How Sweet It Is (6 page)

She picked up a macaron and shoved it toward his mouth. “Eat this.”

Shrugging, he bit it straight from her hand. His eyebrows lifted, and he nodded as though pleasantly surprised.

Glancing to her left, she met the mysterious man’s gaze as he got up. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms, and her nipples hardened. She crossed her arms, hoping he didn’t notice. She watched him walk out, both regretful and relieved.

And intensely curious. Why didn’t he sell his art, and was it any good?

She leaned toward Rowdy. “Tea is coming.”

He perked up. “With little sandwiches?”

“Order some, and excuse me for a moment.” She turned to the brunette, who lingered at the table. Moving her chair closer, Vi said, “Pardon me.”

His lady friend looked at her, coolly. “Yes?”

“I couldn’t help overhearing.” She smiled apologetically. “It’s a bad habit I blame on growing up with five sisters. Your friend is an artist?”

The woman’s face clouded. “He would be if he weren’t wasting his life.”

Vi pointed to the mobile. “May I see his work?”

“Why?” she asked, more curious than suspicious.

“Because I’m opening a gallery. If his work is decent, I might be interested in selling it.”

The woman stared at her as though trying to see deep inside her. Finally, without a word, she pulled out her phone and held it out. “His work is amazing.”

Viola took the mobile, a tingle flaring out from the pit of her stomach—a tingle of hope and excitement. The picture of the painting was beautiful in itself: strong and passionate. It brought tears to her eyes and made her lose her breath.

She cleared her throat, holding out the mobile. “May I see another?”

“Sure.” The brunette waved her hand. “Scroll yourself. The next several are Finn’s paintings.”

Vi quickly swiped through the half dozen or so images, each one more brilliant than the last. She went back more slowly, taking her fill of each one. And these were just images—what would the real canvases evoke?

She wanted him.

His work
, she corrected herself. She cleared her throat and handed the phone back. “I could sell this,” she said.

“What’s your number?” the brunette asked without any hesitation. “I’ll message you his information.”

Viola blinked. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I have a feeling, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had a feeling this strong.” She looked up, obviously waiting.

“What was the last time?” she felt compelled to ask.

“Too long ago to dwell on.” She tapped into her phone as Viola gave her the number. “He doesn’t answer his phone. You’ll need to talk to him in person.”

Viola’s phone buzzed, and she looked at the information.
Phineas Buchanan, 5 Rue du Pont de Lodi.
“He’s in France?”

“Paris. That’s the address for his workshop.” The woman’s smile turned sly. “Visiting Paris is always a great idea.”

“I was just thinking that,” she murmured. She studied the brunette. “Are you his girlfriend?”

“Finn’s my best friend,” the woman said with fierce emotion. She held her hand out. “Jasmine Haley.”

“Viola Summerhill,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Viola, I must warn you about Finn.” Jasmine set her purse on the table and gestured to the waitress for the bill. “Do you know of Buchanan Art Selective?”

She blinked. “Of course. They’re the largest, most successful art gallery in the world.”

“Finn’s father owns it.” The woman handed the waitress a bill without looking at the total. “Finn was
very
close with his uncle Henry, who was also an artist. When Henry died, Finn blamed his father.”

It wasn’t polite, but she had to ask. “How did Henry die?”

Jasmine hesitated, looking away. Then she shook her head. “Finn should tell you the story. But I
will
tell you that the whole episode made Finn determined never to sell his art. He’s stubborn. He won’t be easily convinced.”

“I’m stubborn, too.”

“Amen to that,” Rowdy piped in.

They both looked at him.

He picked up his teacup, little finger in the air, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t listening. “Don’t mind me.”

She looked back at Jasmine, who looked at Rowdy like she’d never seen a man before. Vi smiled. “I fed him once and now I can’t get rid of him.”

“Ouch,” Rowdy said.

“I completely understand.” Jasmine stood, elegant, tall, and slim. Slipping into her coat, she turned her back to Rowdy and faced Vi. “I want you to contact Finn.”

“I definitely will.”

The brunette smiled. “Good.” She gave Rowdy a curious smile and, with a toss of her hair, sauntered out.

“Now that’s a woman,” he said, his eyes following her. Then he turned back to Viola. “What was all that about?”

“My new business.” She grinned to cover her nerves. “I’m going to open an art gallery. Her friend is an artist.”

“Hmm.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged, popping another macaron in his mouth. After he chewed, he said, “Viola Summerhill? Not Lloyd?”

She hadn’t used her maiden name in so long she was almost surprised she remembered it. “It’s time I took my identity back, don’t you think?”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, holding out his teacup for her to tap.

She clinked hers to his, a shiver of anticipation raising the hair on her arms. Because of the prospect of signing Phineas Buchanan, of course, and not at all because of the way he’d looked at her.

Chapter Six

Chloe sat on a step close to the front entrance of school, waiting for the last period to end so she could go home. Her history teacher never cared if she skipped class, so she’d decided to sit and read.

She pulled out her phone. She had a physical copy of
The Night Circus
at home, of course, but she also had a digital copy on her phone for times when she needed inspiration.

Like now, because she was out of magic.

She’d managed to avoid Hunter Vicks all week. It was easy—she just arrived late and hurried away as soon as class was dismissed. She couldn’t shift time or create complex illusions like Celia in
The Night Circus
, but Chloe was pretty good at disappearing when she wanted.

Only they were supposed to work together on their project, so it wasn’t like she could avoid him forever. She sighed. Maybe he’d talk to her via text. Over text, she wouldn’t be able to humiliate herself by trying to kiss him.

“Hey.” Someone sat down next to her.

She didn’t have to look to know who it was—she could tell by the way her palms went sweaty and her tongue tied up. But she lifted her head anyway.

Hunter Vicks smiled at her. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you and introduce myself. We haven’t met.”

As if they needed to—everyone knew who he was, especially the girls. But Chloe just shook her head and tried not to stare at his lips.

Except they were
so close
. She wondered how it would feel, to touch them with her own.

“You’re Chloe Lloyd”—he held his hand out—“and I’m Hunter, your new science partner.”

She blinked in shock. “You know who I am?”

“Of course.” He looked at her like she was insane. “We have three classes together and, even if we didn’t, I’d notice you.”

She frowned. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing,” he said cheerfully. “Watley paired us together for this term’s project, so I figured we should talk about how we want to play it.”

She glanced at his mouth as he talked. When she was six, Joey Wright had tried to kiss her on the playground every day. She’d thought it was gross and shoved him to the ground each time.

If Hunter Vicks tried to kiss her, she wouldn’t push him away.

“Chloe?” He looked at her in question.

She realized she was leaning toward him, and she jerked back. “I—uh, I—”

Everyone started streaming out of the classrooms, so she grabbed her bag and hopped up. “I have to go. My mum is waiting for me.”

“Okay, great,” Hunter said, standing, too. “Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow. I have ideas.”

She had ideas, too—scientific ones that had to do with biology and sex education. Her face warmed, and she mumbled something that he could take however he wanted before she hurried out to the front to look for her mum.

Viola wasn’t there, but Rowdy was. As she approached his car, he got out and came around to open the door for her. “Your mom’s running an errand, so you got me, kid.”

She pretended to sigh like it was awful, but she was relieved on the inside. She got in and felt herself relax.

“But your mom said she’d be home shortly after us, so you won’t have to put up with me for long,” Rowdy said as he started the car. “Tell me about your day. Anything exciting happen? Any catfights?”

“No catfights. School’s pretty boring.” Except for the thing with Hunter Vicks, which wasn’t actually anything except a figment of her imagination. She frowned at the passing scenery.

“Good thing you’re almost done.”

If she didn’t fail. She flipped the worn edges of her notebook, thinking of Hunter and how disappointed he was going to be when he found out how stupid she was.

Although maybe she could kiss him before he found out, so at least she’d have that to live on for the rest of her life. “Do you think someone would be willing to kiss me?” she asked.

“Not for thirty more years they better not,” Rowdy replied instantly.

She rolled her eyes again. “Good thing you’re not my father.”

“I’m pretty much your uncle though, so I still get dibs on beating up any punk who comes near you.”

Chloe faced him. “Have you kissed my mom?”

“Jesus, Clo. Of course not. She’s my friend, and she’d probably smack me upside the head.” He glanced at her like she was mental. “Your mom is great, kid, but she doesn’t have feelings for me.”

“But you know how to kiss, right?”

“Of course I do.” His chest puffed up. “Have you been talking to MacNiven? What did that knucklehead say?”

She shook her head. Her aunt Titania was engaged to Ian MacNiven, a former football star. That was how they knew Rowdy: he and Ian were best friends. “Ian didn’t say anything. I’m just wondering how someone learns how to kiss someone.”

Rowdy stopped the car abruptly, right in the middle of the street, and faced her. “Is there a boy?”

Cars honked behind them. Chloe looked back. “Rowdy, I don’t think you’re supposed to stop here.”

“Answer the question.”

“There isn’t.” Not really, anyway.

He stared at her but then began to drive again. “You know you can talk to me anytime, right? And I really won’t beat the boy up.”

“You won’t?”

“Not unless he deserves it.” Rowdy tugged on her hair.

She huddled in the seat, ducking her chin into her scarf to hide her smile. Then she said, “I wouldn’t have minded it if you were my dad, even if you did threaten my boyfriends.”

He laughed.

There was no sign of her mum when they arrived home, so they went to the kitchen to get a snack. She was pretty sure Rowdy could eat a horse and still be hungry after.

They were eating Fran’s shortbread with milk when the front door slammed. “Chloe! Are you home? I have a surprise for you,” her mother yelled.

A surprise? Chloe froze, exchanging a look with Rowdy. She didn’t like surprises.

“Chloe!” her mother yelled again, this time followed by a high-pitched yip.

That sounded like a dog. She looked at Rowdy.

“Uh-oh,” he said, sliding off his stool.

Together they walked out to the foyer. She stopped in her tracks, not sure what she was more shocked with: the dog chewing on its leash or her mother, who looked completely not like her mother.

Chloe was used to how beautiful and put together her aunts always looked, but her mother had always paled next to her sisters. Not that her mother wasn’t pretty. She was. But she didn’t dress the same way or anything. She looked like a mother.

Not today. Viola Summerhill Lloyd had undergone a transformation. Her mum looked
sexy
. She wore a red dress that was shorter on one side, with ankle boots that had high heels like Aunt Gigi would wear. Her white leather jacket was unzipped enough to show her breasts. Her mother’s hair looked bright and shiny like a gold coin, tousled down to her shoulders.

Chloe stared. Where was her old mother, who wore baggy gray clothes and scraggly ponytails? It made her uncomfortable, as though her mother had been replaced by an alien.

What did it mean? And why was her mum changing? She swallowed her worry and focused on the obvious. Pointing at the creature lying at her mother’s feet, she asked, “What is that?”

“Your new friend,” Viola said brightly.

Chloe looked at the dog as it looked at her. It didn’t look sure about their new friendship either.

“You always wanted a dog, and I thought it’d be a good time to get you one, because you’ve been alone so much.”

She heard the subtext: Her mother felt guilty because both she and Charles hadn’t been available lately.

But that wasn’t Chloe’s fault. She crossed her arms. “I never wanted a dog.”

“Yes, you did.” The excitement in her mother’s face withered a little. “Remember? You asked for one a couple years ago.”

She shook her head, but then she suddenly realized what her mum was talking about. It was after she’d read
Game of Thrones
for the first time. “I wanted a
direwolf
.”

Viola frowned at the animal at her feet. “He’s pretty close, isn’t he?”

Chloe glanced at the dog, who was licking himself inappropriately.

Rowdy nudged her, giving her a cautioning look.

She got it: She had to tread carefully. “Um. He’s … cute.”

“Isn’t he?” Viola perked up again, looking so relieved that Chloe felt guilty for not being more appreciative. Her mum smiled at the dog. “And since I’m going to be going to Paris, I thought it’d be nice if you had company.”

“Wait. Paris?” Chloe looked at Rowdy, who just shrugged. “Why are you going to Paris?”

Viola took a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about that. I’ve decided to open an art gallery.”