Selling Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 1) (24 page)

So many adorable little shops, she noted approvingly to herself as she walked down the sidewalk, her legs still strong and spry despite her sixty-eight years of age. None of these big chain restaurants that seemed to be taking over everywhere as of late. Each of these little stores looked unique, and she could just imagine the proprietors standing behind their counters, waiting to sell their goods to a more wholesome kind of people.

Briefly, April wondered if there was a senior center here. Not that she'd seriously consider moving from her native Arizona, especially not at this point, with her granddaughter at such a young and impressionable age, and her daughter and son-in-law still stressed. This was, after all, their first child, and they didn't have the same comfort and experience that she possessed. She had to be there for them.

Still, that didn't mean that she was forbidden from giving herself a little present, a weekend away in this adorably cute little California town that her friend Patrice had raved about so much. She'd rolled her eyes before, but now she understood why Patrice couldn't stop talking about "that little gem of a town."

The heat was quite something, though, April noted a minute later. She did her best to keep out of the direct afternoon sun as she walked along the downtown sidewalks, but the whole town was sweltering. She felt like she was gazing into her open oven, about to pull a loaf of banana bread out from inside.

Hopefully, she thought to herself, the owners of these adorable little shops had heard of air conditioning.

A few steps ahead, a sandwich-board sign propped up on the sidewalk caught her attention. "Halesford Gallery - Fine Local Art, World Renowned," April read off, squinting to make out the words without her reading glasses.

Yes, that sounded like a fine little place - and after all, she still needed a souvenir to bring back. Something she could flaunt in front of Patrice and the other girls at the senior center.

Making up her mind, April took a sharp turn, heading into the gallery.

A couple stairs led up to the interior, but April managed these with the help of the wrought-iron railing. Thankfully, a blast of cool, much more comfortable air swept out over her face as she opened the door, and she sighed with relief as she stepped inside.

Inside, April blinked for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the relative dimness after coming in from the bright sun outside. As her perception returned, she saw a large desk sitting in front of her, with two people behind it.

"Hello there!" called out a bright female voice. It was coming from a young woman sitting behind the desk, who now rose up to her feet to greet April. "Welcome to the Halesford Gallery!"

"Thank you, dear," April replied, blinking a couple times as she turned her attention to the speaker. The young woman (in her early thirties, April guessed, but she considered anyone who hadn't been through menopause to be "young") smiled, brushing back a few strands of errant brown hair. She leaned forward and gestured around at the interior.

"There are four rooms, and they all have a selection of art from local artists on display," the young woman continued. "If you have questions about any of the pieces, please don't hesitate to come ask me - I'm Becca Grace, the gallery's manager. I'm more than happy to answer any of your questions."

What a nice woman, April thought to herself. Proper respect for her customers, greeting me individually. April carefully didn't consider herself as an "elder", but she still felt like young people should be giving her respect for her age, and this woman seemed properly deferential.

April transferred her gaze over to the other person behind the counter, and thoughts of respect fled her head. The man behind the counter looked... well, if April was twenty or thirty years younger, she'd be twirling her hair around her finger and beaming at him, trying to spot if he was wearing a wedding ring. He wore a suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, with no tie and the collar open at the neck in an attitude of relaxed casualness.

"Hi," April stammered as she looked at the man, suddenly feeling like she'd traveled back in time, an awkward teenager once again.

"Hi there," he smiled back at her, showing off perfectly even, gorgeous teeth. "Like Becca said, let her know if you need any help."

April nodded, dragging her eyes away from the man with an effort. He hadn't introduced himself, she realized. For a moment, she felt a deep pang of envy directed towards Becca - why did this other woman have her youth and beauty still, while April had to deal with new wrinkles every time she looked in the mirror?

Moving past the front desk of the gallery, she tried to focus instead on the art. Most of it seemed fairly dull; pastoral painting scenes, several large oil paintings of cows, for some reason, jewelry that was either too dull to grab her eye or too expensive for her limited trip budget.

In the third of the gallery's four rooms, however, she caught sight of a group of small sculptures, shaped and worked from some sort of black stone, that made her do a double take.

Hesitantly, she edged forward and reached out to pick up one of them, feeling its weight in her hands. Was this some sort of joke? She turned and looked over towards the front desk of the gallery; the four rooms formed a square, so she could see both Becca and her incredibly handsome male companion through the open archway.

After a second, Becca caught April looking over, and moved out from behind the desk towards the senior citizen. "Ah, you've found some of Onyx's works!" she called out.

"Onyx?" April echoed. With a start, she realized that she was still holding the little eight-inch or so tall sculpture - by the shaft, no less! She jerked and nearly dropped the damn thing before recovering and placing it quickly back on the little white stand next to its fellows.

"Yes, he's probably our biggest celebrity at the gallery," Becca continued, moving up to stand beside April and gaze down at the array of little statues. "He does very powerful sculptures, doesn't he? He works to really challenge what draws the eye, what we find attractive and gravitate towards because of millions of years of social cues."

"Of course, I see that," April nodded, still distracted by the sight of the statues. "And, er, all his works are like these?"

Becca shrugged. "He's working on a new set of pieces featuring the female form, but the real focus is on his skill at working with the stone. He uses family tools that have been passed down from father to son for generations, and comes from a long line of stonecutters."

For a moment longer, Becca remained proper - but then, when April glanced disbelieving over at her once again, she let a little smile crack across her features.

"You've got pretty much the same expression I did when I first saw his particular type of artwork," she confessed, shaking her head. "I'm still not sure if I need to put up a sign of some sort, warning mothers with small children not to let them roam free in here, for fear that they might have some mental scarring."

As Becca let her guard down with this little confession, April had to smile back at her. "They certainly grabbed my attention," she agreed.

Reaching out again, April picked up one of the pieces, turning it over in her hands - and then nearly dropped it for a second time when she saw the little sticker on the bottom of the piece. "And he charges that much for them?" she gasped, her eyes popping at all the zeroes on the price tag.

The gallery manager next to her just shrugged. "People buy them at that price, so that's what he asks," she replied. "He's been featured in several national magazines, and you kind of need to ask for that much once you reach a certain level of success."

Carefully, April set the statue back down with its fellows. Even though she'd have loved to bring one of those back with her, if only to watch Patrice's eyes nearly bulge all the way out of her head at the sight of the thing, it was miles beyond her budget. That little, erotic statue cost almost five times her monthly Social Security check!

Leaving the little black statues behind, April finished up her circuit around the little art gallery. She didn't spy anything else, however, that really grabbed her attention, certainly not in the same way as those little black stone carvings. A couple of small oil paintings might look nice and pleasant on the walls of her little apartment back home, but they just didn't seem engaging enough for her to deem them worthy to buy.

She moved past the front desk on her way out, giving a little nod to Becca and letting her eyes linger on the handsome man sitting there. "It's a very nice gallery," she said politely, not wanting to just walk out. She might not be buying anything, but she'd still be polite.

"Thank you," Becca replied, equally politely. The man beside her said nothing, but his smile grew a little wider as he watched April head for the door, as if he'd guessed that she would be leaving empty-handed, and she was proving him right.

For a moment, April nearly turned back and asked that man for his name, if he worked here, if he had any art of his own. Her mind briefly danced with fantasies of him taking her out to dinner to discuss his artwork, maybe even drawing her into those big, strong arms to give her a hug in thanks for listening to him discuss his passion...

Oh, if only she had come here as a young woman! Sure, April had a couple men at the senior center express interest in her, and Bill was actually rather handsome when he combed his white hair back, but neither of them could hold a candle to this perfect specimen. Stepping out into the hot air, April heaved a last sigh of regret.

On her way here from the hotel where she was staying for this weekend getaway, she'd passed a shop with all sorts of Davis-themed gear, sponsored by the University of California campus that squatted in the southwest corner of town. April didn't approve on principle of college kids, considering them to be immature and rude, but she could perhaps duck into that store and find a suitable souvenir to bring home.

Wincing at how the heat made little beads of sweat pop out instantly on her skin after she'd grown used to the cooler air inside of the Halesford Gallery, April set off back in the direction of her hotel, heading down the sidewalk and doing her best to keep out of the direct sun. If that young man in the gallery had been dating Becca, she hoped that the woman appreciated what a catch she had sitting next to her. Men like that certainly didn't come along every day.

April closed her eyes for a moment, letting her fantasies grow inside her head. Maybe, if she was thirty years younger, that man might have come dashing out of the gallery after her, begged her to come and join him for a drink or two. Then, with those drinks giving her courage, she might even think of doing the unthinkable and asking him to accompany her back to her hotel room for a wild night...

With a sigh, April Henderson opened her eyes and pulled herself reluctantly back to the present. Ah, to be young again!

Chapter Two

*

I sighed as I watched the old woman leave, her arms empty. "Another day, just like usual," I complained.

Next to me, Carter James pulled his feet down from where he'd propped them up on the desk, stretching his big arms up over his head and making his muscles in his torso and shoulders bulge even more than usual. "Totally won that bet," he said. "I knew that she wasn't going to buy anything."

"Yeah, and I didn't agree to bet you anything," I replied. "Besides, that's ninety percent of the senior citizens who wander in here. They look around, fantasize about you for a minute, and then leave."

Carter paused, his grin slipping slightly. "Fantasize about me? That old lady wasn't fantasizing about me."

"Are you kidding?" I burst out, trying to hold back my laughter. "She totally had a lady's version of an erection from the moment that she set eyes on you! If you'd offered to take her out for a drink, she probably would have had a heart attack on the spot from excitement!"

Carter shook his head at me, his relaxed attitude slightly shaken. "I don't believe it."

"Believe it," I told him, reaching out and grabbing one of his arms, pulling it against me and feeling his muscles flex beneath the skin. "Ladies, young and old alike, fantasize about what it would be like to feel you do the nasty deed with them."

"All ladies?" he asked, turning towards me and reaching out to loop his other hand around my waist. "That include you, too?"

"Maybe," I said, trying to ignore how his arms around me sent a spark racing up the length of my spine, burying itself in the base of my brain and reminding me just how sexy Carter James could be when he set his mind to it. "Mostly not."

He just grinned, drawing me in closer. "Becca, you can't lie to me. I can see right through you."

I smiled back at him - damn it, I couldn't help it, he just looked so adorably cute - but I didn't let his perfect smile charm me completely. "But that's the problem, too," I said, dragging my eyes off of his so that he wouldn't sucker me into kissing him right here where anyone could walk in and see us.

"Your attraction to me is a problem?"

"No, you idiot," I said without rancor, standing up and extracting myself from his arms. "My problem is that this place doesn't get a lot of foot traffic, and of the few people who do come wandering in, ninety percent of them leave without buying anything."