Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) (14 page)

Melanie drifted through the crowd, absently smiling and nodding at the few people who went out of their way to catch her attention. She thought she may have even spoken to one or two, but had no real memory of what she said.

These things always made her uncomfortable. Too many people, too much schmoozing. Too much smiling and nodding and muttering vapid words, always hoping they were the correct ones. Always worrying that they weren't. It was the side of the business she absolutely hated. She'd much rather be home, listening to her music and painting, unaware of everything else around her. Home was where she was most comfortable, not here in Anna's gallery, moving among the crowd of unfamiliar faces. Here, she felt like she was on display, as much a part of the exhibits as her paintings.

But today…today was worse, somehow. The desire to leave, the urge to run out the door and disappear, was stronger than it had ever been. The music, a mellow concerto meant to soothe, was too loud, abrasive to her ears despite the low volume. It wasn't meant to be heard, to drown out conversation. The music was carefully chosen, the volume carefully controlled to be nothing more than a cultivated background.

Melanie wanted to go in the back and yank the cords from the wall to stop it.

Her fingers tightened around the delicate stem of the crystal flute. The champagne was lukewarm now, its fizz long gone. She hadn't even had a single sip. She moved to the corner and placed the full glass on the empty serving tray then discreetly tugged at the hem of her dress. It felt like her legs were on display, her skin exposed from just above her knees all the way down to her feet.

Heat filled her face and she wondered if she was blushing, then glanced around to see if anyone noticed. Maybe she could blame it on the warmth of the room, muggy with the heat of too many bodies.

Sweets! It wasn't like it really mattered if anyone noticed. It wasn't as if they would know she was blushing because she realized the irony of feeling exposed in the dress—when she had been much more exposed yesterday with Dale.

Yesterday…and last night.

She reached for the flat champagne and brought the glass to her mouth, taking a long swallow in hopes the liquid would cool her off. Just as she expected: flat and lukewarm. She grimaced and put the glass back, her gaze darting around the room without really seeing anything.

No, her mind was too preoccupied with memories. Of yesterday. Of last night. Of her date that wasn't really a date—she thought—with Dale. Of going back to his apartment afterward.

Of waking up this morning, wrapped in his arms, her body safely held against his. Bare flesh to bare flesh. Would he be mad, she wondered?

Probably.

She hadn't meant to sneak out, not really. Didn't even think she was sneaking. But she had seen the glowing numbers on his alarm clock and realized how late it was and he had looked so peaceful, so content. She couldn't bear to wake him up.

No, she hadn't been sneaking. But she had made sure she was quiet as she moved through his apartment, remembering to grab her keys before she left. Then she had hurried next door to shower and change and practically ran outside to reach her car, hurrying to get here on time. No, she hadn't been sneaking. But she still felt guilty and she didn't understand why.

"You seem distracted, dear." Anna's clear voice interrupted her thoughts and Melanie turned, glad she no longer had the glass in her hand because she would have surely dropped it in surprise.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be." Anna laughed and Melanie wondered if she had said something wrong. The woman reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch reassuring.

"I'm sure you don't. But you should mingle more, smile at the pretty people to encourage them to open their wallets. You know as well as I do that they like to feel as if they're buying a piece of the artist as well."

Melanie frowned, the words filling her with their usual coldness. She knew what Anna said was correct, but that didn't mean she was comfortable with it. She never had been. "Can't I just be one of those reclusive artists? A hermit, shrouded in mystery?"

Anna laughed again, the sound soft and throaty. She thought Melanie had meant the words as a joke, but she had been serious. More serious today than when she usually said them.

"Nonsense. Come, let me introduce you to your most recent fan. He's wealthy, a recent widower, and fancies himself a patron of the arts." Melanie inwardly groaned but plastered a smile on her face as Anna guided her through the crowd. If Anna noticed her hesitation, she didn't say anything because she kept talking.

"He's already expressed an interest in the auction. A very pointed interest."

Melanie stumbled, her heel catching on an uneven floor plank. She caught herself before she pitched forward onto her face and hoped nobody noticed.

But of course, someone had. The gentleman Anna had steered her toward. He was Melanie's height, with a slight build that made his clothes hang on his lean frame. Thinning sandy blonde hair, faded with gray, topped a long narrow face. His nose was perfectly straight, his lips too red for his coloring. Despite his smooth face, he was probably in his late fifties. A businessman, no doubt. Maybe a CEO or CFO, by the way he carried himself, even though there was nothing about him that Melanie would call impressive.

He stepped forward as Anna introduced them, his lips spreading in a closed smile as he reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth. Melanie's hand tightened and she barely caught herself before she pulled it away. His cologne was too strong, but she could still smell his breath. Sour and stale, like raw onion that had been left too long in the sun.

"Ms. Reeves, a pleasure. I've just discovered your work and must admit I'm a huge fan."

"Thank you." Melanie smiled and tugged her hand free from his hold. She clasped her hands together and held them in front of her, making sure her smile didn't falter. At least he seemed nice enough, and he had a nice voice. That didn't mean she wanted to engage in a lengthy conversation with him. With anyone, for that matter. She never knew what to say or how to answer the inevitable questions or even how to accept the compliments.

She just wanted to go home and paint.

No, she wanted to go home and see Dale.

The widower—
what was his name?
—kept talking, unaware that she wasn't paying the slightest attention. She smiled and nodded and made little humming noises here and there. At least he was wasn't asking her questions, wasn't expecting her to say anything. She nodded again at something he said and discreetly looked around for Anna. Where had she gone? She generally never left her alone this long with any of the gallery's visitors. Yes, she insisted that Melanie mingle, but she also knew how uncomfortable she was and would always rescue her before it became unbearable.

Or before Melanie said something she shouldn't.

Her gaze swept the room, skimming over a familiar face. She paused, looked back, squinting her eyes to make sure she wasn't imagining things. No, she wasn't. A smile spread across her face, the heavy weight of tension and discomfort evaporating in a splash of pale light. Her parents were here! But why? She hadn't even known they were coming.

She turned back to the CEO or CFO or whoever he was and quickly excused herself, walking away as he was still talking. Anna would apologize for her, she was sure. It didn't matter anyway, not when her parents were here!

"Mom! Dad!" Melanie pushed by the last person standing between them. She saw them smile, felt her mother's arms wrap around her in a quick hug. Then her dad was beside them, hugging them both, his deep laughter warm and rich in her ear.

"You act like you haven't seen us in ages!" Her father stepped back, a broad smile shining through his dark beard. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened, adding character and charm to his weathered face.

Melanie smiled back, her arm still around her mother's slim waist. "I'm just so surprised to see you. I didn't know you were coming." And maybe it was more than that. Maybe she had just needed to see them, to know her family was close while her mind was so far away, so preoccupied and worried and scattered.

Her mom stepped back, her blue eyes sparkling with humor and maternal pride as they travelled over Melanie. "You look lovely, sweetheart. So suave and sophisticated."

Melanie rolled her eyes at the laughter in her mother's voice then glanced down at the dress. Her mother, of all people, would know exactly how uncomfortable she was in the outfit, how unlike her the dress was. She wished she could look more like her mother, cool and comfortable in oatmeal linen slacks and a loose, flowing, salmon-colored blouse. Melanie may have inherited her talent and her looks from her mother, but she definitely had her father's sense of style.

She looked over at him, eyeing his loose pants and brightly-colored shirt and Birkenstocks with envy. Melanie wished she was wearing her own sandals. Better yet, she wished she could just kick off the low heels and walk around in her bare feet.

But that wouldn't be appropriate, not here.

"We wanted to surprise you and take you out for a late lunch."

"When you're done here, of course." Her father grinned, his gaze sweeping around the room and missing nothing. "Very nice crowd. Are they planning on any of your work selling today?"

"I've already sold two pieces." Melanie turned to see Anna approaching them. She extended her hand, accepting her father's as she glanced at Melanie with an expectant expression.

Introductions! How could she be so forgetful? She had mentioned Anna numerous times while talking with her parents, but this was the first time they were meeting. Melanie silently admonished herself then tried to cover her mistake with a small smile.

"I'm so sorry. Anna, these are my parents. Michelle and Michael Reeves. Mom, Dad, this is Anna James."

Anna and her mother quickly became engrossed in a conversation about her mom's own work. Her dad used the opportunity to move next to her, leaning in close, concern in his eyes. "You look tired Sweet Pea. Is everything alright?"

"Of course. Yes. Don't I look alright?"

"Lovely as always, just like your mother. But tired as well."

"Oh." Did she? She thought she had looked just fine earlier, when she was getting ready. But this was her dad; he had always had a talent for seeing what others didn't, especially when it came to his only child.

Melanie shrugged and glanced down. "I'm fine. I went out last night, that's all."

"You went out?" The teasing surprise in her father's voice made her smile. She didn't miss the underlying curiosity, though.

"I did. I had Mexican food and then we went to a little bar called…" She frowned, trying to remember. A funny name, or at least she thought so. "I can't remember. But it was a nice little place and they even had a live band."

"'We'?"

"My neighbor and his friends."

A frown creased her father's face. "Your neighbor? Do I need to need to break his legs? Blindfold him and dump him into the nearest hog pen?"

"Daddy!" Melanie laughed then looked around, hoping nobody had heard him. Her mom stepped closer and placed a hand on his arm, her smile radiant.

"Now Michael. You know you almost got caught the last time you did that."

A look of horror crossed Anna's face for the briefest second. The expression quickly disappeared, immediately followed by one of cool professionalism. Melanie smiled, ready to explain to Anna that he had only meant it as a joke. Surely she had to know that, but just in case—

"Ms. James just told me she scheduled an auction for one of your pieces. Why didn't you tell us, sweetheart? That's wonderful news."

"Oh. I—"

"Actually, I'm adding a second piece to it." Anna turned to her and smiled. "One of the others you brought in last week. It's the smartest thing to do, especially after the buzz you've been generating today."

Melanie blinked, afraid she wasn't hearing correctly. Another piece? But which one? She remembered exactly which pieces she had brought in last week and couldn't imagine which one Anna was even talking about, couldn't believe that either of them would be worth anything. Not at auction. What was Anna seeing that she wasn't? Surely she must be mistaken, or only being nice because her parents were here.

"Sweetheart, that's wonderful! Oh, how I wish we could see them." The smile on her mother's face was warm, full of maternal pride that filled Melanie with equal parts pride and embarrassment.

"They're upstairs. If you'd like, I can take you up and show them to you."

Melanie shook her head, ready to tell Anna no, that wouldn't be necessary, but her father spoke right over her, saying they'd love to. Then Anna was leading them through the gallery to the back room and upstairs, away from the stifling heat and noise of the crowd. She unlocked the door to the office and turned on the light, stepping back to let her parents through.

And there they were, her latest creations propped against the far wall. Two canvases sat apart from the others, dark and vivid, the brush strokes bold and confusing, echoes of the frustration she had been feeling when she painted them.

Her parents stood back a little, studying the paintings with their artistic eyes. Melanie wanted to slink from the room, to run down the stairs and escape, afraid of what they'd think or say. The paintings were so different from what she usually did, something that even someone with an untrained eye could see. What would her parents, each of them an artist in their own right, think? What would they see?