We stopped at one of her paintings, but it wasn’t his style. Jack lifted his brows and shrugged. Her paintings were very angelic and pure, pictures of small children running around on summer days. I didn’t really know what his style would be, but it definitely wasn’t that. Evelyn’s paintings were more appropriate for elderly people wanting something to remind them of their grandkids.
I made sure Evelyn wasn’t watching us and shook my head, making sure to keep my voice quiet. “Not for you,” I whispered, steering him out of the area.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank f*****g God. I know I gave you the reins on this, but I’ll admit, you had me shitting bricks over there.”
I smacked his arm. “Thanks for having faith in me. Maybe we should go back and get one of those paintings.” I tried
