Sheryl’s Daily Blog
Discretion was the better part of valor she told herself. She wanted to rant and rave like everybody else. It seemed that was the norm these days and the reason she’d opted out of a lot of social media sites. It would have been easy to share her side of the story and tell all, but in the long run, she would have felt cheap and minimized.
Claire Mason was 26 and until four years ago, a lanky blue-eyed blond involved and in love with Frank Jones taller than her by a foot, dark brown hair and eyes, with a killer smile. In fact, they’d been going together for three years and he’d hinted at marriage on several occasions, only it wasn’t with her. It with someone called Daniele Groves.
She’d arrived home one day to find his stuff packed; the only item remaining, was a note explaining it was over, he was sorry, he didn’t mean to hurt her, but he had fallen in love with someone else.
It had come as a slap in the face that he’d been having an affair with her for several months and Claire hadn’t suspected a thing. That stung more than anything. How could she NOT have known she wondered. All the late-nights, the lack of interest in spending any quality time with her. She sighed.
Well, she was over the slug and had been happily single since. Her art absorbed a great deal of her time and it was paying off. Her showings were larger well attended and sales were up.
As a result, she’d decided to take a vacation in a quaint little town by the ocean with a population of 4000 but they all seemed relatively happy. Everyone she met greeted her with a smile and or a nod.
She’d set her easel up along the shoreline of a quaint little bay she’d found while hiking. Picturesque in every way, she’d spent every morning there since her arrival until a stranger had come barging onto the scene demanding she explain why she was on his property.
Tall, black hair, with blue eyes that sparkled, she’d stood tall and straight, unwilling to back down. If it was his property, then she’d ask that she be able to visit until her painting was done.
He’d stepped past her and once he’d seen her work, relented his tirade with an, “I suppose so. Long as it doesn’t take too long. I like my privacy.”
“As do I. Rest assured….”
“Giles Harris.”He offered a lean long fingered hand her way and she took his hand and squeezed firmly.
“Mr. Harris, I won’t be longer than it takes to finish. As you can see, I’m nearly done.”
He walked away without a backward glance. What a stuffy fellow, she thought. He’d disturbed the creative flow anyway, so she packed up and left.
Later, at the deli she ran into him again. “Hello Mr. Harris.”
“Hello, he grumbled. “You didn’t stay long this morning.”
“No, I lost the creative urge,” Clair remarked as he examined a beautiful looking apple.
“Your painting was good. I wouldn’t mind seeing the end result. Do you sell your work?”
“Would it surprise you if I said yes?”
He looked directly into her eyes and smiled; she went weak at the knees. Holy hell what a smile! Too bad his personality didn’t have the same glow she thought. “No. I’m pretty sure that what I saw was a sample of some pretty spectacular artistry.”
“I do well enough.”
“I’d like to see your finished work. I would like to buy it.”
“Only if it meets my standards. Otherwise I junk it.”
He looked shocked, “Why? Its exquisite.”
“Perhaps you only think so because it’s your corner of the world.”
“We’ll see. When your done, please, drop by the house and let me have a look, will you?” He handed her a card with his address on it. “It’s difficult to get to from the beach, you’d have to go around the other direction.”
Claire nodded and turned back to choosing fruit and vegetables for dinner. He took the hint nodded and left.
Interesting indeed, on so many levels, she decided with a smile to herself.