The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(34)

My face warmed but my stomach fluttered again. “Which is your favorite?”

He pointed at the next one. “My aunts had a print of this one in their house.”

“Married or sisters?”

“Married.”

“Do they live nearby?”

He shook his head. “I bought their house when my Aunt Beatrice moved away a couple years ago.”

He shifted, crossing his arms, gaze locked on the painting. There was a story there but he’d tell me if he wanted to.

He glanced down at me with one of those quick smiles that people put on to make the situation lighter. A this is not a big deal kind of smile. The one I did all the time. “Her wife, my Aunt Rebecca, passed away when I was a teenager. I stayed with them the summer before she passed to help out with stuff. Rebecca had Alzheimer’s.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the painting. “She moved into a care facility at the end of the summer and went downhill pretty quickly from there.”

My heart sunk and my hand came to his arm. His skin was so warm. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head and shrugged. His gaze lingered on the painting. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

We wandered through the rest of the exhibit until we came to a self portrait of the artist.

“You like this one,” Wyatt murmured in my ear, and I shivered but nodded up at him. “Why?”

“It’s just…” I sighed, organizing my thoughts, sifting through why I was so drawn to this painting. “I love artist self-portraits. So many of them are really harsh.” I swallowed. “Like they’re all their own worst critics. The rest of the world thinks they’re incredible but they saw themselves so differently. Like Van Gogh. His portraits would show how depressed he was or how he had just cut off his own ear.” I shook my head at the painting of Emily Carr, glaring out of the canvas with a haughty, challenging expression. Her clothes were plain, a cap hid her hair, and she had used muted colors, but her gaze was electrifying.

“Her’s isn’t like that, though.” I chewed my lip. “It’s like she’s saying, this is who I am, and if you don’t like it, go fuck yourself.”

Wyatt’s gaze flared and he shot me a roguish grin. “Language, bookworm.”

“I wish I could be that bold. Did you know that she was an art teacher at a women’s college but everyone hated her because she smoked and swore too much?” I laughed. “She didn’t care what anyone thought.”

Kind of like my mom, I realized. My mom didn’t care what others thought, as long as she was having fun and doing what she loved. I glanced back up at Wyatt. His gaze was soft and his eyes were bright under the gallery lighting.

He lifted his eyebrows at me. “You’re on your way. Look at you today, talking about books and getting people all excited.”

I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “They probably won’t even read them.”

“Yes, they will.” We came to the end of the exhibit so we headed outside. “The way you talk about the stories you love, it makes people want to read them.”

I thought about Beck reading Pride and Prejudice. “Maybe you’re right.” And then I remembered something and gave him a little frown as we wandered down the main street. The day was still warm but not uncomfortable and a light breeze drifted off the ocean a block away. “Why were you so weird with Beck today?”

He didn’t speak for a second but a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Was I?”

I scoffed. “You insinuated that he had no friends and couldn’t get a boner.”

A laugh burst out of Wyatt, and I slapped his arm.

“You’re terrible,” I told him, still laughing. “Why’d you do that? I thought you guys were friends.”

He raked his hand through his hair and sighed. “I was jealous, okay? I’m jealous because he looks at you like he wants to fuck you.” His jaw ticked.

Oh. My initial instinct had been right. I blinked a few times, mind racing with my interactions with Beck. He was nice, but he wasn’t flirty. Was he? Oh my god. Had Beck been flirting with me and I didn’t realize it?

“I’ve never been jealous in my life. And then one of my good friends is making plans with you and it pissed me off.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and he pressed his mouth into a line. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t cool.”

My thoughts whirred. A hit of pleasure and warm feelings drifted into my bloodstream from knowing someone as inaccessible as Wyatt was jealous over me.

For a brief moment, I was more than the shy, invisible girl in the bookstore.

Things with Wyatt weren’t going anywhere, though. He was going to place at Pacific Rim and then he’d be off, flying around the world and competing. I’d still be here, shelving books at my little store.

It was best forgotten. I gave him a tight smile. “It’s fine. I’m sure it’ll pass, anyway.”

He watched me with uncertainty in his eyes before he nodded. “Yeah.”

When we said goodbye, he hesitated and his arm twitched, like he wanted to hug me or something. His gaze raked my face and my heart tripped. His gaze was so intense and focused.

“Bye,” I blurted out.

“Bye, bookworm.”

I whirled around and headed home, the back of my neck prickling until I turned the corner. When I got home, I caught my reflection in the front hall mirror as I kicked my sneakers off. I had been spending so much time outside on the water that a light tan washed over my nose, cheekbones, and forehead. Freckles dotted my skin. I hadn’t had freckles since I was a kid. The apples of my cheeks were pink. Even my hair seemed a brighter.