Page 9 of Sweet Yuletide (Indigo Bay Christmas Romances #4)

“No, thanks.” Sheridan kneeled, not wasting a minute. “I’m sure you have a hundred things to do before tonight, so we’ll see ourselves out.”

“I do, so I appreciate that.” Sonja looked at Sheridan and then Michael. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“Same,” Michael said. “Have fun tonight.”

Sheridan opened the box. “I hope the rescue reaches its fundraising goals.”

Sonja gave a slight wave of her hand. “I hope I see you on Tuesday.”

As the woman walked away, Sheridan removed the painting. “Would you please check that the display is steady?”

“Sure.” Michael gave the display a shake and pressed down on the shelf where the painting would rest. Each of the legs looked secure, too. “It’s solid.”

“Thank you.” She uncovered the painting and carefully placed it on the silver easel. “Black wouldn’t stand out as much against the frame, but this should work.”

“It looks great.” He studied the painting, noticing details that made him peer closer. “I’ve seen some of Hope’s works, but I like this one. Von told me he wants her to do shows again.”

“She has such a distinctive style that appeals to a variety of people. She’ll get the recognition she deserves. It won’t be long until she’ll be turning down galleries who want to exhibit her work.”

“You sound confident.” Michael enjoyed seeing this side of her. It contrasted nicely with her adorable blushes and rambles from before.

“I am.” Sheridan didn’t hesitate to reply. She stepped back and then shook her head. “I need to position the display, so the lighting enhances the canvas rather than distracts from it.”

He laughed. “Sonja was right.”

“Yes, but this is my job.”

Wait . He thought she was unemployed. “You’re an artist?”

“Only in my dreams.” Sheridan half laughed before adjusting the easel a few inches. “I work in a gallery. Well, I used to work in one.”

No wonder she’d sounded so confident. Sheridan had the experience to back up what she said about Hope.

She stepped away again. Two lines formed over the bridge of her nose. “Still not right.”

It looked good to Michael, but the “dogs playing poker” print was his idea of fine art. “Need help?”

“I’ve got it.” Sheridan moved the display one way and then another.

Her forehead creased with each adjustment.

As her tongue stuck out between her teeth, she scooted everything an inch if he was generous.

She stared at the painting for what felt like ten minutes.

In reality, it was seconds before she took a photo with her cell phone. “All done.”

“Are you sure?” he teased because the setup looked perfect to him. “It might be off by an eighth.”

Sheridan laughed, and once again, the sound wrapped around him.

“Sorry, not sorry.” Her eyes twinkled. “This is nothing compared to the care that goes into preparing for an exhibit. Sometimes an artist wants a say, but it’s often just me knowing people will scrutinize everything, so I don’t want to make a mistake.

But it’s essential to show off a painting in the best light, literally.

That doesn’t sway some art lovers. They love a work and want it.

But others are more technical in their decisions. It can make or break a sale.”

“Which are you?”

“I can’t afford an original painting like this one, but if I fell in love with a work, I doubt anything else would matter.” She stared longingly at the painting. “But working with paintings and artists is the next best thing. Or it will be when I find another job.”

“Does your town have more than one gallery?”

“No.” As the word shot out, her cheeks turned a charming pink. She placed the box and the padding underneath the nearest table. “My dad’s is the only one in Berry Lake.”

Her dad’s… The pieces clicked together in Michael’s mind. “You used to work for your father?”

She nodded. “He was going to fire me last month, but I quit so I wouldn’t be forced to train my stepsister, who he hired to take my place.”

Michael whistled. “And I thought I had family issues.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “Did you work for your dad?”

“No. My family is just…” He didn’t want to bring up the intervention because that would only raise more questions. “Nosy. They’re also upset I haven’t found a job after the company I worked for closed a couple of months ago.”

“At least they care about you.”

Michael thought about her words. “You’re right. They do.”

“You’re lucky. My dad is only interested in his new wife and her children, who are adults. I no longer matter.”

“That sucks.”

“It does, but I had fewer Christmas gifts to buy this year because of that.” Sheridan kept her tone light, but her gaze darkened.

He kept his arms at his sides, or else he would have touched her. “I’m sorry.”

“It happens.” She brushed her palms together. “I’m finished. We can get out of here now.”

Sheridan made a beeline to the exit without a glance his way.

He quickened his pace to catch up with her. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”

“You didn’t.” She kept moving toward his car. “It’s just… hard.”

Michael wasn’t sure what to say. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shrugged. “I always thought the evil stepmother was an urban legend or a plot device in cartoons. But thanks to mine, I went from having my dream job to filling in whenever the local cupcake shop is short on staff, volunteering at the rescue, babysitting, doing whatever else will pay a few dollars, and...”

“House-sitting.”

She nodded. “My dad gave my apartment to my stepsister, so I moved in with my mom and her new husband.”

“No wonder you wanted the beach cottage to yourself.” They passed a delivery person carrying boxes. “I’ve been couch-surfing, but my friends are at work during the day.”

Sheridan smiled. “We’re a pair.”

“We have a lot in common.” Which surprised him.

“Unemployed and homeless.”

That made him laugh. He had a feeling the situation bothered her more than it did him. “Are your brothers and sisters giving you a hard time?”

Her mouth slanted. “I’m an only child, though now I have seven new stepsiblings between my parents’ two blended families.”

Oh, man . That would take some getting used to after being the only kid her entire life. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. I’ve always had my brother and sisters.”

She laughed. “Are you the oldest?”

“The youngest, but they call me their ‘big’ brother because I’m taller than any of them.”

Sheridan stopped to straighten one of the candy cane lights. “That’s cute.”

He shifted his weight between his feet. “I guess, but as a kid, I was self-conscious of being bigger than everyone else.”

“They also call you Mikey?”

He cringed. “Yes. It was fine when I was seven, but I fear that nickname will never go away.”

“Ingrained in your family?”

Michael nodded. “DNA level.”

She crossed the street. “You seem more like a Michael than a Mikey to me.”

“Thanks, some of my friends call me Mike. Dude or bro works.”

Sheridan laughed. “Were you in a fraternity?”

“Yep, were you part of Greek life?”

“No.”

“That’s a firm no.”

“Not my thing.”

His SUV was about twenty feet away from them. He removed the key fob from his pocket. “Do you need to go anywhere else?”

Her gaze went from his car to him. “I think I’ll walk to Sweet Caroline’s.”

“You’re addicted.”

“I didn’t say what I was ordering.”

“Okay, I made a huge assumption,” he relented. “But am I wrong?”

A beat passed. “I don’t know yet.”

“That means you want pie.” Michael hadn’t had breakfast, and he was hungry. “Pie this early might be a little much, but a cinnamon roll sounds good. Want some company?”