In Your Dreams, Holden Rhodes (The Queen’s Cove Series Book 3)
In Your Dreams, Holden Rhodes: Chapter 16

TUESDAY NIGHT, I stood on the sidewalk in front of the art gallery, waiting for Holden. My stomach buzzed with excitement.

Since this was a practice date, I figured I would dress up a bit. That flash of insecurity I saw behind Holden’s eyes the other day still bothered me, and I wanted to show the guy he was worthy of a fun date.

I glanced down at my dress with a smile. I looked good. When I had tried this dress on at a consignment store in Toronto, Willa had gasped with wide eyes and insisted I buy it. The fabric was a deep red that made my skin glow. The sweetheart neckline made my cleavage look amazing, and the skirt flared at my waist. In the window behind me, my reflection caught my attention. I had blown out my hair all pretty, and it fell around my shoulders in waves.

Beautiful, Holden had said.

My stomach gave a funny little flutter. I wondered what he’d wear tonight.

“Sadie,” Wyatt called, crossing the street with Hannah at his side.

My face lit up and I waved at them.

Wyatt enveloped me in a big hug. “Heard you were back in town.”

I pulled back and gave Hannah a hug. She beamed at me.

“Congratulations,” I told Wyatt.

He shot Hannah a proud grin. “Thanks.”

“So?” I asked. “Baby’s room, what are we thinking? Animal themed, teddy bears, rainbows?”

Hannah cringed and chewed her lip. “We have no idea. Neither of us are very good at that thing.”

I gave them a duh look. “Dudes. I’m an interior designer. I live for this stuff. Let me help.” I shrugged. “I’m going to be sticking around town for a bit anyway, renovating the inn.”

My mind flicked to Holden.

Hannah shrugged and gave me a shy grin. “If you have the time, we’d love some help.”

I clapped my hands and beamed at them. “Absolutely.”

“I love your dress.” Hannah tilted her head. “Are you waiting for someone?”

I nodded. “Holden.”

Wyatt pointed down the street at one of the buildings. “His office light is on. He’s still working.” He tugged on Hannah’s hand. “We gotta go, this one’s hungry.”

We said our goodbyes and I checked the time on my phone. Holden was supposed to be here five minutes ago.

Ten minutes later, I blew out a long breath and texted him.

Hurry up, grumpy man!

No response. I glanced at the building Wyatt had pointed at. My heels clipped as I walked and the fabric swished around my legs.

A little thrill shot through my chest, anticipating Holden’s reaction. He’d like this dress, I knew it.

From the sidewalk outside his office building, I could see him working at his desk on the second floor. I pulled out my phone and dialed.

I watched as he picked his phone up.

“Come on,” I murmured. The evening was chilly and I was hungry.

Holden’s gaze lingered on the phone before he silenced it.

My mouth fell open.

“Are you serious?” I hissed, staring at his office from the street.

I dialed again. He glanced at the phone before turning back to his computer.

Dickhead!

Rejection stung me under my ribcage, and my nostrils flared.

Unfuckingbelievable.

I was helping him, and he was blowing me off to read boring work emails?

Something angry and miserable twisted in my stomach and I frowned. Here I was, thinking Holden wasn’t the asshole he used to be.

The joke was on me. Classic, trusting Sadie.

I ARRIVED HOME IN A HUFF.

I did my hair for that guy. I wore my favorite dress. I was wearing perfume.

Nothing had changed. I thought we were becoming friends, but Holden Rhodes still wanted nothing to do with me.

“Dickhead,” I muttered for the tenth time in the last half hour.

As I pulled my pajamas on, my gaze landed on my painting supplies.

An idea formed in my head and I snorted.

I hadn’t painted outside of work for years. While dating Luke, the artist, I had some friends over for dinner. One of them mistook one of my paintings for his, and he nearly spat out his wine.

“That’s Sadie’s painting, not mine,” he had hurried to tell them with a laugh.

He was offended anyone thought my shitty painting was done by him. Like it was laughable.

I shook my head, pushing the memory out of my head.

This was just for fun. No one would ever see this painting.

I sat down at the easel and lifted my pencil.

Dickhead, I thought again as he appeared on the canvas, sitting at the bar, holding his beer, face tilted to the TV above the bar, watching the game. My pencil flew in a flurry, dragging lines and shading as the image came to life.

I stopped to scrutinize my sketch and burst out laughing. The bag of my brushes clinked as I rifled through, pulling out my favorites. When I dabbed paint onto my palette and swirled them together, my heart lifted.

I had missed this. Maybe painting for fun was silly and pointless, but swirling paint colors together and watching them change, hearing the scratch of my pencil on the canvas, inhaling the weird plasticky paint scent, it made me forget about Holden standing me up tonight.

I picked up paint on my brush and applied color to the canvas.

As I worked, the rest of my problems fell to the background. The stuff with Grant, my debt, Katherine passing, it all faded away. I hummed to myself and focused on the canvas alone. The painting was neither detailed nor well-done, but it was just for me.

I added a dribble of tears to his face. Some tears welling up in his eyes. Extra frown lines around his eyes and on his forehead.

My cackle echoed around the room as I leaned back to study the finished painting. It was perfect.

I set the canvas on Katherine’s desk to dry and picked up another.

I painted late into the night. The paintings were neither detailed nor thoughtful. They were rushed and slapped together but my heart thudded with excitement and glee at the images of Holden. I couldn’t remember the last time I painted like this, so untethered and delirious. I painted him again and again, my eyes glowing as my hand and paintbrush transferred images from my mind to the canvas.

Holden in his truck, studying the road, crying.

Holden at the gym, doing bicep curls, crying.

Holden at the beach, staring out into the sunset, crying.

Holden outside the coffee shop, holding his coffee and peering into the windows, crying.

Holden at the grocery store, inspecting an orange, crying.

The tight, furious knots in my shoulders loosened and a wicked smile curled at my mouth. I remembered the way Holden had stared at his phone while I called before ignoring me, and a lick of disappointment and embarrassment hit me in the stomach.

I really thought he was warming up to me.

I guess I was wrong.