Page 16 of Finding Forever
“But we’re not here to discuss my depressing personal life,” Riley said. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If you want to know anything about me, just ask. But be warned. If I end up in one of your books, I’ll sue the pants off you.”
I lifted the canvases off the truck. “You won’t end up in one of my books. Where would you like these?”
Riley opened the back door. “In my studio. It’s the first door on your left.” He raced across to me and grabbed the front of the canvas. “If we carry it together, I won’t feel so bad about keeping you awake.”
“It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t sleep, anyway.” And that, I knew, wouldn’t be changing anytime soon.
twelve
RILEY
As I threw back my blankets and jumped out of bed, my heart pounded with excitement. Today was the day I’d start my next two paintings. After a quick walk and an even quicker breakfast, I’d finally transfer the ideas I’d sketched on paper onto the canvases in my studio.
Working on two new projects was exciting, but it came with a large dose of fear. Would the paintings live up to my expectations? Would Lorenzo like them enough to include them in the exhibition? And, most importantly, would anyone buy them?
I took a deep breath, trying to push away the avalanche of doubts threatening to bury me. My mom called it opening night nerves. I called it my worst nightmare.
After brushing my teeth, I went outside. It was another glorious morning, the kind that made you glad to be alive. There wasn’t a wisp of wind anywhere. The sky was so blue it hurt my eyes, and the sun was already warming my skin.
I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of the trees. Capturing the texture and feel of the landscapes I painted was crucial. Sketching scenes before starting on a canvas was part of my process, but taking hundreds of photos helped, too. The best images made it onto a board in my studio; the rest were saved on my computer.
A hawk squawked, drawing my attention to the lake. I snapped a series of photos as it circled the water.
“We’ll have to stop meeting like this.”
I jumped, then sighed when I realized it was Eric. “I wish you’d make more noise when you walk toward me.”
“I thought I did, but you were miles away.” His smile lit up his tired eyes.
“Were you writing all night?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep, so I read someone else’s book.”
“Were you able to get any sleep?”
He rubbed his hand along the stubble on his jaw. “Enough for now. I thought you’d be painting.”
“I wanted to get some fresh air before I buried myself in my studio.” I searched the stony shore of the lake. “Where’s Sherlock?”
“He’ll be here soon. He never goes far.”
“How did he end up living with you?”
Eric slipped his hands into his pockets. “He belonged to a friend in the NYPD K-9 unit. When Mike died, Sherlock came to live with me.”
A deep sadness clouded his face. I knew how devastating it was to lose someone you love. “I’m sorry about your friend,” I said softly.
“He was a great person.”
I wanted to reach out, touch his arm, and let him know I understood. But that would cross a line I needed to stay away from. “There’s a deep bond between you and Sherlock. I thought you must have raised him from when he was a pup.”
Eric shook his head. “I spent lots of time with Mike, but Sherlock was definitely his dog. They did everything together. When he died four years ago, Sherlock came to stay with me. It helped both of us.”
From between two trees, the big German Shepherd bounded toward us.