“Yeah,” I answer with our lips still pressed against each other. “It was supposed to impress you.”
“Why don’t you take me inside? I want to see this secret studio where you create magic. Now, that’s something that’ll impress me.”
I shake my head, taking her hand to lead her inside. The gallery is empty today, something I wanted on purpose. There was a private client early this morning, but Leo handled it. I wanted to be able to show Pippa something I’ve poured my heart and soul into without anyone else around.
I selfishly need her all to myself for a little while. I shared her with Gran this morning, and I’ll have to share her at the gala tonight. For the afternoon, I want it to just be the two of us.
And then there’s the looming thing I have to tell her after my phone call with Daly.
It can wait. I want to enjoy today and give myself time to figure things out. For the first time in my life, I want to share with someone what I’m truly passionate about—my art. Not other people’s art. Not my gallery. But the thing hidden in the back with the art I’ve spent hours on.
I lean against the white wall in one of the rooms of the gallery, my hands tucked in my pockets. Pippa stands right in the middle of the exhibit, her head spinning as she takes in the framed art on the walls.
“Margo did all of this?” she asks in awe, stepping closer to a piece Margo created.
“Yeah,” I answer, standing still. I like watching her here. She pays close attention to detail of everything on display. She’s an artist’s dream, completely enamored with every piece and giving them the attention they deserve.
“I can’t believe you found her. She’s so talented.”
“She found me,” I admit. “Showed up one day and convinced me to let her show me her work.”
“Is that not how it normally works?”
I bark out a laugh. “Not at all. But I’m glad it did.”
“I’ve loved seeing all of this,” Pippa begins, walking toward me. “But I want to see your space. Show me your work, Camden.”
I grab her by the hand, fighting the urge to tell her I’ll show her anything she wants if she just keeps her hand firmly planted in mine.
She’s quiet as I lead her through the back to the door I keep locked at all times. I type in the key code, holding the door open as she takes a step inside.
She gasps the moment she steps fully in. I let the door close behind us as her eyes go wide. Her perfect mouth hangs open slightly.
My skin prickles with heat, the nerves of her seeing my hard work spreading throughout my body. I feel the intense need for her to love the sculptures neatly organized on the shelves. For her to see them and think I’m talented the same way she thought Margo was.
I want to prove myself to her. And I’ve never wanted to prove myself to anyone when it comes to my art.
“Tell me what you think,” I say, my tone pleading. I’d get on my knees if she asked me, if that’s what it took to know every single one of her thoughts.
She turns toward me, her eyes finding mine. She looks at me so deeply it feels like she’s looking inside me and uncovering every single thing I keep hidden. Taking a deep breath, she gives me a timid smile. “I think you’re the most talented person I know.”
I think I’m in love with you.
My eyes go wide at the thought. It crept into my mind unexpectedly, but at the same time, it feels like something I already knew. It’s almost like my head was just accepting what my heart already knew—I’m in love with Pippa Jennings. My shortcake. Mine.
“Don’t lie to me,” I croak, my voice going hoarse with emotion. I desperately want her words to be true, but I’m riddled with self-doubt, making me believe that there’s no way she’s telling me the truth.
Pippa runs her fingers along one of my pieces. “I’m not, Camden. These are enchanting.”
“You’re enchanting.”
Her eyes immediately find mine. She continues to walk through the shelves, taking her time looking at all the pieces I store here.
“There are so many,” she mutters.
“It’s years and years’ worth of work,” I admit, my hands finding my pockets.
“They deserve to be on display.”
I lift a shoulder. She’s right. As someone who has to have an eye for art, I know they’re good. But there’s something that stops me from giving them to the world. It’s scary putting your hard work on display for other people to criticize. I don’t need the money to sell them. But eventually, I think I’d like for them to be appreciated.