From This Moment On: Heartwarming Contemporary Romance (Windswept Bay Book 1) (9 page)

“Does that happen often?”

“Often enough.” He frowned and took a drink of the coffee and then sat it on the makeshift table beside his paint. “I need to get back. I’ll talk later.”

And then he climbed back up the ladder with a new paintbrush loaded with fresh paint and closed out the world around him.

One-track mind, he’d said that first day.

That was a steel vault he had there when he picked up a paintbrush.

When Grant finished painting, he was exhausted. Once he’d started, it was as if everything he had in him came out on the canvas…or wall, considering that was his canvas of choice. Both anticipation and sorrow swirled inside him as he’d worked. And in the end, it was just the work that mattered. The painting itself drew him, took everything he had to give and for the while that he painted, everything else slipped away. When he was finished, though, the adrenaline shut down and he paid the toll.

Cali, who’d not intruded but must have stayed near, appeared as he headed toward the elevators. He could hardly hold his eyes open.

“Grant?” she asked.

He handed her the paintbrush he still had in his hand. “Later.”

“I’ll close up your paint,” Horace said, also appearing from somewhere.

Grant nodded and then walked to the open elevator doors and punched the button for the fourth floor. Adrenaline had seen him through but now every limb ached. His arms felt like lead weights. When he reached his room, he peeled his shirt off before he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached for the snap on his shorts but closed his eyes for a moment and then fell against the covers.

This happened sometimes, when the work flowed like lava in a slow, burning rush that couldn’t be stopped. But never had it taken everything he had.

He closed his eyes and slept.

Chapter Nine

Cali wasn’t sure what to do. When Grant had handed her the paintbrush and walked past her, he’d looked drained. She wasn’t sure whether this was normal for him or not. It wasn’t normal at all but then, she’d never been around an artist and maybe it was normal.

But, again, it wasn’t normal to her. And she was completely not making sense as she thought about how he’d looked. How he’d acted. All she knew was that she was concerned. And she needed to make sure he was okay.

Shar walked over and plucked the paintbrush from her hand. “That wasn’t normal.”

Leave it to Shar to say what she was thinking. “No. You’re right—it wasn’t.”

“I’ll clean this up. You need to go check on him. He looked like he’d been up for days when he walked by here. And Cali, he looked like he was in pain.”

“Yes, he did,” Jillian agreed, coming down the stairs to where they stood. “Here, go check on him. I grabbed the master key in case you need it.” She pushed it into Cali’s hand.

“Wait, why me?”

“Oh please.” Shar glared at her. “You should see yourself in the mirror. You’re worried sick and you know good and well why it’s you who needs to check on the man.”

“Fine,” she growled and headed for the elevator. She wasn’t sure what Shar thought she saw in her expression but it was simply concern. That was all.

When she reached the fourth floor, she walked to his door and knocked lightly. There was no answer. Maybe he was in the shower. Unable to help herself, needing to make sure he hadn’t passed out on the floor from exhaustion, she used the key and slipped inside. The first thing she saw was his shirt on the floor. She hesitated, her heart thundering. She should go. But, she had to make sure he was in bed and not sprawled on the floor passed out.

“Grant,” she called softly. There was no sound, so she peeked into the room. He lay flat on his back, his feet still touching the floor.

Aw…
Something she didn’t want to think too hard about curled inside her and, unable to stop herself, she leaned down and tenderly brushed a dark curl from his forehead. She stayed there, peering down at him. Even in sleep, weariness remained etched around his eyes and pulled at the edges of his lips. She wondered whether sleep was hard for him since the plane crash that cost him his friends. Wondered how much he hurt inside where no one could see. She reached to touch him but yanked her hand back just in time, rubbing her fingers on her thigh instead of along the sun-etched lines at the edges of his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

With a jerk, she stepped back. She needed to leave.

He was breathing easy, calmly, peacefully. Exactly what he needed right now.

She needed to leave.

Swallowing hard, she stepped back another step and then remembered his feet were still touching the floor. She couldn’t leave him like that. She touched her temple, tapped it as if checking to see whether she had a brain. Proving she didn’t, she knelt and grasped his ankle and then eased his Nikes off. He sighed and her stomach dipped. Hurrying, she removed the other. He grunted; she glanced at him, not wanting to wake him now to find her kneeling at the edge of his bed!

Tempted to duck and crawl away, she realized if he woke that would be even more weird so she shot to her feet.

Leave now
.

But no. Instead, she reached across him, grasped the coverlet and pulled it across him. His hand moved and covered hers. Her gaze locked onto his, but he was still sleeping. She could barely breathe, much less think, as his fingers curled around her hand and drew up to his cheek as he rolled to his side, facing away from her. The move had her twisting over him awkwardly, with her hand trapped blissfully against his cheek.

Groaning, she closed her eyes and as easily as she could, she tugged her fingers from his and ran.

She didn’t turn around until she was on the elevator and pushing the down button.

Grant rolled over and rubbed his eyes as sunlight assaulted them. His head pounded. Sitting up, he looked around and for a moment, forgot where he was.
Cali.

The painting.

He rubbed a hand down his face as bits came back in a rush. Everyone probably thought he was crazy. He was starving.

He glanced at the clock. It was three in the afternoon. But what afternoon?

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he reached for it. He saw Cam’s ID and answered. “Hey,” he said, his voice still gruff with sleep.

“Are you alive?”

“Yeah, I am. Starting to come back now.”

“Well, that’s a good thing since you have my sister worried sick.”

“Sorry about that. This was a tough one. But, Cam, it’s good.” He felt light, and knew he’d done right by Cali and her resort. The mural was one of his best. In the waters of that waterfall, he’d given his all. Finding Cali crying on his balcony the day he’d shown her the drawings had been like an arrow to his heart. He’d wanted to kiss her, to hold her and wipe those blasted tears away for good. But all he’d known at that moment that he could really do for her was give her the paintings she wanted so badly. And that was what he was doing.

When he’d escorted her to his door, he’d been distracted by all the emotions she caused in him when she was near. The tears had just upped the stakes.

“Yeah, Cali told me it was unbelievable.” Cam cut into Grant’s thoughts. “She’s worried about you, though. You’ve been asleep for more than twenty-four hours. Is that normal?”

“No, not exactly. But since I haven’t had a good night of sleep since the plane went down and I worked nonstop on the mural, I guess it is this time. I need a shower and food. I’m sorry I worried everyone. Cali?”

“Yeah, man. Cali has called me twice, wanting me to call you. I finally decided maybe I better. Glad to have you back in the world of the living. Hopefully in more ways than one. Get a shower. I’ll call Cali.”

“Thanks.”
She was worried about him.
That was a good thing.

He hung up and headed toward the shower. He’d dreamed Cali had tucked him in and caressed his cheek. It felt real.

It felt right.

“Is he alive up there?”

Cali nibbled on the inside of her cheek and stared at Shar. “Of course he is.”

“It’s nearly three and no one, other than you, has seen him since he handed you his paintbrush yesterday at one.”

“I called Cam again. I am not going back to his room. He needs sleep. He was wiped out. I think it had something to do with the stress of the plane crash and the stress of not being sure he had another painting inside him. He needs sleep. He looked worn-out, even when he was sleeping.”

Shar frowned. “Okay, but I need to go to the hospital and help. Let me know when Sleeping Beauty wakes up.”

“I will.”

Jillian watched their sister leave and then turned back to Cali. “I bet you’re right. Maybe he’s been sleepless and depressed, at least to some degree, since the plane crash. Maybe this helped him.”

Cali wasn’t sure she’d classify it as depression, but it could be. He was alive and his friends were dead and the tragedy had left a toll on him that not everyone could see.

She hoped knowing he could still paint would help him.

Sleep had evaded her last night. Thoughts of him had kept her awake and curled up with a blanket on her porch swing.

There was a quick knock on the door and Grant looked around the corner. “Well, I’m alive.”

Jillian jumped up and hurried to him. “You scared us. Come in. How are you? You must be starved.”

“I’m famished, actually, and alive. I thought I’d see if your sister would ride with me to eat somewhere.”

Cali stood and smiled. “Hey,” she said, barely above a whisper. “You are alive.”

“I am. Now, about that food?”

“She’ll go.” Jillian hitched a brow at her.

“Sure I will. Of course.” She glanced at her watch. “I only have an hour. I have a meeting with a wedding party.”

Jillian frowned and glanced down at her jeans that were smudged with their usual dirt. “I’m not exactly dressed for a meeting like that or I’d take it over for you.”

“I can eat a lot in an hour.”

Cali laughed. “Okay then, so let’s go feed you, you painting machine. I just hope one of your fans don’t knock me over to get a selfie with you.”

“It’ll be fine. I’m not that memorable when I’m not standing in front of one of my murals with a paintbrush in my hand.”

“Yeah, tell that to coffee girl. She’d know you anywhere.”

Turned out, Cali was right. They ended up at a beachside restaurant, eating between him taking photos with dozens of people who’d watched him paint the lobby mural.

When they finally made it out of the patio porch she reluctantly headed back to her office. She’d enjoyed watching Grant interact with those who admired him. She admired him too, and knew that she’d be distracted for the rest of the afternoon with him on her mind.

Grant watched her leave. He was in the deep end of the pool—he’d almost kissed her two days ago when she’d been crying on his balcony. He’d come fully awake in the shower earlier and everything had flooded back. He’d been undone by the strong emotions when he found her crying. It had broken his heart.

She’d been crying silently, alone, and he was determined to find out why. How bad had her divorce been? Did she still care for the guy? That didn’t ring true from what little Cam had said and what she’d said so far. So why?

Had he done something to her? The picture of her had triggered something…why?

The desire to wipe the tears from her eyes and fill them with joy was overwhelming. He wanted to see that carefree woman who jumped into her Jeep that first day and tore out of the parking lot. The one who’d looked at him with a gleam of challenge in her eyes that he wasn’t even sure she’d known was there. And again, he wondered why. Was it something to do with the divorce?

If so, he planned to find out.

Chapter Ten

He called her that night while he sat on the beach, watching the waves roll in. He felt edgy and alone and he just wanted to hear her voice.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said, when she answered.

“Hi. Is everything all right?”

That was a loaded question he decided to sidestep. “I’m going to pick up supplies in the morning. Can you come with me? And mark some time off on your schedule?”

She hesitated. “Of course,” she said at last. “I hope you had a good afternoon.”

“I did. I’ll show you tomorrow. Sleep good.”

“You too.”

Short and sweet—that was all he trusted himself with at the moment. But he had a date.

And hopefully by morning he’d have his head screwed on a little straighter.

Boy, that was a joke
, he thought the next morning. One look at her in her sundress and barely there flip-flops and any progress he’d made went out the window. But he had a lot to show her and he focused on that and not how pretty her legs looked in that soft yellow dress.

He hadn’t told her last night how good an afternoon he’d had but it had been good.