Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“The chariot race you did for Sebastian is phenomenal.” Clay’s dark eyes had the glow of fervor. He wasn’t just flattering her. He meant every word. “And the dragon in Chinatown. The detail.” He waved his hands in the air as if he couldn’t find words to describe it. “It’s unbelievable.”
Charlie blushed. Clay wasn’t even overdoing it. Then he laughed. “I even enjoyed the Zanti Misfits you made for Dane.”
She smiled, her red-gold hair shining in the sun. “I didn’t actually make them for him. They’re just things I create to burn off energy while I’m thinking about a new project.”
Ransom had no idea what a Zanti Misfit was, and he supposed it didn’t matter since obviously both Clay and Sebastian did.
Sebastian, in what seemed to be a proprietary move, kissed Charlie soundly. “I first fell in love with Charlie when I saw her Zanti Misfits.”
Laughing, Charlie clung to his arm. “I thought it was my Tyrannosaurus Rex you fell in love with.”
Sebastian, his gaze full of adoration, said, “I simply fell in love with you.”
The look that passed between them made Ransom search for Ava, who was talking with Harper Franconi. The first time he’d seen Ava, she’d been laughing with his grandmother. And yes, that was the moment he’d fallen in love with her, when she was doing what she did best—making an elderly person smile, giving them the gifts of love and laughter.
As if that loving look hadn’t even registered, Clay said, “I’ve made a tour of the city to see all your pieces.”
Charlie gaped at him.
“I’ve got a property that needs a large piece of art out front,” Clay said, “so I’d like to commission something. I know you’re working with Dane on sculptures for his resorts, but I was hoping you could fit me in whenever you have a spare moment. Can I call you next week to discuss it?”
Charlie’s blush rose to her hairline, as if she still wasn’t used to her notoriety or to the fact that she was one of the most sought-after sculpture artists in the Bay Area, and fast becoming so in the entire United States.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Please give me a call. Dane has given me plenty of latitude on the timing for the pieces he’s commissioned.”
Then Clay added, “I apologize for missing most of the family barbecues. I’ve had a hectic schedule these past few months, but I hope to be joining you more often now.”
Family barbecues. Interesting. Ransom should have known the Mavericks and Harringtons were hooking up. It was obvious now, since the wedding guests were mostly family, as well as some of the foster kids Gideon mentored.
Speaking of the man, Gideon joined their group, the photo session obviously over, with congratulations, manly hugs, and back slaps all around.
Charlie asked, “Where’s Rosie?” Then she beamed. “And the baby?”
Gideon smiled with love shining in his eyes. “She’s getting Isabella settled in the moms’ tent. My little girl,” he said proudly, “is ready for a nap after all the activity during the wedding.”
“She was so adorable wearing her mother’s veil.” They all shared Charlie’s smile over little Isabella’s antics.
“I’d really like to join her over there,” Charlie said, touching Sebastian’s arm. “Just to give Isabella, and all the babies, a kiss.”
“Of course.” The man nodded.
Turning to Clay, she said, “I’ll call you during the week.” And she dragged Sebastian off.
Grabbing Ransom’s shoulder, Gideon shook his hand heartily. “There aren’t any words for what you did for us. Even thank you isn’t enough.”
Ransom waved him off. “I keep telling you it was my pleasure. And no problem at all.”
Gideon snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re minimizing your effort, but thank you.” Then he turned to Clay. “I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you today. I thought you might help me with one of my foster kids.”
Though Ransom could have slipped away then, he was interested enough to stay and listen. Especially since he had a perfect view of Ava, in that drop-dead gorgeous dress, talking with Susan Spencer.
Clay asked, eyebrows raised, “How the hell can I help?” As if he had no idea what he could ever do for a kid.
“His name is Dylan, and I’ve been mentoring him for a few months.” With his chin, Gideon indicated a kid by the canapé tray, stuffing one appetizer after another into his mouth as if he’d never get a chance to eat again. He was somewhere around seventeen, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt as if the monkey suit were strangling him. His hair hung past his collar, and his angular, too-lean frame was apparent in the cut of a tux obviously rented at the last minute.
“He’s a graffiti artist,” Gideon explained, and Clay listened with interest. “He’s been caught tagging in illegal places. I keep bailing him out. But he won’t stop.”