The Billionaire's Matchmaker(7)

The scent of salty chips teased at her senses. She dipped into the bag, popped a couple of chips into her mouth, and tried not to picture warming up to T.J. over a lot more than a snack. She cleared her throat and focused on the road. “If you’re not careful, I’ll eat the whole bag. I love chips.”

“Oh, I remember, Gabby.”

A few words and she was whipped back in time, to a spring afternoon, when the scent of fresh cut grass hung in the air and the skies were filled with hope and possibilities. She had stayed after school, just her and T.J. in the chemistry lab, while he tried to explain the intricacies of balancing equations. “Who would have thought back then you could make chemistry understandable with a bag of chips?”

He chuckled. “Well, it would have gone better if you hadn’t kept eating them. I’d put down two for oxygen, then turn around to only find one left.”

“I wanted to keep it balanced.” She grinned. “But seriously, if it wasn’t for you, I never would have passed that class. I’d probably still be in high school today.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You always were smarter than you thought you were.”

She shrugged off the words and turned her attention to the road. Her nose twitched, and something burned behind her eyes. She lowered the window and let the rush of cold air whisk the emotion away. She refused to be softened by him. Maybe in the old days, but not now, not with the disappointments that had followed. He had let her down once before—he could easily do it again.

Her friends in Chandler’s Cove would be reminding her to be cautious if she was at their weekly coffee meeting today. Marney, Mia, and Jenny provided more than just friendship—they were often her second compass, a way of reminding her what was important. She was going to miss those women, that was for sure. Their supportive texts and Facebook messages had sent her off on her journey with a hearty “good luck.” Gabby hadn’t mentioned T.J.’s presence—maybe because she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it herself.

“Once we cross the state line, do you want to stop for lunch? There’s this barn I want to photograph with a building-sized version of the American Gothic painting on it. I think it’d be perfect for my exhibit. You know, a slice of Americana on a trip across America.”

“Sure.” He shifted in the seat to look at her. “Tell me about this exhibit you’re working on.”

“Well, it’s not an exhibit yet. All I got was an “I’m interested” from the gallery owner in Chicago. He wants me to send him digital images of what I’m planning before he makes a commitment.” She explained the concept—mixed media representations of quirky stops along the road between Illinois and California. “The pieces are all going to be displayed in halves, because I’m calling it One-Half of America, and if it does well, I’ll do the other half of America next year.”

T.J. nodded his appreciation. “So these will be like three-dimensional photographs?”

“Yup. And I’ll layer them with items endemic to that area, like poker chips for Nevada and prairie grass for Wyoming.”

“That sounds cool.”

“Thanks.” The praise warmed her. She slid another glance in T.J.’s direction. He’d always been supportive of her art, the only person she knew who “got” her, even with all her quirks.

She remembered the two of them hitting museums on the weekend. T.J. would tell Gabby he could see her art hanging there someday and she’d brush off the encouragement. One time, he’d lingered in front of a painting of a father and son fishing. And in a quiet, somber voice he had told her about a father who never encouraged, only criticized, a father who had mapped his son’s path from birth and allowed zero deviation from the plan.

It had been one of the few times he’d talked about his father, but it had explained everything about T.J.

Maybe that had been half the reason she’d kept trying to get him to join her on her crazy adventures. To force T.J. to see there was a world—and people—outside the expectations of his father. It had been a constant challenge to get him to loosen up, to step outside the boundaries he placed on himself, coupled with the rules and expectations of his stern, cold father. And maybe a part of her had wanted to spend time with T.J., the one person who used to balance her, and who made her crazy world make sense.


An hour later, they had grabbed some sandwiches from a deli and pulled up outside the barn. A two-story image of Grant Wood’s iconic painting stared back at them, the serious couple with the pitchfork seeming to watch the passing traffic with slight disapproval. Gabby got out of the car, her camera in hand, and positioned herself on the other side of the fence. A soft blanket of white snow covered the hillside and the barn’s roof, giving the building a stark but ethereal feel. She settled into the shot, feeling the moment ease into her mind, her heart. Here, creating art, was where she was most at home. Where she found peace.

She had missed that feeling. She’d lost it the day she’d painted that crazy, offensive mural—angry caricatures of town officials who she’d seen as trying to box her in as an artist, rather than being adult enough to recognize the mural was a job, not a chance to thumb her nose at the world and at the power of the haves versus the have-nots in town. Ever since, she’d been trying to get that feeling back. And here, finally, she’d found it.