Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
An hour later, she sat back and studied her work. Kiel stood in the sand, with the water lapping at his feet. His blonde, perfectly curled hair rustled in the breeze as he stared at the setting sun.
Eloise grabbed her sketch pad, a pencil, and began drawing Kiel. This was the benefit of having a photographic memory.
Before long, the moment he stood across from her chatting to her on the pier was on paper. He rested against the railing with his ankles crossed. One arm rested on the railing, while his other hand clamped down on his wrist. He had a look about him. Eloise could only liken it to a classic John F. Kennedy smirk—the kind that makes women weak in the knees.
Except for Eloise. She had zero interest in dating or summer hook-ups. She had her priorities, and they didn't include men. Eloise was there to paint and help her aunt.
Eloise set her sketch pad down when her aunt pulled into the driveway. She went downstairs to the car, and helped Margaux carry her bags inside.
“How was the beach?” Margaux asked.
Eloise tried to hide her smile but failed.
“You painted, didn't you?”
Her aunt knew her so well. Eloise nodded. “I couldn't help it.”
Margaux laughed. “I should've made you go grocery shopping with me.”
Eloise blanched. “That would just be mean.” She hated grocery shopping, mostly because she had a slight case of OCD and found herself straightening the products on the shelves or putting things back where they belonged because people were too lazy to return stuff they didn't want.
Margaux laughed again. “You need to relax, Eloise.”
“I need to paint.” She knew her aunt understood her desire to create.
“A rested mind is better than an overworked and tired one.” They went into the kitchen and set the bags down.
“I know, but sometimes . . .” Her words trailed off.
Margaux rested her hand on her niece's shoulder. “I get it. I used to be the same way and still am sometimes. The urge to paint until it's right can be strong, but I've also burnt out before and not having the spark to create something new is damaging to one's creativity. Promise me you'll take time for yourself while you're here. Mental health is important.”
“I will,” Eloise told her. She couldn't remember a time when her aunt hadn't painted. She seemed to always have a brush in her hand. Same with her grandfather. Between the two of them, that's where her love of the arts came from.
After dinner, Margaux follows Eloise to her apartment and then upstairs to look at her current piece. Eloise hoped her aunt wouldn't see the sketch she hadn't bothered to put away.
No such luck.
“Who's this?”
The man I met on the boardwalk who sent a shiver down my spine when he smiled, and the reason why I had to pack up and get the hell out of there before I said or did something stupid.
Eloise shrugged even though her aunt had her back to her. “I met him earlier.”
“And decided to draw him?”
“Couldn't get him out of my mind.” Margaux turned, and Eloise shrugged again. “He's just a tourist. I'm sure I won't see him again.”
Margaux studied the drawing a bit longer before putting it down.
“And yet, he's in your painting.”
“He was easy to capture.”
Margaux cracked a smile and walked over to her niece. “You don't have to make excuses, Eloise.”
“I know. I just don't want you to think I'm not in the right headspace.”
“It's the summer,” Margaux pointed out. “You're supposed to enjoy it. Live a little.”
“Easy for you to say. You're not trying to impress this gallery owner.”
Margaux laughed again. “Good night, Eloise. I'm really glad you're here for the summer.”
“Me, too.”
Leaning in, Margaux whispered, “If you dream about him, paint him.” She kissed her niece on her cheek and then made her way to her house. Eloise didn't move until she heard her aunt's door close. She half expected her to appear on her terrace, but when all the house lights turned off, she suspected her aunt had gone to bed.
The next morning, Eloise entered the gallery with a bag of grilled blueberry muffins from Carter's diner. As tempted as she was to eat one on her way to the gallery, she waited. She had missed this odd little creation and often asked about them in the places she and her mother frequented in London, only to receive strange stares. Now that she was back in Seaport, Eloise planned to have one every morning.
“I brought breakfast,” she yelled as she entered the gallery. She quickly closed her mouth when she saw her aunt had a customer. “Crap,” she muttered under her breath. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass her aunt.
Eloise took their muffins into the backroom and moved some painting supplies off the round paint splotched table. She took her muffin out of the bag and bit into one half, closing her eyes as the buttery grilled pastry hit her taste buds.