If you want to touch me, you’re more than welcome to.
Over the hours of tossing and turning, Tinsley had realized something about herself. She’d always been the sweet one. Harper teased her about it, but her family always turned to her when they needed a kind word or help.
Tinsley stepped into the strappy, bright green sundress with just a tiny splatter of paint at the hem. Tinsley knew her life had changed because of what she’d learned about herself last night. She’d learned she wasn’t just sweet. Not with the thoughts she had about Paxton last night.
There wasn’t a single sweet thought to be had about him. No, there had been the urgent tearing of clothes, battling tongues, and demanding hands as Paxton seemed to push her harder and higher than she’d ever gone before. Sweet Tinsley was also very passionate Tinsley and there was no denying it.
Tinsley wasn’t new to relationships. She’d been to college and had a few steady boyfriends in the past. She wasn’t terribly experienced with sex, but she wasn’t a novice either. That’s why it surprised her when her dreams had been so . . . charged.
Before Harper married Dare, the two of them would talk about the men in their lives. Harper was a take-charge, no-embarrassment type woman. Tinsley had been envious of her sexual confidence. Harper had once asked her, “You paint with so many colors and so many emotions, how can you be so vanilla?”
Tinsley would bet if Harper had seen her dreams last night, Harper would faint with shock. Just thinking about the way they’d squeezed every bit of pleasure from each other in her dream left some of Tinsley’s concealer running.
Tinsley fanned herself off and blamed it on the summer’s heat and humidity as she left home for the gallery. There was one thing she couldn’t wait to do—paint. She’d get all her feelings out on the canvas and then she’d stop thinking of Paxton Kendry.
Late that morning, Tinsley heard the soft chime go off in the front room of her gallery and set down her paintbrush. She looked at the canvas covered with bold colors. She could feel the energy leaping off the canvas.
“Hello?” a voice called from the front room.
“I’ll be right there,” Tinsley called back as she pulled the smock from her dress and rushed from the room.
She smiled as she walked into the front of the gallery to find a man looking at the art. His arms were clasped behind him. He was in slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing muscled arms.
“Can I help you with anything or answer any questions?” Tinsley asked from behind the man’s back. He turned slowly and Tinsley blinked. She recognized him, but why? He was in his twenties with a pleasant smile, but then she saw it. The bottom of a snake tattoo on his upper arm was peeking out from the rolled-up sleeve and then the nagging memory became clear. He had come into Ellery’s gallery the day Ellery went into labor.
“I sure hope so. I travel a lot for work and have always driven by here so I decided to stop and check out your gallery. It’s beautiful,” he said as he stood tall and smiled kindly at her. Normally it would put Tinsley at ease, but he was acting completely different from the last time she saw him and that sent off some warning bells.
“Thank you. I’m Tinsley Faulkner. I’m the owner.” Tinsley held out her hand and he gently clasped her hand and shook it. The gentle clasp was completely unexpected from someone so muscled.
“Maurice. Maurice Smith.”
“Nice to meet you. Are you looking for anything in particular?” Tinsley asked, getting ready to show him around the gallery. It was clear he didn’t remember her, so she wasn’t going to make him feel awkward about mentioning the last time they saw each other.
“Actually, I’m looking to sell some pieces. My grandmother is very ill and requires a full-time nurse. I’m unable to do it myself since I travel for work. However, my grandmother has an extensive art collection and has given me power of attorney to sell some of it to pay for her care.”
Red flags, warning bells, and the sound of her instinct screaming “Stop!” went off all at once. What is the painting he’s selling? The thought went through her mind right before she was going to tell him, “Thanks, but no thanks,” to selling whatever it was. Then, suddenly Paxton popped into her mind and she knew what she was going to do.
“May I see the painting? I can tell you if it’s something I could sell and what kind of price to expect from it.” Tinsley stepped forward prepared to see the Hamburg he’d shown Ellery. Instead, he held out his phone and she looked down at a Castille. Not just any Castille either. It was one Ellery had sold from her gallery for a hundred thousand dollars a year ago.
“It’s a Castille,” Maurice said.
“Yes, I’m familiar with the artist.” Tinsley tried to keep calm as she looked up at Maurice. “It’s stunning. Do you have the provenance papers for it?”
She was expecting the interview to end now, but Maurice reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. Tinsley opened it up and looked for Ellery’s signature, but it wasn’t there. The papers were forged. The scary part was that they were forged very well. If it wasn’t that she personally knew the provenance of this painting, she’d never have known it was stolen.
“Can you sell it?” Maurice asked.
Tinsley stared at the papers, trying to decide her next course. Timid Tinsley would say sorry. She couldn’t. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or maybe it was because she wanted to be seen as more than nice, safe, predictable Tinsley, so she nodded her head.
“Yes, I can sell it. I’d be honored to.”
“Do you think you can sell it fast? We need to buy a hospital bed and the nurse said she’d only wait a couple of weeks for us to decide if we can hire her.” Tinsley glanced up at Maurice. He looked so sincere that it angered her.
“I think so. I have a large base of private buyers who have me keeping an eye out for special pieces. We can sign the paperwork if you wish to move forward.”
“Paperwork?” Maurice asked as if he weren’t prepared for that.
“Yes,” Tinsley smiled pleasantly at him. “It authorizes me to sell it on your grandmother’s behalf and keeps the provenance nice and clean. It also lays out a timeline, such as I have ninety days to sell it, and it also states what you’re willing to sell the painting for as well as what my commission is. No gallery can sell artwork without it. Thanks, lawyers,” Tinsley laughed.
“Of course. Let’s do it. I really like you and think you’ll treat this piece of my family well.”
“Then follow me to the desk back here and I’ll get everything in order.” Tinsley walked to the sales desk and fought her desire to call Granger, the town’s sheriff, or to text Paxton to get over here right away. Instead, she’d hand them their case with the thief literally signing on the dotted line.
“My commission is twenty-five percent of the sale price,” Tinsley said as she reached into the folder to pull out a listing agreement. “If you could fill in all the contact information, I’ll copy the provenance for you. I’ll also need your power of attorney.”
“I keep the provenance, right?” he asked as he took a seat.