Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance) by Judi Fennell Page B

reach out and touch whatever is in your painting.”
    “ My wife used to say the same thing.”
    And there went the mood.
    But she refused to let that happen. She didn’t let “quit” into her life and she wasn’t going to allow it into his. Not on her watch. “The critics do, too. They love your work.”
    “ Loved. Past tense.”
    “ No. Still . They love your work, Todd. Your paintings sell every day and the demand hasn’t abated. Just because you’re taking a hiatus doesn’t mean people are going to stop wanting your work.”
    He snatched his hands off the table and shoved them beneath it. “Jolie, I’m not on hiatus. I’m finished. Done. No more artwork.”
    Right. She’d just watched the guy light up talking about the sunset, for Pete’s sake. He had no idea who he was dealing with. He’d let her in a little and she’d gotten hold. Tenaciousness had seen her through some lean times. This was no different.
    “ Well,” she said with a just-enough-under-exaggerated sigh, “that’s a shame. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t like that.”
    “ Leave my wife out of this.”
    “ Sorry.” Not really. It needed to be said. How she knew that, she had no idea. Maybe it had to do with not liking bad karma. “It just seems a shame to let go of her memory like that.”
    “ You don’t know what you’re talking about. The last thing I’ll do is let go of her memory.”
    Those green eyes, they were a-blazin’.
    Well, some emotion was better than none.
    “ But, Todd, if you stop painting, something your wife admired about you, cared about, inspired in you, you are, in essence, putting her memory away. In a box, locked up tight with a key, never to be seen or felt or experienced or shared again. How do you think she’d feel about that?”
    He turned his head, gracing her with the view of his sharp jaw line, the muscles bunching along it. She hoped he wouldn’t crack a tooth, but he needed that food for thought. Because she, as an aspiring writer, someone creative and with—she hoped—talent, she understood how the urge to create overtook everything so that it had to emerge or it’d mess with sleep patterns, consume thoughts, and take over a life. Creative expression needed an outlet. If it were bottled up inside, at some point it’d explode. Or die. And that would be such a tragedy for him.
    There was another minute—or five—of silence, then he sighed and brought his hands back to the table, reaching for his glass of water again. He didn’t take a drink, just kind of swirled the liquid around in the glass.
    “ I never thought about it like that.” His voice was low.
    Oh, thank God the words “you’re fired” didn’t come spewing forth. She’d particularly hate a Donald Trump moment right then. Not that there was ever a good time for a DT moment, but now would have been especially awkward.
    Luckily, the maitre d’ picked that moment to show up with their appetizers and drinks, and Todd did the wine twirling/sipping thing. She was not a sommelier, nor would she ever aspire to that particular function. She’d done heavy book research about wines for her career instead of actual sampling, due to an instinctual aversion to the stuff. Actually, she wasn’t big on any form of alcohol unless it was cooked into a dish. Saw too much of the not-so-pretty side effects of a drinking binge—this morning included.
    Though some parts of this morning hadn’t been so bad.
    Mr. Maitre d’ placed the broiled scallops in front of them. Jolie didn’t think she’d ever seen a scallop quite that size, about as big as a four-year-old’s fist. She spun the plate around to study all sides then took a bite. It was like eating a slice of heaven, the texture of flan, with a dark, almost chocolate, roux with a hint of burgundy— au jus for scallops. “I have to get this recipe.”
    Todd added a few “uh hmmms,” but the silence wasn’t strained. Always a good thing.
    Amid the soft lap-lap of the waves, the