Free Anywhere You Are by Elisabeth Barrett Page A

long legs. Grace had painted it looking up at the sky, its beak, head, and neck creating a long, elegant slope. When Marc leaned closer, he could clearly see the brushstrokes depicting the intricate layers of plumage on top of the bird’s body in muted shades of brown. There was so much movement, in the way the bird was positioned, in the liveliness of its gaze. She hadn’t yet completed the background, but the canvas had already come to life.
    “It’s an American bittern, an endangered species around these parts. What do you think?”
    That he barely knew her and he wanted her. Badly.
“You’re very talented.”
    “Thank you,” she said, giving him a dazzling smile.
    His mind? Blown.
    His body?
Aching.
    He couldn’t get a handle on her. Up until a little over an hour ago, he’d thought of her as a ridiculous reality show babe, someone who cared about how many social media followers she had or what outfit she was going to wear to the club that night. Since then, she’d saved his ass, taken in his dog, fed him a delicious meal, and showed him that she was much more than skin deep—all without any artifice.
    Before he did something stupid, like take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, he cleared his throat.
    “What’s your process?”
    She lifted a half-finished pencil drawing off the table, examined it closely, then set it back down. “Well, every artist works differently. Personally, I like to do several sketches of my subjects. For plants, I typically keep samples here, but I also like to sketch them in their natural habitats. For animals, habitat is best, but of course that makes it tougher. I sometimes use my own photographs if the conditions are challenging. After the sketches, I do a mock-up, and then I begin the final work. It could take me anywhere from a few weeks to a few months to finish a work, depending on its complexity.”
    “Do you keep your sketches?” he asked.
    “Yes. I usually can’t bear to throw them out.” She shrugged. “They’re just practice, but I always learn something from them.” Grace gave a nervous little laugh.
    He gave her a quizzical look. “What?”
    “It’s just that…well, this is so
normal.
”
    “You don’t do normal?” he surmised.
    “No, I mean, I
do
do normal. I
want
to do normal. Just not with…” She gestured in his direction.
    “Dog owners? Me?”
    She let out a breath. “Men,” she said. “I don’t do normal men. I mean—
crap.
” She looked down, her face flushed. “This is coming out all wrong.”
    “I get it,” he said calmly.
    She raised her gaze to his. “You do?”
    “Sure. I mean, you already told me that people try to take advantage of you,” he said. “I’m guessing they see you as their ticket to fame and fortune.”
    Grace nodded warily. “Some do.”
    “And that they want to parade around with you and be photographed.”
    The corners of her mouth went down. “Unfortunately, yes.”
    “I’m not one of them,” he said simply.
    “About that,” she said, her eyes sliding to the side.
    “What?” he demanded.
    “I need to tell you something. I feel awful because you’ve been so kind, and I—”
    “Grace,” he said. Growled, really, but he couldn’t help it. “Tell me.”
    “A picture of us from the diner made it into the tabloids,” she said quickly. “I was named. You weren’t. I just need you to know.” She paused. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want.”
    Anger flashed—privacy, violated!—then cooled just as quickly. “Why would I leave?”
    “Well, uh, because you’re angry, I would imagine.”
    “I
am
angry,” he said. “But not at you.”
    “That’s it?” she asked, clearly waiting for more.
    “Yes. I don’t appreciate being photographed without my permission. It’s much easier for me to do my job anonymously. And I value my privacy above all else. But it’s clear that you’re as uncomfortable about the publicity as I am. I do, however, appreciate you telling