watching me in a way I’d never been watched before. One brow was slightly quirked, his eyes wide and curious, the corner or his mouth lifted. It was like I was a street performer he’d just stumbled upon, like he was trying to figure out what I was doing, where the act was going, how much he should leave in my tip jar.