Page 11 of Now That It’s You (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #5)

“ N ice work, son!” The famous TV producer whose name Kyle kept forgetting pumped his hand with surprising ferocity as they gazed up at the metal sculpture of a walrus holding an umbrella. It wasn’t the weirdest piece Kyle had ever been commissioned for, but it was damn close.

“I’m glad you like it.” Kyle stared at the sculpture, since that seemed more tactful than staring at the mole on the guy’s temple that looked vaguely like an avocado.

“It’s perfect there next to the window, don’t you think?” The producer gazed up at it with such a reverent expression, Kyle couldn’t help but feel proud.

“Absolutely. I designed it with all this natural light in mind.”

“You know, I’d love to have something for my place in Pacific Palisades.”

“I’d be happy to work with you again.” Kyle ignored the swell of his own ego. “I’m a little booked up at the moment, but why don’t we chat next week? Maybe look at some photos of the space, talk about what you’re envisioning.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got anything that’s already finished?”

“Maybe a few things.” He tried to think of something that could fit.

The guy grabbed his phone off the table. “Where do I find your online gallery?”

“Yeah, I don’t really have one.” He really should remedy that. “I’m a little old fashioned.”

“Okay, so . . . where can I see more of your stuff?”

“My gallery in Portland.” But that was a dick move, asking the guy to drive all the way over the mountains. “Hang on. I think I have a hard copy portfolio out in the truck. Got a few finished pieces in there you could take a look at. Want me to go to grab it?”

“I’ll follow you out there. I could use some fresh air.”

They trudged together through several long hallways that were the approximate size of Kyle’s entire house. He followed behind the producer, trying to remember the guy’s name. Chuck? Chad?

Chase, that was it. Chase Whitfield. He’d have to remember that when he told Meg about this later. She’d always been thrilled by celebrity gossip.

The thought of seeing Meg again filled him with something warm and liquid, like sipping Scotch in a hot tub.

He’d spent the whole drive out here thinking about kissing her, about what might’ve happened if the damn oven hadn’t beeped.

The fantasy had been a welcome distraction from thoughts about his brother.

What would Matt think if he knew Kyle was having illicit thoughts about Meg?

At least she’s not his fiancée anymore. It would have been worse if he’d known it when she was.

But now Matt was dead, and Kyle would never have to worry again that his brother would peer into his ear and see his most shameful thoughts. Thinking of Matt made his throat feel achy and he closed his eyes for a moment to make them stop stinging.

He opened them again as Chase led them through the slate entryway and out into the bright sage-scented sunshine.

Kyle breathed deeply, amazed by the difference 170 miles made between Portland and Bend.

The air felt drier here in the desert, and the towering basalt cliffs of Smith Rock jutted like orange-red claws on the horizon.

Kyle popped the door on his truck, wishing he’d had the foresight to get rid of all the McDonald’s wrappers and vacuum the dog fur off the seat.

He shoved a Coke can onto the floor and grabbed a leather-bound book from under an old flannel shirt.

He flipped it open and held it out so Chase could see.

“These are photos of some of my finished pieces.” He pointed to one on the first page. “This one’s currently in a gallery in Portland, but the show is up next month. It’s called Shadow Dance .”

“Nice. Great lines. I really love the copper running through there. How big is it?”

“About thirty-six inches from pedestal to the tip of the wing.”

“I’m looking for something a little bigger.”

Kyle nodded and thumbed through the pages until he reached the middle of the book.

He turned it back around and held it out, pointing to a piece he’d finished a few months ago.

“This one in the bottom right corner is nearly eight feet tall. There’s a collector in New Mexico who’s been asking about it, but it’s not sold yet. ”

“Very nice. I’m not sure my wife would go for it. That’s a little too big.” He frowned, then pointed to a photo in the top right corner. “How about this one?”

Kyle felt the air leave his lungs. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shove the guy’s finger off the page.

“I don’t think so.”

“No? It looks like it’s about the right size, and it’s a gorgeous interpretation of the female form. All those curves and flowing lines and?—”

“That one’s not for sale.”

Chase gave him a look. “Everything’s for sale for the right price.”

“Not that one.”

He stared at Kyle a moment, then cocked his head to the side and gave him an appraising look. “I’d pay double your asking price, whatever it is.”

Kyle closed the book and set it back on the seat. “Why don’t I just email you a few images of some of my other pieces? That might be easier. I’ll make sure to include all the measurements so you know how the piece might fit into your space.”

Chase seemed to pause for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

Kyle stuck his hand out. “Thank you, sir, for the work.”

“Don’t mention it. Thank you , for driving all the way out here. Especially so soon after your brother passed.”

“I needed the distraction,” he said. “The alone time.”

“I remember that,” he said, leaning back against Kyle’s truck. “I lost my brother ten years ago. Did I tell you that?”

“No, sir.”

“Killed by a drunk driver.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The hell of it was that we hadn’t talked for almost a year.” Chase raked a hand through his hair. “He’d gotten pissed at me about something I don’t even remember now. Anyway, took me a long time to stop beating myself up for that.”

“I think I’m a long way from that.” Why was he feeling so compelled to share with a stranger? “From getting over the regret, I mean.”

His thoughts drifted back to that dark time after the canceled wedding.

He remembered the acrid taste of fear when Matt wouldn’t get out of bed for a week.

When he wouldn’t eat or shower or even talk about what happened.

If Kyle hadn’t dragged him to the doctor, if the doctor hadn’t understood the gravity of clinical depression?—

“You never really get over it,” Chase said, jarring Kyle back to the present. “You just figure out how to live with all the little regrets poking at your guts like needles and leaving you all sore on the inside.”

Kyle nodded, not able to formulate a response with his own collection of needles stabbing into his spleen.

“Anyway,” Chase said, “You’ll get there eventually. I can promise you that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The producer looked at him. “The name’s Chase. You can call me that, you know. You don’t have to call me sir.”

“Thank you, Chase.”

He grinned. “You know, I have a lot of friends who are really into art. Why don’t you give me a few more business cards so I can hand them out?”

“I appreciate that.”

Kyle shoved the portfolio back in his truck and started digging for the box of cards he kept somewhere in here. Maybe under the tool belt or beneath the old shopping bag or?—

He bumped something off the seat, sending a book tumbling out the door. Chase reached out and caught the spine in one hand.

“Got it!” He turned the book over, flipping it face up so he could see the cover. The Food You Love: An Aphrodisiac Cookbook . Meg’s cookbook. Kyle started to reach for it, but Chase had already opened to the first page.

“An aphrodisiac cookbook? Hoo, boy—my wife would go nuts for this. She’s always researching libido-boosting food and checking out new recipes.

” He flipped to the next page, whistling under his breath as he traced a finger over one of Matt’s pictures.

“You order this on Amazon? I should get one for her.”

“Actually, a friend of mine wrote it,” he said. “And my brother took the photos.”

“No kidding? Kiki would love this. Our anniversary’s coming up.”

Kyle hesitated. “Why don’t you go ahead and keep it?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I know where I can get more. It’s the least I can do after all the business you’re giving me.”

The producer laughed and flipped the book closed. “Is this my consolation prize for that piece you won’t sell me?”

“Yep.”

“Kiki’s gonna freak out over this.” He tucked the book under one arm and clapped Kyle on the shoulder. “You sure you won’t take me up on a couple nights in the guesthouse? It’s awfully nice out here.”

“I’d love to, but I’ve gotta get home to my family. You know how it is.”

“I do. Which is why I can imagine it might feel good to get away for a little bit right now.”

Kyle nodded and pulled out his keys. “Thanks, but I should pass.”

He might have felt okay taking off for a day, but overnight?

No way should he leave his parents alone to deal with all the sorting and planning and going through Matt’s things.

When he’d stopped by this morning to check on his mom, she’d been staring at her coffee mug with a blank expression.

He’d reached out to top it off for her before realizing it was filled to the brim.

“Matt gave it to me for my birthday three years ago,” she’d murmured, turning around so he could see the lettering on the front.

Coffee makes me poop.

The thought of Matt choosing it for her made him smile almost as much as the realization she’d kept it.

He’d bent down and kissed her on the cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of expensive cosmetics.

His dad had walked in then, looking ten years older than he had a month ago.

He’d given Kyle a weak smile and rested a hand on Sylvia’s shoulder.

“You’d better get going, son. It’s a long drive.”

Still. Maybe he should have postponed. What kind of jerk was he for driving out here today and leaving them to tend to that stuff on their own?

The kind of jerk who almost kisses his brother’s fiancée.