so.”
The dejection had returned once more to her tone, and Trent gazed around the studio walls a second time. “You know, I heard a rumor there’s a gallery opening in Templeton in the new year. It would be pretty fantastic if you could get your pictures exhibited there.”
“A gallery? Here in the Cove?”
He met her gaze. “Marian told me.”
“Well, if Marian told you...”
“Exactly. Nothing passes her without being sanctioned and verified. You should go into the bakery and speak to her. She’ll tell you all about it.”
“I don’t know if I’m interested, to be honest.”
Concern flooded through Trent, heavier and darker than before. “News of a gallery opening in Templeton would’ve had you flying off that seat and making plans before Robbie died.” He reached for her hand where it lay on the worktop and squeezed her fingers. “This could be the next step for you. Who knows what opportunities having your work shown in a gallery could do for your career? Jay Garrett’s financing the whole thing as far as I know. Bringing in someone who knows what they’re doing to run the place.”
Skepticism darkened her gaze. “And what does Jay Garrett know about art?”
“He’s Templeton’s richest resident. What does it matter what he knows? As long as he believes in it...in you...that’s all that matters. Having said that...” He took a deep breath and braced himself for the onslaught that was sure to follow. “I don’t think these pictures are going to sell to the tourists, rich or poor, who come to Templeton, do you?”
“Jeez, who died and made you art critic of the year?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t believe I just said that. I didn’t mean to talk about dying when—”
“Hey. It’s all right.” Trent stood, came around the workstation and took her hands. “Why don’t you speak to Jay? Having something new to focus on will help. Believe me.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” He ran his gaze over her face. “Let me help you through this, Iz. I’m here for you. Even if it’s only as a friend if that’s what you want.”
She slipped her hands from his and put them in her lap. “Friendship is all I can handle. Anything else is too much right now.”
“Fine, I’ll back off, but promise me you’ll think about the gallery. Your work is too good not to be seen and noticed. Too good to stay in this studio and the homes of the locals. You’ve got talent, Iz. Use it to get you out of this dark place you’re in before it’s too late.”
“I will. I promise.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets, relieved he’d broken partway through her defenses. “So, what was it you wanted to show me?”
She closed her eyes and huffed a laugh before opening them again. “I wanted your opinion on my latest collection.”
“Your latest collect...” He grimaced. “And that will be the pictures I just basically told you I hated, right?”
She smiled. “Right.”
* * *
IZZY TOOK A DEEP BREATH as she approached the opulent Christie Hotel and walked through the revolving door into its spectacular lobby. This place was the very best in town and she could only dream of affording to stay a single night—Richard Crawley had booked his stay for the whole week.
She smoothed her hands over her hips and hoped the long navy skirt, teamed with a sheer white blouse and camisole beneath, was suitable enough for dinner in such a fancy place. Time and again, her fingers had hovered over her phone while she considered canceling, but after receiving a sharp talking-to from Kate, there was no way Izzy would risk Richard Crawley walking away from helping raising funds for little Maya Jackson.
So here Izzy was. Late by fifteen minutes, but here all the same.
For the second time in a week, she’d stepped out of her comfort zone and into an arena that felt as dangerous as a gladiator fight at a Roman amphitheater.
Her high heels clicked on the marble floor as she walked toward the restaurant doors. The place was the epitome of 1930s glamour with gilded mirrors and huge, resplendent flower displays in every corner and atop every plinth. The chandeliers shone, sending rays of light to prism on every reflective and spotless surface.
A uniformed member of the staff opened the restaurant doors as she approached, directing her to a sign that asked guests to wait to be seated. Glancing around the bustling room, Izzy fought the need to turn around and flee before Richard Crawley, or anyone else, saw her. Bursts of conversation and laughter bounced from the walls while a pianist played on a white baby grand in the far corner. What was she doing here?
Her mouth dried and her hands turned clammy.
“Good evening, miss. Have you a table booked with us this evening?”
Izzy jumped and turned to the young, black-suited mâitre d’. “Um, yes, I’m here to meet with Richard Crawley. I’m a little late, I’m afraid.”
“Ah yes. Mr. Crawley is at your table. If you’d like to follow me?”
Izzy forced her shoulders back, fighting her nerves and insecurity. She’d had hundreds of meetings with moneyed businessmen and visiting tourists happy to spend their holiday savings on her paintings. This meeting with Richard Crawley would be no different. He was here to talk about Maya and the calendar. Not Izzy’s life. Not Robbie.
Business she could do.
Richard rose to his feet as she approached, his smile wide and his dark brown eyes shining as warmly as they had the first time they met. “Miss Cooper.” He held out his hand. “It’s great to see you again.”
Izzy smiled and relaxed her shoulders. It was easy to see his appeal and why he was so successful at his job. His face was open, kind and, she was reluctant to admit, trustworthy. She took his hand. “Thank you. You too.”
He gestured to the chair on the other side of the small table. “Have a seat. What would you like to drink?”
She turned to the mâitre d’. “A glass of Sauvignon Blanc would be lovely, thank you.”
He nodded. “Of course. Suzie will be your waitress for this evening. I’ll ask her to bring your wine and the menus. Enjoy your evening.”
He walked away and Izzy lifted her gaze to Richard.
He shifted back into his seat. “So, how are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Very well.” He smiled and glanced around the restaurant. “Feels kind of surreal to be back in the town I grew up, but kind of nice too.”
Izzy relaxed further and placed her clutch purse at her feet. “How long ago did you live here?”
“A good ten years ago now. My parents moved to the city for my father’s job.
