Page 4 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)
“Yeah, it looks like fun, and the guys would be less pretentious at one of those bars.”
The thought of talking to another guy like Oliver at a fancy bar makes my stomach churn. They hold their power above everyone, which is why I’m determined to stay focused on my house.
“Let me know when you’re free, and let’s do it.”
I try to refocus, but the image of him walking in makes everything shift.
My pulse quickens, tension creeping into my shoulders.
It’s not just that he was here… It’s him .
I’ve tried to bury my shame, but seeing him again makes something inside me snap.
I try to calm my racing heart, but my body still reacts like I’m back in that moment.
The time I tried to kiss him, and he rejected me.
That feeling, that sting, comes rushing back in a flash.
It’s been buried under a lot of other things—work, school, life—but it doesn’t take much for it to surface again.
I take a photo of my painting to send it to Amber, and for a moment, I just look at it, really look at it. It makes me feel something I haven’t felt in a while: proud. As I pack up my things, Mrs. Bennett offers to hold on to my painting until I decide whether to sell it.
After saying goodbye to Evelyn, who takes the subway home, I walk to work.
I have plenty of time to get there. I work at Tills’ Sip N’ Paint, a small business where I teach painting classes to anyone who wants to drink wine and try art.
I love it. It’s messy and loud, but it’s also creative and fun in a way that makes the hours fly by.
The streets are still buzzing with energy, as always, in Manhattan.
I pull out my phone and call Amber, my adopted mother, as I weave through the crowd.
I like checking in with her on my walk; she always wants to know how class went, what I painted, if I’m eating enough.
“Hi, sweetie,” she answers with a cheerful greeting.
“Hey, Amber,” I say, already feeling a little lighter just hearing her.
“How was class today?”
“Good,” I reply, smiling at the thought. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fun. The only thing shaking me up was Oliver’s surprise drop-in.
“What did you focus on today?” she asks. I love that she’s always invested in what interests me and hearing my progress.
If it weren’t for Amber, I probably wouldn’t have found the courage to go back to school.
Her loving support and meeting Evelyn, who instantly pulled me into friendship with her bubbly personality, was exactly what I needed.
I have a habit of being critical of my art, but Amber's encouragement and Evelyn’s enthusiasm give me the boost I need to keep going.
I tell her about my day, when she cuts in with a question I should’ve seen coming because I forgot to hit send. “Did you take a photo?”
“I sure did. Hang on a sec.” I pause my walk, stepping to the side as I scroll through my phone to find the best picture. Sending it off, I wait for her response.
“Oh my, it’s beautiful,” she says after a moment.
“It’s one of my favorite pieces,” I admit, feeling proud as I think back to the soft pink petals I carefully painted.
“Why’s that?”
It reminds me of this one time when I was thirteen.
It was after a really hard night missing my family.
I’d been crying, and then I saw a bloom just like it outside my window, soft and beautiful, similar to this one.
I started drawing, and somehow, that feeling of hope took over because Amber and Wren adopted me soon after.
The piece brings me back to that moment.
“I don’t know… It’s just so pretty. I’m not sure I can sell it. ”
“Then don’t. If you’re not ready, there’s no rush.”
“We’ll see…” I trail off, resuming my walk. The streets are a little less crowded now as I near the quieter neighborhood where my job is. “How’s Wren doing?”
“Take a wild guess.”
I giggle. I can easily picture him, my adopted father. “Let me guess. He’s in his chair, snoring, with the sports channel blaring.”
“And don’t forget Rufus on his lap,” Amber adds with a laugh.
I snigger. Rufus, their white Scottish terrier, is Wren's constant companion. They’re inseparable.
“Call me after work, okay? I want to hear how it went,” she adds.
“I will,” I promise, even though she asks me the same thing every time I have a shift.
I know she worries about me walking home and catching the subway, but it’s never felt unsafe to me.
Not really. It’s loud, crowded, and chaotic, but it’s nothing compared to what I grew up with.
The shouting, the uncertainty, the constant feeling of being on edge with my parents and other foster homes.
They treated me worse than any subway ride ever could.
So, the bumping of bodies, the strange looks from strangers, it doesn’t faze me.
As I near the end of the block, the familiar sight of the small brick building comes into view. I hang up the call just as I reach the front door, ready to start my shift, eager to see who’ll be in my class tonight.