Page 31 of Labor of Love

“I painted that with you in mind.” This man buys every goat painting I have available. Some things I’d rather not question.

“I’m so proud of you. No surprise most of your paintings are already sold.” Pride courses through me, my smile stretching wide.

“I’m so thankful for everyone’s support.” Seriously. Folks are not only buying but requesting custom pieces.

“The silent auction paintings are a spin on your usual approach.” I know exactly which one he’s referring to because the two others are landscapes.

“We’ll see how they do.” I smile as he gives my upper arm a squeeze.

“Chat soon.” He wanders to a group mingling near his newly acquired piece.

For the first moment to myself, I stand squaring my shoulders. My spine fights to lengthen. A massage would be nice after being in these heels. Overwhelmed by it all, I focus on the center painting. The knot in my stomach tightens wishing Stetson were here. Wishing we could go back to the moment I painted.

A blurred woman on her knees in front of a man. His hand is in her hair as he stands. With brush strokes and layers, it’s almost abstract, but look again and you clearly decipher the racy moment. Our moment to be more specific.

“There is no way anyone is outbidding me for that auction piece.” Stetson’s voice is low, right by my side. “You look absolutely stunning, Layla.”

“Stetson!” My body perks up, yet relaxes at the same time. It’s something only he triggers.

“I’m here, sweet girl.” I gawk at his suit and champagne in hand. Hot damn, mister. Seeing him in his cowboy getup is one thing, but cleaned up? He really pulls this off. And I want to pull it off him. “That piece does not belong in front of anyone’s eyes but ours.”

“You’re really here.”

“I told you I would be.” His eyes hold hurt but I turn back to my paintings. “How proud of yourself are you for getting these completed?”

“I unplugged the Wi-Fi for two days to get this spicy bedroom piece finished,” I ramble in one breath.

“Painting that must not have been easy given how we left things.” He gently touches my elbow, and I turn to face him. “How I left things.”

Blinking, I look at my painting.

“Did you get in trouble for canceling?” I’m thrilled he’s here, but don’t want his name tarnished.

“Not your problem.” His deep blue eyes send warmth through me. “You were my priority.” My lips tug higher. “Sorry I was late. Had to make a pit stop along the way.”

“I’m happy you’re here.” Emotion cycles through me unexpectedly. My nose stings, fighting tears of joy. Having him choose me instantly solidifies how prioritized I am. Even my mother had other plans. His eyes meet my lips. He’s ready to lean in, but a throat clears, jolting me back like a teenager being caught sneaking around.

“Layla Martin.” Harold, the organizer, catches my attention. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve officially sold out. The later crowd cleaned house.”

Oh my goodness.

“That’s…amazing.” My brain short circuits, processing his words.

“Congratulations.” He smiles as I shake his hand. “We’d be happy to partner with you again. My friends wanted to snag the middle exclusive painting, but someone far outbid them.” My man.

“I’d be honored to partner with you again.” Containing my squeals is difficult, but it stays locked in my abs.

“Stetson.” A middle-aged woman comes up, resting her hand on his shoulder. Is this twist in my gut jealousy? That’s my man. “You were right. I arrived just in time to snag the final painting.” She turns to me. “Your boyfriend is one lucky man finding a talented young lady.” Now I recognize her—Lindsay, his manager. “I see why you’re his number one.”

“Thank you.” Whoa.

“Keep shining, Layla.” She turns to Stetson. “Thanks for the invite, Tomahawk.” She uses his rodeo name before leaving.

“Are you mad?” Stetson stares down at me.

“Why would I be?” He went out of his way to put in a good word.

“I was late to the event but needed to pick up a few people at the airport.” I don’t care who’s around—my arms wrap around his neck and my body is flush against his. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”