A/N: Happy Sunday! I hope everyone's weekend is going well. I posted a new chapter of In Your Arms yesterday. I plan on putting that on a weekly update schedule. No firm day. Last week through my writing schedule into a tailspin.

Happy reading!

5

"You're being so obvious." Angela teases me Saturday morning. She's working on restocking our 'Live, Breathe, Art' posters next to the register.

To her credit, I haven't been subtle. Every few minutes, I look toward the door, expecting to see him. Since we opened this morning, I've been buzzing, a constant tingle beneath my skin, saying that today's the day that he'll stop by. I just know it.

"I would apologize, but I'm not sorry." I told her, coming over to help her finish stocking.

"No need to apologize. I'm happy to see you obsessing over something other than your mom's next doctor's appointment." She smiles up at me from her crouched position.

"Me, too." It'd been way too long since I'd been focused on something other than my mom's health. From the smile that my mom gave me last night when I told her about my latest encounter with my green-eyed man, she's happy about it, too. I'd gushed to her about him, telling her everything, maybe too much, about what limited knowledge I had. I felt fourteen again, telling her about my crush on Mike Newton, a guy who'd been in my eighth-grade art class. "Speaking of doctors' appointments, the delivery guys will be by to take that painting to Dr. Whitlock's on Friday at eleven. My mom has a physical therapy appointment, then."

"Not a problem, boss. That's why you pay me the big bucks." Angela salutes me. I really needed to give her a raise. We'd been doing well lately, and she deserved it. She kept this ship afloat better than I did. I'd have to make a note to call our accountant on Monday.

Just then, the bell above the door rang, making me whip around, only to deflate when I saw it was a father and daughter. I was going to give myself a heart attack if I stayed up here.

"I'm going to go to the back and work on… something, before I explode." I turn back to Angela who's trying so hard not to laugh at me.

"I think that' s a good idea." She tells me, patting me on the back as she walks toward our two customers to see if she can assist them with anything.

Taking a deep breath, I walk back to our storage/studio area. We were out growing this small space quickly and were going to have to find something larger sooner rather than later. I barely had room to work back here, which was why I'd taken to painting at home lately. It made me a little sad to think about leaving here. This place was sentimental to me because it was the first symbol that my art was actually taking off.

When I was young, doing art had been something that I had been told repeatedly by my dad, was a pipe dream that would never become a reality and that I needed to be more practical. My mom contradicted him, telling me to follow my passion, because that's what was going to make me happy. Despite her best efforts, the nay sayers had outweighed the positive. I'd gone to my guidance counselor my senior year to discuss art school, she'd all but scoffed in my face, telling me to choose something that would actually make money. I'd never liked her. So, instead of going to art school, I'd gone to the University of Washington for business. That lasted maybe a year before I dropped out.

I'd moved back in with my mom and floundered for about a year, before I started my Etsy shop. Within a matter of months, I was able to move into my own apartment after this whole thing took off. It felt good to be able to prove all those people wrong. But really, I'd just gotten lucky because a famous influencer had shouted me out. I had a lot to thank Rosalie Hale for.

I settle in at my workstation, getting started on a landscape that was commissioned by an elderly woman, and was working for what felt like only minutes, but was really a couple of hours, when Angela rushes in, making the announcement that causes my heart to stop, then beat wildly out of my chest.

"He's here."

I get up, wiping my hands on a towel before smoothing my hair. It takes all of me to walk back out to the store front at a regular pace, instead of a sprint.

When I round the corner, there he is, looking over a few paintings that we have hanging on the wall. He's casual in jeans and a t-shirt, hair slightly a mess. Almost like he senses my presence, he turns, a crooked smile on his face that takes my breath away.

"Hello, beautiful Bella."

I swear I melted into a puddle right there.

See you next time!