“He’s hardly a boy, Dad,” she said and felt heat creep up her neck. She then silently called herself all kinds of stupid for letting Sean O’Sullivan garner any kind of reaction. “I mean...it’s none of our business.”
“Gwen’s worried, I know that much.”
Gwen O’Sullivan was Sean’s mother. Leah raised both brows. “I didn’t realize you were so well acquainted with the O’Sullivans.”
She could have sworn her father’s cheeks tinged with a little color and she had the fleeting thought that maybe his acquaintance with Gwen was more than a simple acquaintance. She’d often asked her dad why he hadn’t dated since her mom died, and he’d always dismissed her questions with a wave and the insistence that he was happy alone—but she wasn’t sure she completely believed him.
“We attend the same book club,” Ivan said and sat down. “She’s stopped by a few times since I got out of hospital. She’s a nice woman.”
“I know,” Leah said and grinned cheekily. “And very attractive.”
Her dad’s brows furrowed. “Don’t be reading anything into it.”
“I think it’s great,” she said and offered another impish grin she hoped would make him smile. “About time you got a girlfriend.”
Ivan’s cheeks were now beet red. “It’s nothing like that. We’re friends.”
“That’s how it starts. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Not that I’m an expert in the romance department,” she said and sighed. “Not with my track record.”
Her father took a sandwich from the plate and met her gaze. “There’s someone special out there for you, honey. Someone who will appreciate how talented and amazing you are.”
Someone who likes creativity, color and a flat chest.
“Men think I’m weird,” she said and laughed.
“Well, maybe you are,” her father said and smiled broadly. “Nothing wrong with being a little different.”
Different? She’d been called that before. And kooky and arty and sometimes just plain old nuts. Xavier had said so many times. True, sometimes she got lost in her work and would spend days in the studio, wrapped up in the creative process, unaware of anything other than the textures of the materials and the shapes that seemed to morph through her heart and hands into something that told a story in every line and edge and arc. She couldn’t explain it, and when the mood came, she didn’t possess the ability to do anything other than go where inspiration took her. So if that made her weird...well, she’d own it.
“It’s a nice idea, but I’m not in the market for a relationship at the moment,” she said and took a bite of a sandwich. “I have to concentrate on you and getting two new pieces finished by the end of next month.”
Ivan nodded. “I’m very proud of you, you know. Pursuing dreams can be hard sometimes. Your talent and commitment are really inspiring.”
“You’ve always been my number one fan, Dad,” she said and laughed. “Well, you and David, and you both might be a little biased.”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “And one day the rest of the world will know it, too.”
“I’m not aiming for the world,” she said soberly. “Just the odd gallery or two.”
“Perhaps it’s time you considered having a show again?”
Leah shook her head. She’d had a show once...and it had been a disaster. Only a handful of people had attended, and not one piece had sold. It was a humiliation she wasn’t keen to repeat in a hurry. “Not yet. One piece at a time is all I’m ready for.”
“Well, I know Gwen asked you to showcase a few pieces at the art gallery in town. That would be a good start.”
“Yes,” she said and smiled warmly. “Maybe.”
She was still thinking about her father’s words a couple of hours later. The shed would make a fine studio once she tidied the place up a bit. As she walked around the drafty building, she made plans for where everything would eventually go and which spots had the best light and shade. All of her equipment had arrived safely, and one side of the shed was stacked with materials and tools. There was a small room that she would turn into an office, and a loft for storage.
Once she was done, she locked up and walked the perimeter, noticing a couple of places that needed the planking repaired. Her father had suggested a local carpenter who would be able to do the work, and she made a mental note to call him the next day.
Leah called to her dogs, Betty and Wilma, and continued her walk around the building. The hedge behind it was thick and unkempt, and she spotted an area with an opening and a footpath, which led to the river and to the big log cabin that sat overlooking the water. Sean O’Sullivan’s house. They shared a driveway and a mailbox. The split-log western red cedar cabin had been empty for almost a year before he’d moved in a couple of months ago. Leah adored the cabin, and had always longed to buy the place herself because it had the most incredible stone fireplace in the main living room and a glorious view of the river from the wide porch and would be the perfect place to sketch. There was a small paddock and stable, a boat ramp and a boathouse she often thought would make a fine studio. But it wasn’t to be. Xavier had cleaned out her account, and it would take her five years—probably way more, given how slow her work was selling—to save for a deposit. And of course there was the annoying fact that O’Sullivan had snuck in like a rat up a drainpipe and stolen her dream house.
Damn Sean O’Sullivan.
As she trudged back toward the house, Leah decided she never wanted to see him again. He could find someone else’s father to play chess with. Someone else’s porch to linger on. As far as she was concerned, the Culhane-Petrovic property was an O’Sullivan-free zone.
And the quicker he figured that out, the better!
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