The Art of My Life Read Online Free

not to touch Cal as
she passed him the loan agreement, then the loan origination
document.
    His eyes met hers with a silent
communication that he’d noticed she didn’t want to touch
him.
    Aly looked down at the stack of papers
in front of her. Message received.
    “Your payments will be due on the
first of each month.” Aly steepled her fingers as she continued
explaining the repayment details.
    His mind churned. Of course Aly didn’t
want anything to do with him. Two years ago he decimated her heart.
Yesterday he was in jail. Today he stepped from flat broke to forty
thousand dollars in the hole. What in that picture would make her
want to trust him again?
    Aly rose, and his folks scooted their
chairs back and stood.
    He sprung from his seat, as desperate
to get away from Aly as he had been to see her. The sooner he got
out of here, the sooner he could get to work becoming the man he
wanted to be—a man Aly would respect.
    Mom reached a hand toward Aly.
“Thanks. Don’t forget we’re planning a picnic for Labor Day at Blue
Springs.”
    Was Cal the only one who felt odd
shaking hands with someone who had shared Christmas, Thanksgiving,
and Easter dinners for nearly a decade?
    Aly’s cheeks pinked as Dad shook her
hand.
    Okay, so Cal wasn’t the only one
caught in a whirlpool of Meet The Fockers awkwardness. But
he could only reach across the metal desk. “Thanks, Al, I really
appreciate it.”
    Aly’s small hand branded his lifeline
in the shortest handshake in the history of banking.
    He hovered over the desk with his
empty fingers stretched toward her. The scent of forest mint filled
his head. He couldn’t help himself. It had been so long. He backed
away. He had to get out of here.
    He stuffed the check and loan papers
into his back pocket and strode out of the lobby and onto State
Road 44 without waiting for his folks to exit the bank. It was just
as well he’d lost his friggin’ driver’s license. He yanked free his
tie and unbuttoned his already damp shirt. The two mile walk to
Henna’s was just what he needed to reconnect with reality. He was
crazy stupid for even imagining he could win Aly. But he wasn’t
going down without trying his best.
    His folks’ minivan slowed, and he
waved them past. No way was he up for discussing boat repairs and
dry dock. Beaching the Escape and hacking the barnacles off
her hull—now that had possibilities.
    But first he had to purge the longing
Aly surged up in him. He had to paint. He could almost smell the
comfort of the color and oils sucking the chaos out of him,
ordering it onto canvas.
    And when sanity returned, he’d find a
way to make things right with Aly.
     
     
    Fish sprayed the last of the marine
debris from the deck and coiled the hose. He hated to admit it, but
he actually liked running fishing charters for Zeke better than
working the counter at Circle K. It didn’t matter. Cal had gotten
him thrown in jail for the longest six hours of his life. Scared
the crap out of him. He never wanted to feel that helpless again.
Never wanted to stand in court, guilt pressing in on him from every
eye in the room—no matter how much he protested he didn’t know how
the marijuana got into his locker.
    Should he even apply for law school?
Who would vote for a candidate with a record? One thing was for
damn sure, he had Cal to thank for reigniting his political
ambitions. He hadn’t thought about running for office in a long
time—till Cal’s betrayal had shaken him up.
    The desire to make Cal understand how
he felt churned on a primal level. He eyed Cal two slips down,
polishing the Escape’s chrome work. His chest ached. He
missed Cal, the one constant in his life.
    The gate clanged against its post at
the end of the pier. Evie strutted up the dock. His eyes drifted to
the breasts she wore like magnificent hood ornaments.
    He couldn’t remember whether Cal and
Evie were on again or off again. An idea solidified. “Evangeline!”
He scooped out a left-over