Work of Art by Monica Alexander Page A

argued.
    He gave me a look that told me he disagreed. “Yeah, you do. Better make it two,” he said to the bartender. “Sit back, relax, have some shots, and I’ll tell you all about my plans to buy a winery.”
    “You’re buying a winery? What?”
    I knew he was just trying to distract me, but it was working, so I was grateful.
    “Yeah,” he said, chuckling. “I’m getting the fuck out of the firm so I can actually have a life.”
    I sighed. Damn, that sounded appealing as hell. I missed having a life.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Ten
    Harper
     
    “ Kel, he was out of my life for eleven years! And then he just walked into my parlor last night, and it’s like everything that happened came flooding back. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
    She smiled at me, as she sti rred her coffee. “Yes, I’m well aware of how you feel since you kept me up talking about it until three in the morning. But, I’m your friend, and that’s what friends do.”
    “I’m sorry. I know I’m obsessing, and it isn’t like me, but this is huge!”
    “You’re right. It’s not like you. The Harper I know would say ‘fuck it’ and hole up in her studio for a few hours while she processed everything, painted something fabulous and angst-ridden, and then she’d call me, we’d go out for tequila shots and forget the guy ever existed.”
    And I really, really wished I could do just that. I’d honestly hoped I would wake up in the morning with no feelings whatsoever toward the whole situation, but instead of that happening, my first thought upon opening my eyes had been of Ryan. And I was not happy about it.
    “He’s a jerk, Kelly. He emailed me to break up with me and to tell me he wanted nothing to do with the baby we’d decided to raise together. He was a chicken shit.”
    “He was eighteen.”
    I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. It was a dick move.”
    “He was eighteen,” she repeated.
    I supposed she was right. And I wasn’t so sure his parents hadn’t influenced his decision. They’d always hated me, so I’m sure they were all too happy to jump at the chance to break us up.
    “Well, what do I do now? He lives here!”
    “So do millions of other people. You’ll probably never see him.”
    I took a sip of my strong coffee and stared off into the distance. “I suppose.”
    “Unless you want to see him. Do you?” she asked, as she leaned back against the counter and appraised me.
    I blew out a huge puff of air. “No. I don’t know. Maybe.”
    “Then you should call him.”
    “I can’t do that. Shit. This is so ridiculous. I hate this guy. He was so awful to me. I should not want to see him. I shouldn’t even be wasting one thought on him.”
    “But you are.”
    “Yes, I am,” I said, thoroughly annoyed with myself.
    I’d vowed years ago to let Ryan go and never let him disrupt my happiness again – and now he’d gone and shown up after so much had happened and so much time had passed. I was freaking out just a bit.
    “I know. Hey, you know what’s really crazy?” she asked then.
    “What?”
    “If you would have stayed with him, we never would have met, and your life wouldn’t be nearly amazing as it is, because, well, I wouldn’t be in it, but aside from that, you never would have realized your true talents. You never would have become a tattoo artist, you wouldn’t have opened Art Studio, and you never would have had the nerve to go to galleries with your paintings. And you’re so talented. What did your last painting sell for again?”
    She knew the answer, but she was goading me in an effort to make me feel better.
    “Five thousand,” I mumbled.
    “That’s right. Five thousand freaking dollars. Do you know how long I have to work before I make five thousand dollars? I’ll tell you. It’s five weeks. You made that in a day! One day!”
    I rolled my eyes. I hated when she talked about money. It wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things. Sure, I was glad to have it and