Page 14 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)
THIRTEEN
A fter they left, Artek spent precisely thirty-seven minutes attempting to focus on work before grabbing his keys. The Lopez family’s interest in the cabin changed everything. Meara would need protection whether she realized it yet or not.
When he arrived at her studio, the scent of oil paints and turpentine mixed with the saltwater trace of dried tears. Meara stood among her canvases wearing paint-stained clothes, her usual vibrancy dimmed by grief. The sight stirred something fierce in his chest.
“How are you holding up?” he asked softly.
Her composure crumbled. Before he could react, she stepped into his arms, tears soaking into his shirt. Artek enfolded her instinctively, his bear rumbling in protective satisfaction. He held her until the sobs subsided, fighting the urge to growl at the universe for causing her pain.
“Let’s get something to eat,” he murmured when she finally pulled back, wiping her eyes.
The bistro was quiet, their corner table private enough for conversation. Gradually, Meara’s stories of Betsy shifted from tears to laughter.
“She signed up for skydiving on her eightieth birthday,” Meara recalled, her fork pushing pasta around her plate. “Didn’t tell anyone until she had the pictures to prove it. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” A ghost of a smile touched Meara’s lips. “Showed up at my gallery opening wearing the jumpsuit, pictures in hand. Said if I was going to take risks with my art career, she could take risks too.”
“Sounds like quite a woman.”
“You have no idea.” Meara’s laugh was watery but real. “She once convinced my entire art class that she was a famous abstract expressionist working undercover. Had them all calling her ‘Madame B’ for a semester.” She shook her head. “Then there was the time she decided my dating life needed help and created a fake dating profile for me.”
Artek’s eyebrows shot up. “She didn’t.”
“Listed my interests as ‘interpretive painting in thunderstorms’ and ‘extreme crafting.’“ Meara’s shoulders shook with genuine laughter now. “I got so many weird messages from people wanting to know what extreme crafting was.”
“Did she ever tell you?”
“She said it involved glitter cannons and rappelling equipment. I was afraid to ask for details.”
Artek chuckled, his hand covering hers briefly. Her scent had lightened, grief mixing with fond remembrance. “The cabin was hers?”
“Her special place.” Meara’s expression turned thoughtful. “She left it to me, but I’m not sure what to do with it. Maybe art retreats, or?—”
“It’s valuable property,” Artek interjected carefully. “The Lopez family has had their eye on it for years. They’ll try to pressure you to sell.”
Concern flickered across her face. “The cabin’s that desirable?”
“Prime location, extensive grounds, strategic position.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Listen, Meara. If you’re planning to develop it, you’ll need proper security. My company can help.”
Relief softened her features. “You’d do that?”
“Whatever you need.” The words carried more weight than he’d intended, but he didn’t retract them. His bear rumbled in satisfaction at her small smile.
“Betsy would have liked you.” Meara dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “She always said I needed someone solid in my life. ‘Like a tree,’ she’d say, ‘but one that can dance in a storm.’“
Artek’s chest tightened. If only she knew how apt that description was for a bear shifter. “Your grandmother was a wise woman.”
“She also said I needed someone who could appreciate both art and adventure.” Meara’s smile turned impish despite her red-rimmed eyes. “Fair warning—that might involve glitter cannons.”
“I think I can handle that.” Artek returned her smile even as his bear preened at the thought of being someone solid in her life.
As the afternoon light painted shadows across their table, Artek realized with startling clarity that he’d already decided to stand between Meara and any threat, whether she asked him to or not. The Lopez family would learn the hard way what happened when they threatened someone under his protection.
But for now, watching Meara’s tears give way to tentative hope, Artek simply listened to her dreams for the cabin, letting his quiet strength speak louder than words.
His phone buzzed—a text from his mother: “Did you at least sit with her this time, or are you still practicing your brooding from afar?”
Artek ignored the message, focusing instead on Meara’s smile as she shared another story about Betsy’s adventures. His bear settled contentedly, knowing they’d taken the first step toward protecting what was precious. Everything else—including his mother’s meddling—could wait.