With Me In Seattle Book 13
By Kristen Proby
Now available.
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From New York Times Bestselling Author Kristen Proby comes Dream With Me, an all-new addition to the series that has sold more than a million copies to date, her beloved With Me In Seattle Series!
Kane O’Callaghan knows what it is to have his work shown all over the world. His pieces are on display in palaces and museums, including the O’Callaghan Museum of Glass just outside of his beloved hometown of Seattle. Kane is a bit of a recluse, spending time on his farm alone and committed to his art. His life is full.
Until the day he meets her.
Wandering through museums is Anastasia Montgomery’s favorite way to spend her time. Not only does art feed her soul, but it inspires her own art of designing wedding cakes. When her muse seems to be gone, she finds her again among the beauty in the museums of Seattle, and the O’Callaghan Museum of Glass is her favorite. She’s never met the artist, but he must be absolutely brilliant, if he can make such beautiful things out of glass.
Bumping into a grumpy stranger at the museum wasn’t in Anastasia’s plan. And then discovering it was Kane himself was absolutely humiliating.
But when she sees him again at a charity fundraiser, and ends up spending an incredible, unforgettable night with the mysterious glass smith, Anastasia finds herself thinking of Kane and little else, even her precious work. Will this relationship bloom into the romance of a lifetime, or will their dreams of success get in the way of true love?
* * * *
Chapter One
~Anastasia~
“This isn’t going to work.”
I blow out a breath and stare at the shit-tastic mess I’ve scribbled on my sketch pad in disgust.
The idiots who hired me, and no, I don’t always refer to my clients as idiots, didn’t give me a place to start. When a couple wants a wedding cake, they usually come to me with photos they’ve pinned on Pinterest or found in magazines. They have colors and flowers they prefer.
They have a bloody vision.
But the people who marched into my bakery a month ago? They had none of that.
“We want you to go with your own vision,” they said with wide-eyed smiles and imaginary cartoon hearts bursting over their heads. “You’re an artist, and we wouldn’t dream of intruding on your process.”
I appreciate their vote of confidence. I really do. And sometimes clients are too stringent in what they want.
“I want exactly this,” some brides will say, and I have to gently remind them that I don’t copy others’ work.
But at least tell me what the colors of your flowers are. Throw me a damn bone!
It’s not my wedding.
I’ve been in the wedding cake biz for a dozen years, and while living in California, I was lucky enough to be on Best Bites TV, designing and executing massive works of sugar that would make the most discerning of art critics weep with joy.
But now I live near my hometown of Seattle, Washington, where my family is, and I’ve opened a new business here. I love it. It fuels me and exhausts me, just as a person’s passion should.
But today, there’s nothing in my well of ideas. My muse has decided to go on vacation and didn’t give me any warning.
Fucking muse.
When this happens, which isn’t often, I find it’s best to step away from my kitchen.
So I pack up my sketch book and pencils, get in the car, and get ready to battle Seattle traffic.
Once in the car, I call my sister, Amelia. She likes to go to museums with me, and sometimes the conversation alone will get my mind churning with new ideas.
“Hello, favorite sister,” she says when she answers.
“I’m headed over to the glass museum,” I say immediately. “Wanna go?”
“I would love to, but I’m recording today, and I have to do three videos to catch up. I’m sorry.”
Lia is a super successful YouTube sensation. She films makeup tutorials and reviews products. With more than three million followers and her own makeup brand in the works, I just couldn’t be prouder of her.
Not to mention, she has a new husband that keeps her more than busy.
“I get it. I miss you, though. I haven’t seen you in weeks. So let’s try to do a girl’s night out, okay?”
“Yes, please. I’m down for that.”
“Soon. Like, tomorrow night.”
“Hold please.” She pulls the phone away from her mouth but doesn’t bother to cover it, so I can hear everything. “Wyatt? Babe, Stasia’s on the phone and wants to do girl’s night tomorrow night. Do we have plans? Oh, right.”
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, surprised that traffic through downtown is as light as it is.
“Hey, sorry, I can’t tomorrow night. We’re supposed to go to a gala for the new cardiothoracic wing at the hospital. Jace asked us weeks ago.”
Just to warn you right now, our family is big and a little confusing. You might need a diagram and a PhD in astrophysics to figure out who belongs to whom and how we all fit together.
Wyatt is Amelia’s husband. His brother, Jace, is the chief of staff in cardiothoracic surgery at Seattle General. Jace is a big deal. Actually, there’s a lot of that in our family.
“We’ll find a night to get together,” I reply.
“Actually, you should come with us,” Lia says, excitement in her voice. “I have dresses you can borrow, and I’ll totally do your hair and makeup. It’ll be fun. Say yes. Say it right now.”
“Like my ass will fit in any of your dresses. Besides, I have so much work, Lia. I can’t waste a whole day on a gala where I won’t know anyone.”
“You’ll know me and Wyatt. And Jace and Joy. Levi and Starla will be there, too.”
I sigh because deep down, I want to go. I don’t get to dress up often, and I love hanging out with Wyatt’s brothers and their wives. Not to mention, I never get to see my own sister.
But I have a wedding cake due on Saturday morning that’s only half-decorated, and I really have to get this other cake designed so I can get to work on it first thing on Sunday.
“You’re too quiet. You’re thinking of a way you can ditch work so you can go, so just do it.”
I bite my lip. If I stay up all night tonight finishing Saturday’s cake, I can make it work.
“Okay. I’ll go.”
“Yay,” Lia says with a little squeak, making me laugh. “Be at my house by noon so we can start getting ready.”
“What time is the gala?”
“Eight,” she says.
“It will not take eight hours to get ready.”
“You’re going to look like a goddess when I’m through with you,” Lia promises. “See you tomorrow!”
She hangs up and I wrinkle my nose. The guilt of taking time I don’t have away from work settles between my shoulder blades.
But one of the things I’ve been working on this year is taking more time for me. I moved out of California because it was killing me. I was working fifteen-hour days, seven days a week, and the result of that was illness and despair. I’ve battled asthma all my life, and the long hours, and some of the spices in the bakery, were hell on me. Now I have my own shop, where I can control the environment, along with how many hours a day I work, and I admit, my asthma has been better. Taking care of myself is important.
And taking one day to be with my family is part of that self-care.
Working through the night is totally worth it.
* * * *
This was the right call. Being out of the bakery today and immersed in art is exactly what I needed for a fresh perspective. Soaking in someone else’s art always renews my passion for my own creativity.
It seems my muse likes to hang out in museums.
And the O’Callaghan Museum of Glass in Seattle is my very favorite of all of them.
I’m sitting on a bench in the middle of one of the exhibit rooms, soaking it all in.
I’ve never met Kane O’Callaghan, the artist that creates such beauty. He seems to love color, as it’s splashed around me. In this room, the glass is shaped like water, waves crashing on beaches with marine life floating around it. Blues, greens and white with splashes of yellow and red here and there are all tickling my senses.
I can practically hear the water around me.
With the hair standing on my skin, I reach for my sketch pad and pencils, and with my legs crossed, I get to work.
People walk past me, but I hardly notice them. I’m consumed by the design that’s taking shape in my head and on the paper. I take breaks, looking up at the glass, the color, the fluidity of the work, and then keep sketching.
I don’t know if I’ve ever drawn a full concept so quickly.
Once I’ve finished, I take a deep breath and notice my chest is just beginning to feel heavy, and I glance around, surprised to see a man sitting on the bench opposite of mine, watching me with lazy brown eyes.
“Can I help you?” I ask the handsome stranger. He has dark hair, with matching stubble on his chin and eyelashes framing those almost black eyes.
“I was just going to ask you the same question,” he says with a voice laced with milk chocolate.
“I’m just enjoying the exhibit,” I say with a polite smile.
“Looks like you’re enjoying your little drawing there,” he replies, nodding at the pad in my lap. I close it and drop the smile.
“Just working,” I say.
“In a museum?”
I blow out a breath of impatience. “Do you work here?”
He tilts his head to the side, watching me. “Not really.”
“Then it’s none of your business, is it?”
“Are you one of those people who sits in museums and copies the art there because you can’t come up with original work of your own?”
“Are you always an asshole, or just today?” I retort, getting more pissed by the second. “Surely I’m not the only person in the world who gets inspired by art. In fact, I think that’s the point of it.”
He doesn’t say anything, just blinks and watches me quietly. He’s not creepy. I don’t get a dangerous vibe from him. If I did, I’d run out of here alerting security.
“Can I see the sketch?” he asks, surprising me.
“It’s just a—”
“I’d still like to see it.” His lips tip up in a half smile that would melt far stronger women than me, and he holds his hand out, waiting for me to pass over my pad.
Finally, I flip through the pages to what I was just working on and hand it to the handsome stranger.
His eyes narrow as he examines the crude drawing. I instantly wish I’d used more color and been more thorough, but it’s only supposed to be for my eyes. A guideline for when I start decorating the cake in just a couple of days.
“There is no water here,” he says in surprise and looks up at me. “It doesn’t look anything like the glass in this room.”
“Why would it?” I frown. “I’m inspired, not copying. Besides, that’s just a sketch, so when I make the final piece, I’ll know what I was thinking when I thought it up.”
“I see.” He passes it back to me. “I like it very much. You’ve got a good eye.”
Is that a slight accent I hear in his voice? I take a deep breath, relieved that the heaviness is gone from my lungs, and if I’m not mistaken, I can smell him. It’s a lovely, woodsy scent that’s light and masculine and, well, sexy.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He shrugs a shoulder and glances around the room. “Remembering, I suppose.”
Before I can ask him what he means by that, a woman comes rushing into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
“Kane, we need you in the storeroom. Now, when you see what happened, don’t kill anyone.”
“If a piece is broken, I can’t guarantee that I won’t commit murder.” He glances back at me. “I guess our pleasant visit is over then.”
“Wait. Are you Kane O’Callaghan?”
“One and the same.” He stands and holds his hand out to shake mine. “And you are?”
“Embarrassed,” I mutter as I slide my hand into his. “I won’t tell you I love your work. I guess that’s clear enough.”
“But an artist never tires of hearing it,” he replies with a wink before nodding at the frazzled woman. “Have a good time. And take all the time you need.”
With that, he hurries away, and I’m left in this amazing room, flustered.
I just met Kane O’Callaghan. I showed him my sketch. He was a bit gruff, borderline rude, and I managed to call him an asshole.
“Good one, Anastasia.”