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He dragged his hand through his mussed hair, the excitement in his gaze disappearing faster than a lightning’s strike. There was something odd about what he’d said—but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“I’m not going to be an artist, Mike. It’s not for me. Not anymore.”
He threw his hands into the air and marched from the room, leaving her wondering what she’d said that bothered him so much. This little argument was ridiculous. She didn’t owe him anything when it came to her career choices. And likewise, the same applied to him.
Rose wandered the room, studying each picture with fresh eyes, as if she were curating a show for her gallery.
The artist had promise, she could tell that from the start. But there was a sort of unreliability to the work. Rose was unreliable, from her subject matter to the medium she preferred. If she’d been serious about her work, she would have stuck to one thing.
She sighed. There was nothing she could do. If she took a picture down, she wouldn’t hear the end of it from Mike. Then a thought filled her head. She hurried through the house, grabbing stray pieces of garbage as she made it up the stairs to where she hoped Mike would be.
As expected, Mike was still working on his old bedroom. He’d made good headway yesterday and was now digging through big black garbage sacks that lined one wall. He glanced up at her, his eyes guarded.
“I have an idea.” The words burst from her chest like the contents of a shaken champagne bottle. “You said it’s been hard to get this place livable. I heard you telling someone that the roof needs replacing and there’s that window you’ve boarded up in the art studio.”
“Yeah…” he drawled. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, though. All of that is going to take more money than I would see in ten lifetimes.”
“What if we hosted a gallery event? We could do it here or contact someone in town. I heard that the Holt triplets are great at putting on big events like this, and I’ve followed Kelsey and Brooke on social media for a while. I bet they would help if they understood what was at stake here.”
“I don’t know, Rose. This place isn’t exactly what people think about when they decide to donate to charity. Besides, those paintings are all I have left of her.”
Rose wasn’t prepared for the way Mike’s voice broke slightly when he referred to his grandmother. It offered her another peek into who he was, which only added to her determination to save the one thing that Mike had to remember his childhood by—this house.
She stepped forward and took his hand. “I know it doesn’t sound like it will work. For all we know, it won’t. This is a huge project to take on all on your own. Let me help. Let everyone who knew your grandparents help.”
Rose studied him, hoping she could get an inkling of how close he was to breaking. This was the right move. She could feel it all the way down to her toes.
“Come on, Mike,” she said softly. “I know this world. Your grandmother’s art would sell, I guarantee it.”
He was staring at their hands, and when she realized it, she nearly pulled away. But there was something comforting about the fact he hadn’t already done so. His thumb moved—almost twitch-like at first, then brushed the back of her hand, creating zings of electricity that raced up her arm. Rose sucked in a quiet gasp with the goosebumps that came shortly after.
Mike lifted his eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He nodded. “I don’t have room to keep all her stuff. I’d rather not throw it out. I was going to donate it, but selling it would help get this place ready.” He offered her a tight smile.
“Great.” She squeezed his hand and tugged him toward the door. “Let’s go to the studio and you can tell me what you want to keep and how you want to price everything.”
He held back, her arm going taut as he still gripped her hand. She glanced back toward him, questioning.
“I trust you.”
“Okay?” She released a nervous laugh. “I’m glad.”
“No, I trust you. Whatever you think the pieces should go for, just do it. You don’t have to check in with me. I’ll pick out my favorites, and you can pick out a couple to keep if you’d like. And the rest will go to this event.”
Her brows lifted. Even when she’d been operating her gallery, the artists had never given her so much freedom to work with. They had a tendency to hover and tell her she was listing things far under the price they wanted.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
“I’m sure.” He nodded firmly. “You know this industry.”
“But I failed.”
“But nothing. You know it. I have complete faith in you.”
Rose shivered involuntarily. She couldn’t find the strength to move until he pushed past her, tugging her along like she’d been doing at the start. No one had ever had this much confidence in her as an artist or a gallery owner. It fueled her in ways she hadn’t thought possible.
