Page 20 of Now That It’s You (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #5)

Kyle shook his head. “Nope. Some of it’s commissioned by private collectors and some of it’s going into galleries in other cities.

And some of it’s yet to be determined.” He toed a spare piece of steel on the floor at his feet, wondering what it would be by this time next year.

“That’s the beauty of doing this kind of work,” he added.

“Sometimes you don’t know how something’s going to turn out. ”

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

“That is the beauty.” She turned and took a step forward, then reached out to stroke a tentative hand over a half-finished T.

rex sculpture made from pieces of an old chain-link fence.

“You know, that’s true of you,” she said, her hand moving over the dinosaur’s neck while her gaze didn’t quite reach his.

“What’s true of me?”

“The fact that you don’t know how something’s going to turn out.

” She shrugged, eyes still on the sculpture.

“I remember getting to know you that first year Matt and I dated. I was fascinated by the notion of having two artistic brothers in one family when I can’t draw a stick figure to save my life. ”

He laughed. “I’m kinda hoping there’s never an occasion where you’ll need to draw a stick figure as a lifesaving measure.”

She glanced at him and smiled, but he could tell her mind was still drifting down that path of memories.

Back to those early days when Matt had been this big-shot photographer showing off his star-studded portfolio and his photo credit in Sports Illustrated and his hot new girlfriend.

Meanwhile, Kyle had still been trying to figure out how to pay for a box of Cap’n Crunch.

“I remember meeting you that first time,” she said. “You were this grungy guy in ripped-up jeans playing guitar on the street corner to earn money for art supplies.”

“Considering how badly I played guitar, I think I made enough to buy a box of pipe cleaners at the Dollar Store.”

She took her hand off the dinosaur and moved on, stepping closer to a copper piece he’d started two days ago. He still didn’t know what it might turn into, but at the moment it bore an uncanny resemblance to a toboggan.

“I remember you asking Matt for twenty bucks to get your power turned back on,” Meg said, stroking a hand over the giraffe. “Matt was worried about you freezing to death in that crappy little apartment, but all you cared about was getting your electric band saw running again.”

“First piece I sold, I went out and bought a cordless saw. Problem solved.”

Meg laughed and drew her hand back from the toboggan. She looked at him, and Kyle had the unnerving sense she was staring straight through his eyes and into his brain. “Did you ever think you’d end up here?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him. “Really?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You sound surprised.”

“I am, I guess. I didn’t realize you were so?—”

“Cocky?”

“Confident,” she said. “I guess I didn’t realize back then that you had this sort of direction. That you’d set goals and had a plan to reach them.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I just knew what I wanted and I went after it.”

She nodded, and he watched her bite her lip. “I can see that.”

A familiar pang hit him in the chest, but he ushered her forward and pointed to another sculpture. “This one’s going in a gallery in Connecticut. I have a show out there in the spring, so I’ll be flying out to get things set up there.”

Meg reached out and ran a finger over the hammered bronze surface, and he noticed how small her hand looked. Had he ever noticed that before?

You always noticed. You noticed everything about her.

“Did I read somewhere that you work mostly with reclaimed materials?” she asked.

“When I can get them, yes. All the copper in that piece over there came from the roof of an old office building that got torn down near the Pearl District last winter. See all the punched tin on that piece over there?”

“This one?”

“It’s an old barn roof. And that steel right there came out of the old mental institution in Salem.”

“Is it finished?”

“Not quite.”

“The mental institution, huh? Is the piece called Looney Bin ?”

He laughed. “Believe it or not, I considered that. Also Bughouse , Funny Farm , and Cuckoo Shack .”

“So what’s it called?”

“Fluidity Number Nine.”

“I was close.” She reached out to touch it. “It’s beautiful. Very rough and raw, but it still manages to be fluid and graceful.”

“Yes,” he said, thinking he’d had art critics describe his work that way before, but it had never meant as much as hearing those words from Meg. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you the gallery. That’s where all the finished pieces are.”

He led her through a narrow hallway, maneuvering around piles of stainless steel and a pile of old car parts he’d been meaning to tear apart. “Careful of that stack right there. It’s a little tippy.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Tippy, not tipsy.”

“I know. I’m permanently poised to fall over, remember? I hope you have good insurance.”

“I think I’m covered.” He stopped at the end of the hallway, making Meg crash into his back. “Sorry,” he said.

“You did that on purpose.”

She was probably teasing, but it was a little bit true. He’d wanted to feel her pressed up close against him, to have her body up against his in the darkness. Feeling guilty, he hit the light switch.

A bright wash of light filled the gallery, spotlighting the twinkling array of copper and steel, tin and bronze.

The pieces in here were mostly large, with a few smaller ones filling in space along the walls and shelves.

He even had a small case of jewelry near the front, though he didn’t make a lot of it.

The space was airy and open with knotty maple floors and walls painted the color of vanilla bean ice cream.

There were lights scattered all over the space, positioned to illuminate the artwork.

A faint hint of sage hung in the air, and Kyle ran a hand over the pedestal that held a metal bowl he’d filled with small pinecones and bits of high desert foliage.

Meg stepped forward and Kyle watched her face to gauge her reaction. Her gaze skittered from one piece to the next, and she pivoted to take in the whole space. “Holy cow,” she breathed. “You made all this?”

“Yep,” he said, trying not to beam like a smug bastard.

“This piece is beautiful.” She reached out as though to touch it, then drew her hand back and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. “I love the branches and the trunk and the way it all flows together.”

“Thank you. Trees are one of my favorite subjects.”

“Is this copper?”

“Nope, steel. But I used a salt and vinegar solution on it and then set it out in the sunlight to oxidize. It gives me the strength of steel but the patina of copper.”

“Very nice.” She squinted at the label on the pedestal of a smaller brass and pewter piece on the shelf. “Karma?” She stroked a hand down the figure’s back, then laughed. “You sculpted your dog?”

“I made that right after she died.”

“How sweet.” She turned and looked at him. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

He hesitated. “It’s not here. It’s back at my house.”

“Can I see it sometime?”

“Maybe sometime,” he agreed, deliberately vague.

“Did Matt have a favorite?”

Kyle shrugged, fighting the urge to feel annoyed that all conversations seemed to loop back to Matt. Was that the only connection between them? He hoped not, but maybe he was fooling himself.

“I’m not really sure Matt had a favorite,” he said. “He liked that one in the front window, but I always thought it was because it’s the most expensive.”

“Probably a good guess.” Meg wandered over to it, and Kyle watched her as she took in the shape of it, the curves and angles and edges. She gave an almost infinitesimal shrug and moved on, strolling the perimeter of the gallery.

He stood rooted in place, watching as she touched and admired and bent down to peer more closely at a grouping of smaller figurines on a low shelf.

He watched where she lingered, wondering if there were certain pieces that spoke to her more than others.

He’d had thousands of people study his art over the years, and couldn’t think of a time he cared this much what someone thought of it.

She stepped into the center of the gallery, seeming to notice the giant calla lily for the first time. “Woah,” she said, standing on tiptoe to peer inside. “This one’s cool.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s huge.” Her voice echoed a little as her chin brushed the edge of the petal, and she stood on tiptoe to peer deeper into the flower. “What’s the story behind this one?”

He grinned. “You want the story I tell my mother, or the real story?”

She pulled her head out of the lily. “Which one’s true?”

“There’s a little truth to both stories, I guess.”

“Then let’s hear them both.”

Kyle nodded, and rubbed a palm down the leg of his jeans. “If you ask my mother, I was inspired by the calla lilies my father brought her for Easter brunch last year. It’s a representation of family harmony and tradition and the love my parents have shared for forty-three years.”

Meg folded her arms over her chest. “And the real story?”

“The real story is that it’s a stylized representation of Cara’s...” he stopped, clearing his throat in hopes that Meg could fill in the blank herself.

It took her a few beats, but he knew she’d gotten it the instant her eyes widened. She took a step back. “Oh,” she said, glancing at the lily again. “Ew?”

“Not ew. Not at all. The female body is beautiful.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Just thinking I might not have stuck my head so far inside it if I’d known.” She walked around to the other side of it, her discomfort seeming to give way to curiosity. “It is beautiful, you’re right.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll tell Cara you thought so.”

She laughed and trailed a hand over the stem. “You’re still in touch?”

“Not like that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that ,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “So she knows her lady-business is on display in your gallery for everyone to see?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s a label on it that says, ‘Here’s my ex-girlfriend’s bikini biscuit.’”

“Bikini biscuit?” She snorted. “That’s a new one.”

“You prefer coochie? Honey pot? Panty hamster? Cave of wonders?”

“God,” she said, laughing. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Kyle grinned, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. He decided it might be a little of both. “Besides trees, the female form is one of my favorite subjects, though I don’t usually focus on a single part of the anatomy.”

“I’ll be watching for your display of kneecaps in the future.” She walked around to the other side of the sculpture, and Kyle felt an unexpected surge of pride at how intrigued she seemed. “It’s really intricate. The sculpture, I mean. I can’t comment on Cara’s bajingo.”

“Thanks. It’s sturdy enough it could be displayed outside if someone wanted that. The sculpture, not Cara’s lady garden.”

Meg snorted. “Please don’t feel the need to elaborate on its ability to withstand weather conditions like intense moisture or pounding heat.”

“You said it, not me.”

Meg took another step to the side, coming full circle now to stand beside him. “Does it ever weird you out a little? Having your ex-girlfriend’s vajayjay right there in the middle of your gallery?”

He shrugged. “Not really, though it sometimes makes me laugh to have people stroking it or asking how much it costs.”

“How much does it cost?”

He nodded to the price tag near the corner of the base, and watched her eyes go wide again. “Holy cow. That’s one expensive cha-cha.”

“Literally and metaphorically.”

“What do you mean?”

Kyle shrugged. “Cara got the house when we split.”

“I didn’t know you bought a house.” Meg frowned. “Wait, you bought a house together, but you didn’t want to get married?”

“I thought it was a good compromise.”

Meg rolled her eyes, then ran her palm over the stem again. “I think it would weird me out, having this constant reminder of a failed relationship.”

Kyle shrugged. “I don’t really see it like that. Whether there’s tangible evidence or not, aren’t exes always sort of hovering around the periphery of our day-to-day lives?”

“I suppose that’s true.” He watched as she tugged at her earlobe, then flushed a bright crimson.

He grinned. “Confession number one?—”

“No!” She shook her head, backing away from the calla lily. “Sorry, I’m pleading the fifth on this one.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’m intrigued.”

“Don’t be. It’s just—some things are okay to stay secret, don’t you think?”

“If you say so.”

Meg wandered away from the sculpture, ending up back in the corner where they’d started. “This is amazing, Kyle. You should be very proud of what you’ve built for yourself.”

“Thank you. I am.”

She folded her arms over her chest and regarded him with a look he knew signaled a shift in conversation. “So,” she said, leaning back against the wall with her eyes locked on his. “Ready to tell me why you wanted me to come here?”