Chapter Two

REMINGTON'S POV

The young man and I sat in silence, and I stole some more glances as he scribbled in a black notebook with creamy white pages. I couldn't see what he was doing, but it looked as though he was sketching something.

The waitress returned, setting down the tasty treat before me.

"Thank you." My skin was burning from the intense sun and I unbuttoned the cuffs on my yellow shirt, rolling up the sleeves.

"Do you drink it black?" the smooth voice broke the silence. "Your coffee? I always drink mine black too. No sugar. I'm sweet enough." A cheeky grin spread across his chiseled face, highlighting those dimples, and suddenly I felt even hotter. He was so unusual, his features angular, with a Roman nose and bow-shaped lips. He was practically regal.

"I usually drink almond milk. But they didn't have any when I asked earlier," I replied, crossing my legs and angling myself even more towards this strange man that seemed intent on striking up a conversation with me.

"Are you on holidays?" he said, before taking a bite of his bagel.

"No, not on holidays. I work here, in the city. But I'm from County Wicklow. What about you? Are you on holidays?"

"I wish. Holidays are out of my paygrade. I'm living here, sort of." He turned right around in his chair, so he was facing me completely. The movement caused me to lean back a little, and I felt my neck flush hot under my shirt.

"Sort of?"

The young man leaned closer, animated and cheerful as he continued. "It's complicated. I'm staying with friends at the moment while I try to get my career off the ground. Ever wonder whether your career, the only thing you're good at doing, is actually the one thing that's going to be the death of you?"

Hmm, he is full of questions. Deep ones. Christ, this was a lot for a random chat with a man who's name I still don't know.

"I know what you mean. I travel a lot for work, so I'm gone more often than I'm here and most of my time is spent in airports and hotels. I'm supposed to be working right now."

"What do you do? Are you famous?"

I noted the young man's raised eyebrows over his sunglasses, clearly intrigued and it occurred to me that I couldn't remember the last time someone seemed that interested in knowing anything about me.

"I'm an international art dealer."

He seemed to consider that for a second and then started laughing. There it was again, that strange heat sizzling through me as his warm laughter rose between us.

"I think the universe is fucking with me." He grinned and stretched in his chair, his t-shirt riding up and displaying a flash of smooth skin above the band of his jeans. I looked away quickly and refocused. Well, I tried to refocus. It was getting more difficult by the second.

"What do you mean ‘fucking with you’?"

His lips were set in a beautiful curve, and those dimples, well, they were something else.

"I just mean that I've spent the entire morning calling into galleries with my portfolio and nobody was available or even faintly interested. And then I sit here, and you happen to be an art dealer. It's like God saw an opportunity to really rub it in."

"Hmm. Are you always so pessimistic? So, you're an artist then? What kind of art do you make?"

He shrugged and finished his bagel, wiping away the crumbs from his lips with long graceful fingers. Whatever he did it wasn't manual work looking at those delicate hands.

"I'm a painter. I studied fine art and I mostly work in oils, sometimes acrylics.”

I looked at him again, taking in the smooth olive skin, the casual t-shirt and jeans, and the sandy hair. Electricity surged through me, causing me to jolt slightly and say something I'd never dream of saying.

"Show me your portfolio. Is that it?" I nodded in the direction of the black notebook he'd been drawing in earlier. Never in a million years would I offer to look at artwork from some stranger in a café, but there was something about this guy that made me question whether the universe did in fact see an opportunity. One where maybe I could help him, or at least give him a contact for someone that could.

He lifted the black notebook and opened it up, revealing a detailed sketch of the buildings across from us. As I studied it, he leaned down and pulled up a black folio case and set it down on my table, opened on an A3-sized print of a painting.

The colours hit my senses, immediately transporting me to the watery place he'd painted. Smooth brush strokes in cobalt blue danced among translucent swashes of aquamarine and teal. It was only a print, but I could already tell the magic of the piece, infused with the energy he'd captured. If there was one thing I knew well, it was art. True art spoke to you, rousing deep feelings, questions, or memories... revealing something to you about yourself.

"You're talented. Have you sold any?"

He nodded. "I sell some but not enough. I paint full time which means--"

"That you can't afford to eat most weeks," I finished his sentence, and he shifted forward in his seat so that his knees were now inches from the side of my thigh. We weren't touching, but it was as though I could feel the energy from him. As if his aura was brushing against me. I had to stifle a shiver that threatened to escape.

"Yup. It's tough. Really tough. But I'm an artist to the core. I don't want to get another job, but it looks like I'm going to have to."

"So, when you said earlier that things were complicated, what did you really mean?"

He cast his eyes to the ground, and I had an urge to put my arm around him, comfort him. But I didn't. That wouldn't be appropriate, and I was already pushing boundaries that I wouldn't usually.

"I'm sort of between places right now. The place I was staying in, yeah, the landlord kicked me out. To be fair, I was late with my rent every single month. But still, I'd nowhere to go. I'm sleeping on my friend’s sofa."

"Couch surfing isn't ideal for creativity I'd imagine." I flicked through more of the portfolio images and paused on one of a misty forest with a large mountain rising in the background, and I recognized the subject immediately. It could only be one place.

"That’s Wicklow and the Sugar Loaf Mountain. This is about ten minutes away from where I live."

He removed his sunglasses and smiled at me. "I love it there. When you climb to the top and look out over the sea, it's mesmerizing. I get lost up there, drifting away with the clouds."

I couldn't be sure how long I'd held his gaze, but I was fairly sure it was too long. The sort of length that would have had most strangers backing away and running. The sparkly green of his eyes had caught me off guard, and then listening to this young man describe exactly how I felt when I climbed to the top of the Sugar Loaf... I swallowed back the rising nerves and butterflies.

“Can you not get them into galleries? I can’t see any reason why they wouldn’t be of interest. They’re unique and beautiful works."

"My friend has a small gallery, and I'm part of the summer exhibition there at the moment. But so far, that’s all I’ve got. I get the feeling that a lot of how this works is down to contacts and who you know.”

He was right, but I didn't want to confirm it. He had enough stress without me adding to it.

"Do you work all over the world then if you're an art dealer? Must be a tough life, dealing with all those valuable pieces of art."

I laughed and felt electricity surge through me as his knee briefly brushed against my thigh.

"Trust me, it's not all parties and glamour. There's plenty of tough and unsavoury characters I must, unfortunately, deal with at times. Money doesn't guarantee class."

"It must make for lots of interesting stories for your wife though?"

I had wondered why this man was so interested, but that last question hinted at something I didn't dare wish for. He couldn't be...? Absolutely not. It would be absurd.

But was he? Was this man flirting with me?

"I'm afraid I don't have a wife or partner." I paused for a second, and then, deciding that I had nothing to lose, added, "Or husband, to be more precise."

The young man bit his lip, and then smiled at me as though I'd told him what he'd wanted to hear. His eyes narrowed as he smiled at me, those dimples dancing in his cheeks.

"I'm sure you'll find someone soon that will make your heart sing."

I had no words and instead stared at him, light and passion emanating from those green eyes. So full of passion for art and life. I'd been like that once, but twenty years had put out my fire and I wondered where that light had gone.

"You're too young to be happily married, no? Or perhaps I'm being presumptuous." I swallowed hard, waiting for his reply.

"No, I'm not married. I live on my friend's sofa, remember?" He made a little pouty face that made me chuckle.

"You're young. You have plenty of time to find someone."

His expression changed, and I caught the twinkle in his eyes. "I'm just waiting for the perfect man to sweep me off my feet."

There it was. Confirmation of what I'd suspected. He had been flirting with me. And there was that electricity again, only this time it raced down my spine and straight into my...

I shifted and crossed my legs, taking a bite out of my untouched pastry while I searched my brain for something to say. Something sensible and right.

"I doubt you'd have any trouble. Look at you." Nope, that wasn't it, that was not the right thing to say at all. God almighty. What was I doing?

The young man laughed, a pleasant-sounding chuckle that made me forget the embarrassing thing I'd just said and instead smile against my will. "You think so? Thanks."

I needed to change the subject, fast. "You never told me your name. I'm Remington, by the way."

"Do people call you Remi?"

"No, everyone calls me Remington."

He laughed again and the tip of his tongue peaked out between his teeth in a cheeky manner. "I think Remi suits you. Less stuffy. I'll call you Remi."

"Oh, will you?"

"Uh-huh. And I'm Matthew. But you'd probably prefer to call me Matt, like my mother does."

I shook my head, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. In an attempt to avoid his gaze, I took a long sip of my coffee and nearly choked on the stone-cold liquid.

"You're lucky you get to be an artist. Most people only dream of following their passions." It was difficult to steer the conversation away from the odd energy sparking between us, but I needed to.

"Aren't you? Living your passion, I mean?" Matthew said, his wide eyes drawing me in.

This was something I had to think about for a second. Was I? I couldn't be so sure anymore. "I was. But maybe not anymore. I'm too busy to enjoy it, if that makes sense. I think I wanted to be successful, then got there, and now I'm not sure it's what I thought it would be. Be careful you don't wish away these early years. Some of my best memories are when I was starting out, hustling to get jobs, making a name for myself. It was exciting, full of adventures and possibilities."

I felt my cheeks flush, embarrassed by how open I had just been, by how much I wanted this conversation to continue, and by the fact that I couldn't deny that I was attracted to him. Matthew was too young for me. Far too young.

My phone beeped, and I glanced at it, reading my client's name flash across the screen.

"And on that note, I better head back to work." I stood up quickly, nearly knocking the table over in my haste. My jacket caught on the back of the chair as I tried to pull it free. Matthew leaned over, carefully freeing the sleeve from the corner it had snagged on, and he beamed up at me with those green eyes.

Okay, so maybe I couldn't have him in that way, but that didn't mean I couldn't help him?

"It was really nice talking to you," he said, and I knew I couldn't just walk away. I didn't want to.

"What's the name of your friend’s gallery?"

"Z-scapes." He gave me a shy smile and I caught my breath.

"I'm back in the city tomorrow to, uh, meet a friend. I'll try to stop in if I get a chance. I'd like to see your work in person." I reached into my trousers pocket and pulled out my wallet, sliding out the stiff business card. "Here, this is my number and email if you ever need to check a contact or think I might be able to help or something." I was rambling, like a fool, my neck flushing with embarrassment. How was he having this effect on me?

"Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Honest. You've no idea how much this means, and don't feel like you have to stop by the gallery. I'm sure you're very busy and I'm a nobody... But, yeah, well... If you do call by, I might see you there?"

I held back my smile. He was rambling now too.

"Yes, hopefully. Nice to meet you, Matt."

He smirked, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. "And you, Remi."

I turned and headed down the sunny street, the breeze carrying the smell of the city and the air of excitement. I hadn't felt like that in a very long time.