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“Don’t give up on her. She’ll figure out her way eventually and that path will lead right to you.”
Whether Mrs. Garrick asked or not, Milo knew in his heart that giving up on Harper had never, and would never, be an option.
Chapter 17
The humidity had been staying away, and the days had been sunny and beautiful. There was a slight ocean breeze that helped keep the days from getting too hot. It was the perfect weather, and Milo tried to be out in it as much as possible, and when he was working, he had his windows down and sunroof open.
Some customers complained it was too loud, and Mrs. Wheeler didn’t like her hair being blown, but when Milo was in the car alone, he had every window open, taking in the weather while he could. Plus, without the humidity or the rain, his leg didn’t act up as much. It was almost as if he didn’t even have an injury that had sidelined his entire future.
He and Harper walked down Main Street, heading toward the vacant storefront. He had an offer to make and prepared for the battle that was sure to ensue.
“Isla hasn’t answered my text. I hope everything is okay.”
Mrs. Garrick had taken a turn for the worse over the last week and was in the care of hospice now. Isla had been spending her days at her side, while Milo, Harper, and Olivia did all they could in the form of phone calls, dropping off food, and Milo even took a few shifts down at Isla’s family’s florist, so the family could be with Mrs. Garrick.
It had been a long week, but Milo hoped it wasn’t about to get longer. He wasn’t exactly sure how this was going to go, since with Harper it really could go either way. He crossed his fingers and prayed for the best.
Just as they came upon the location, he stopped abruptly and turned toward her.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, and he stepped around her, placing his hands over her eyes. “What are you doing?”
He pressed a kiss to her neck, and she let out a satisfied moan. “I want you to close your eyes for a minute.”
“Why do I need to close my eyes if you’re covering them?”
He sighed. “You always have to be difficult.”
“You love that I’m difficult.”
He couldn’t argue there. “Just go with it. For me.”
“Okay fine. Eyes are closed.”
“Good. Now imagine the smell of paint drifting out from the open door. Me naked and waiting for you with a rose in my mouth.”
A loud laugh burst from her lips.
“Okay, it’s not that funny.”
“You have no idea the visual I have in my mind right now.” She laughed harder, and though he loved the sound, he wasn’t sure if he loved it as much when it was at his expense.
“Moving on. Imagine chairs and easels set up with canvases and people filling the chairs, drinking wine, painting and having a good time. You got that?”
“Yeah, but I don’t—”
“Shhh. I’m not done yet.”
“Sorry, continue.”
“Now imagine you are at the front of the room, holding your paintbrush and showing everyone how to turn the canvas from a blank white surface to a beautiful sunset.”
“I do that at the senior center.”
He took his hands from her eyes and turned her to him. “I know, but imagine doing it in your own place. Imagine the sign above the door, reading Pinot and Gogh.”
She shot him a look, her eyes narrowing. “It’s a nice vision, but you and I both know it’s impossible. I can’t afford to open my own brick and mortar.”
“I know, but I want to help you.”
