person I’ve met who has a signature dish that deserves the name. Where did you learn to cook?”
“I taught myself. I figured, as a single guy, I could live on takeout and microwave meals, or I could enjoy my food.”
As a single guy. The matter-of-fact statement intrigued her, made her want to ask him more questions. Why was he single? Why did he sound so sure he would stay that way?
Instead, she tilted her wine glass toward him. “The meal was a charming gesture. Thank you.”
A corner of his mouth turned upward. “I have a confession to make.”
Her heart began to beat a little faster. “You do?”
The smile deepened, quickly becoming irresistible. “I hoped you’d be charmed.”
This was where she should smile seductively. Maybe twirl her hair and bat her lashes. Even trail a finger down his bicep. The problem was, Bree didn’t do flirting. The only times she had attempted it she’d either knocked things over or came across about as sexy as a lost puppy. Since she really liked Rylan, she wasn’t going to scare him off by trying.
“Do you live in Roaring Springs?” She almost groaned out loud. Just because she didn’t flirt, did she have to turn the conversation around and make it sound like a job interview?
Rylan didn’t appear to notice. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his long legs in front of him. Although he had drunk one glass of wine at the start of the meal, he’d switched to water because he was driving. He took a sip before he spoke. “Not quite. I was born near Denver, but I joined the army when I was eighteen. When I got out, I went into business and traveled around a lot. But I always planned to settle down in Colorado, and—” He broke off abruptly, making her wonder what he’d been about to say. “I had an army buddy who talked about his home here in Roaring Springs. When I sold the business, I found a ranch a few miles west of here.”
“You’re a rancher in your spare time?” She raised her brows at him.
He laughed. “I’m a lot of things in my spare time.”
“I can see that.” She started to count on her fingers. “Soldier. Chef. Rancher. Art promoter.”
She wasn’t sure she could pinpoint exactly what it was that changed about his manner. It was as if her words made him watchful. “I’m new to the art world. As you can probably tell.”
Bree frowned, sensing that he was closing down a line of conversation that made him uncomfortable. Since she didn’t know him well enough to prod further, she was forced to let it go. However, the knowledge that he could be hiding something nagged at her. What bothered her even more was the idea that, after knowing him for less than a week, she cared that this man might be keeping secrets.
“You said you went into the army at eighteen.” She decided on a different approach. “Didn’t you come back to visit your family between then and now?”
He hunched a shoulder. “There was no one to visit. I’m an only child. My father died when I was twelve, and cancer took my mom just before I enlisted.”
Bree sensed a whole world of pain behind those words. Reaching across the table, she took his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He responded with a slight smile. “I’m thirty-four. Being on my own is what I do best.”
“Coming from such a large extended family, I can’t imagine how that would feel.”
Rylan looked around the spacious, elegantly furnished loft apartment. “I guess being a Colton has its advantages.” It was the same assumption many people made, but somehow it hurt more coming from him. As Bree made a movement to withdraw her hand, Rylan tightened his grip. “Hey.” His gaze scanned her face. “What did I say?”
Usually, she avoided explanations, but his opinion mattered. “Thanks to my mom’s tenacity, my dyslexia was diagnosed early. I went to a public school for pupils with learning disabilities, not a private school. Our parents wanted to keep us grounded, so they made sure Trey and I had chores on the farm. I grew up loved and cherished, but I was taught that working hard, not money, is the key to success.” She cleared her throat. “So when I wanted to pursue art as a career, my mom and dad were unsure if I was capable of meeting the academic demands of a college course. To show them what I could do, I paid my own way through art school with a series of side jobs.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I came into my inheritance on my twenty-fifth birthday. I’m now twenty-seven.” She waved a hand to indicate her surroundings. “The gallery, my business, my reputation, this apartment... You think I achieved all that in just over two years?”
“Bree, I’m sorry.” Rylan caught hold of her free hand, stopping it from fluttering. He held both her hands in a strong, warm clasp. “I jumped to an incorrect conclusion, and I’ve offended you.”
She exhaled slowly. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I overreacted. Sometimes the name Colton can be a burden.”
He bent his head, grazing the knuckles of her right hand lightly with his lips. The action sent pleasurable little bursts of heat shimmering along her nerve endings. “Tell me what you did.”
“Hmm?” She’d been too focused on the sensation of his mouth on her flesh to concentrate on the words.
“How did you build up your business before you came into your inheritance?”
“Oh?” Were they still on that topic? “Even in art school, I was selling my own work for really good prices. I used the proceeds to buy new pieces, and before long, I was getting great returns on my investments.”
He raised his brows in acknowledgment of her achievement and she allowed herself a little smile of pleasure.
“I was also making a name for myself in the art world, showcasing my own work and that of other African American artists. That was how Wise Gal was born. When it came to finding a site for the gallery, real estate in the Diamond was low in price with incentives for new businesses, so it was the obvious place.”
Rylan smiled. “Wise Gal? I figured it was a joke, but I can see it has a deeper meaning for you.”
Bree nodded, pleased at his understanding. “Growing up in a family of overachievers was hard. I didn’t make those childhood milestones on time and, as a consequence, felt like I was always running faster than my cousins just to keep up.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “While my family was worrying about me, I was always aware that being different is an important part of who I am. I don’t necessarily see my dyslexia as a gift, but I believe it is linked to my creativity. It may sound corny, but I feel my artistic vision is stronger than my ability to see characters on a page.”
The way Rylan was looking at her made her breath catch in her throat. “That’s a very inspiring way to view your condition.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you heard my language when I try to read without text-to-speech software,” she said. “But to return to your comment about the gallery name... Yes, it’s a play on words. I may not be a wise gal in the traditional sense, but the little Colton cousin who couldn’t speak in sentences until she was nearly five hasn’t done too badly.”
“I’d
