Change of Heart (The Flanagan Sisters, #2) by Claire Boston Page A

yet.
    He frowned. There was something wrong with that thought. Turning around, he saw her sleeping on his outdoor couch. The memory came flooding back of her scaring him and him saying he’d only be a few minutes more. He reached for his phone, already realizing it was late by the long shadows in the garden.
    Six thirty.
    Damn. She’d been here two hours and he’d ignored her. McClane would have normally disturbed him long before to make sure he got fed, but he was sleeping on the couch next to her.
    Carefully he carried the still wet canvas over to the veranda. Carly didn’t stir, so he carried the painting inside and propped it on a spare easel. When he’d finished packing and cleaning up, he went to wake her.
    She was curled up on the couch, her expression calm, a slight smile on her face. It was sweet. “Carly,” he said softly. She didn’t stir.
    “Carly,” he repeated, running his hand gently over her arm. “It’s time to wake up.”
    She murmured something he didn’t catch.
    “Come on, sweetheart. Wake for me.”
    Carly’s eyelids fluttered open and she stared at him. “Oh, have you finished?”
    He nodded. “I’m so sorry. I tend to get distracted when I paint. I’ve been a horrible host.”
    She uncurled and yawned. “Not at all. I must have fallen asleep.”
    “I’m surprised McClane didn’t fetch me. He usually wants dinner by six.”
    “I fed him,” Carly said, stretching. “I just gave him a scoop of the kibble in the pantry. I hope that’s all right.”
    “That’s great.” He was fascinated by this relaxed, slightly sleepy creature in front of him. She didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the fact he’d neglected her for hours, and now she was waking up, she wasn’t the least bit self-conscious. “Do you want to come inside and we’ll order pizza?”
    She brushed her hair out of her face and nodded, getting to her feet. “Did you finish the painting?”
    “Yeah.”
    She followed him into the kitchen and he noticed she’d opened the packet of candy. She was probably starving.
    “How did you do that?” she asked.
    Confused, he turned to her. “Do what?”
    “Remember exactly what the view from my office looks like.”
    She’d recognized it. He wasn’t sure whether she’d even looked at the painting.
    “I don’t know. It’s not exact. It’s more a feeling of colors and shapes.”
    “Can I look at it?”
    “All right.” He took her into his studio, ignoring the damn nerves again. The studio was the biggest room in the house, the one that was meant to be a combined living and dining room. The skylight in the center let in plenty of light and he’d put several dropcloths over the wooden floors to protect them.
    Carly walked straight over to the painting and stared at it. “It’s like standing at my window,” she said. “What will you call it?”
    He hesitated. He knew exactly what to call it, but he wasn’t sure if she’d like it. “Rapunzel.”
    She pursed her lips, a tiny frown between her brow. She gestured to the paintings stacked against a wall and the table covered in sketches. “May I look at some of your other work?”
    She wasn’t going to comment on the title. He didn’t blame her. “Sure.”
    Over at the table, Carly perused his sketches. Her breath caught. “This is lovely. Has Mama seen it?” She was holding one of the sketches he’d done last weekend.
    “Not yet.”
    “She’s going to love them. It feels like I could call out and talk to her.”
    “Thank you.” He constantly told himself he didn’t need his work to be praised, but the truth was, it always gave him a buzz, always reiterated to him that he’d made the right choice by following his dream and not getting a nine-to-five job like his parents had wanted. “Do you want me to order the pizza while you go through them?” His stomach was beginning to rumble.
    “I’ll order it. It’s my turn, remember? Do you want anything in particular?”
    “Whatever you like. I’ll