Darby’s cheeks burned. Had she really just compared his paintings to dessert foods? I mean, really. Cupcakes? She sneaked a peek at the stunned look on his face and wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “Look, if you want to change your mind about working with me, I understand. I don’t know why I’m babbling like an idiot, but in my defense I usually say exactly what I’m thinking. The rest of the time it slips out anyway.” She pulled her scarf from the back of the stool and started winding it around her neck.
“Are you going somewhere?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Well, yeah. Hard to sit here and eat with both feet stuck in my mouth.”
“You think my ego is too big to withstand an honest critique?” He grinned and shook his head. “Darby, I love that you don’t censor your comments. You don’t even know how refreshing that is.”
His smile sent goosebumps racing up her arms. She tried to ignore them and refocus on the reason she was sitting here. Next to Ben. So close their legs were almost touching. Focus, Darby. This is work.
“In answer to your question, no. I won’t be returning to my old style. I’m not that person any more. Farewell, Ben Phillips.” He raised his pint glass in salute before drinking deeply.
She raised her glass in response, taking a sip of her beer. “Unless you plan to paint under another name, I still think we should capitalize on your past fame. Even if people show up expecting more of the same.”
“More cupcakes, you mean?” His eyes twinkled, the ocean blue sparkling like sun-kissed waves. Darby figured he was teasing, not annoyed, but it flustered her nonetheless. Glancing away, she took a steadying breath. She found his rapt attention both unnerving and strangely empowering.
“Right. They might come expecting cupcakes, but we’ll give them a four-course meal instead.” As she explained her ideas for the exhibit layout, she felt her confidence return. Ben nodded and smiled, generally agreeing with the plans she outlined. “The title thing still has me a little stumped,” she finally confessed. “The show is on Valentine’s Day, so I feel like we should capitalize on that, but at the same time many of the images have a dark edge.”
“How about Dark Hearts? Or Journey Through Darkness? Or Heart of Darkness?” Ben threw out suggestions while he polished off his beer. “Or maybe those are books I’ve read lately.”
“I definitely read the last one in high school.” Darby nudged his shoulder with hers. “But I don’t think we want to focus on the dark either, because then that’s all people will see. We want them to feel the other emotions packed into your works.” She leaned back in her seat when the bartender walked over with their dinner, placing the steaming plates on the bar along with silverware and a bottle of ketchup.
“Can I get you two anything else?”
Ben raised his empty glass. “One more beer for me, Pete. Hey, did I introduce you? Darby Malone, this is Pete Wilcox, an old friend of mine from Nauset High School and the owner of this fine establishment.”
She smiled and extended a hand across the bar. “Nice to meet you, Pete.”
“Likewise, Darby. Ben tells me you own the new gallery on Main Street.”
She nodded. “Came home to stir up the art scene on Cape Cod, help give new artists some exposure.”
Pete chuckled. “Then what are you doing with Ben? Maybe he was exciting ten years ago, but his dune paintings are old hat now.”
The heat of Ben’s gaze bore down on her, almost willing her to stay silent. But that wasn’t in her nature. “Ben’s had a real change of heart in his work, and I’m excited to help get the word out.” Something about the phrase clicked in her head. Change of Heart! I like that as a title.
Pete’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Maybe I’ll come by to see this show for myself. When does it open?”
“Valentine’s Day,” Darby supplied before Ben could interrupt. “One day only, with champagne and goodies donated by Ocean Street Spirits, who confirmed this afternoon. I’ll add your name to the mailing list.” She grabbed her pen and flipped to a fresh page in the notebook.
Ben put his hand on top of Darby’s to still her pen, sending a sudden burst of awareness shooting through her. He directed his words toward Pete. “Don’t feel obligated to attend. I’m sure you and Marcie already have Valentine’s plans.”
“Actually, we don’t.” Pete smirked. “Marcie thinks it’s silly to have one special day to celebrate romance, when marriage is supposed to be all about love.” His face blanched when Ben’s back stiffened. “Hey, sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything.”
Ben waved off the apology, but didn’t look up from his plate. He busied himself putting ketchup on his burger. “It’s fine. Really.”
Taking her cue from Ben, Darby shook salt onto her fries and asked Pete for another draft. Pete shot a last look at his friend, before mouthing the word “Sorry” to her, walking off to grab fresh pints. He brought back the refills without another word. When he was out of earshot, Darby turned to Ben. “I think we need to talk about this.”
He didn’t look up from his food, hefting the burger with both hands. “About what?”
“What your show is really about.”
He eyed the burger for another moment before putting it back on the plate and wiping his hands with the napkin. Seeing the sadness in his eyes almost made her take back the question, but Darby needed to know what she was getting herself into. Both with the show and with this man. The more time she spent with him, the more she liked him, but there was no denying the darkness around his edges.
“I mentioned last night that my wife died from cancer.” He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. Darby bit her tongue, waiting for him to continue, not wanting to interrupt. “We were young when we married. Heck, I was only twenty-two when my paintings started to make money. Everything seemed like a game, and I didn’t take anything seriously. By twenty-five, I was earning more money each month than my father. Becca was another Cape Cod artist who was represented by the same galleries, but her work wasn’t as successful. We saw each other at all the parties and openings. We were friends, but never lovers.”
Something didn’t add up. “So why did you marry her?”
“She didn’t have health insurance. I did. Adding a spouse was easy.”
“Because of the cancer,” Darby whispered.
Ben’s laugh sounded bitter. “It was going to be a temporary arrangement. We didn’t realize it was cancer.” He shook his head, rubbing his eyes again. “Anyway, I took care of her for three years, driving her to appointments, helping with the treatments, sitting with her during chemo and radiation and the subsequent hospital stays when her body got too weak. I stopped painting because there was too much to take care of in my real world. Our friends stopped visiting because it was too painful for them to watch her die, and I resented them for it. Mostly because I couldn’t leave. And then she died and I was alone. And angry.”
Tears welled in Darby’s eyes, but she blinked them back, trying to stay strong. She pressed her hand on top of Ben’s, curling her fingers around his.
One side of his mouth quirked up as he looked at the entwined fingers and kept talking. “It was my mother who finally urged me back into my studio. To work out my emotions with my brushes. She was right. It helped exorcise the anger from my system. I was angry at myself for failing her, and angry with the world for the unfairness of it all. But hard as I tried, I couldn’t create the same sort of paintings that made me famous. The light, breezy images were impossible to imagine let alone create. The world took on darker hues, and my paintings reflect that.”
Darby frowned, squeezing his hand. “Your work isn’t all about darkness, though. There’s so much depth, more than you seem to realize. Honestly, I’ve known plenty of self-absorbed artists who only paint anger. One-dimensional. You are much more.”
“Thanks.” He stared at their clasped hands for another long moment. “I’m not sure if I answered your question.”
“Which question?”
“What my show is about.” He looked up, his eyes searching hers. “It’s about closing the door on the pain and loneliness. Ending that chapter of my life and starting over, albeit older and wiser. Actually, the paintings I started today already seem more hopeful.”
She tipped her chin up, warmth coursing through her body at his heated gaze. “You painted today?”
“You inspired me.”