Ch. 3

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    The knock on the studio door startles me, I'm nowhere near ready for Flynn to see my work. I pick up some of my clothes and start shoving them back into the black garbage bag they spilled out of. "Coming!" I yell. Not even halfway done. Screw it! I toss the bag on my mattress. That's as good as its gonna get. Unbolting the door I swing it open, jumping back when I see Truex in front of me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, confused. "Is Mya, okay?" I ask, worriedly.

"She's fine. We just didn't think it was smart for you to be meeting some random guy alone." He replies.

"He's not random. I've been to his gallery." I say, irritated that they would think I'd be that stupid.

He shrugs, not saying anything. "Fine, come in." I offer, going back to picking up my clothes. I look at the clock on the wall, its 20 to 6. I still have some time to get this mess cleared up. Putting my clothes in the corner of the room out of the way, I then start neatly stacking boxes against the wall.

"You can't live here." He comments, from behind me.

"Funny, because I already am." I challenge, feeling my hackles rise from his tone of voice.

"That door is basically patched together rotted wood and there's no heat in here." He states, looking around the small room.

I point to my space heater. He doesn't even look. "You're staying with us, until you get the new studio."

"And give up this life of luxury, not happening." I reply, refocusing on tidying up.

"Yes." He states, strongly.

I roll my eyes at his response. "How long have we known each other? In what universe did you think telling me I was moving in with you two would be a good idea?"

"Fair enough. Would you like to move in until you can afford another place?"

"humm...I don't know.'' I say, pretending to think about it.

"Briar." He warns. I smile, knowing I'm testing his patience.

"Yes. Just stop begging." I tease, kind of relieved. I didn't count on how cold the nights are here. Even with the space heater, I still freeze. ''Thanks, by the way. You have my word I'll be out as soon as I possibly can." I say, meeting his eyes so he knows that I truly mean it.

He doesn't respond and I don't ask him to, because the knock on the door distracts me. I smooth out my hair just before opening the door.  "Hi, Flynn. Thanks for driving all the way out here."

"My pleasure." He replies, kissing both my cheeks. I stand aside, letting him come in and close the door. I turn around and almost run into his back.

"Oh, sorry. This is, Truex Marshall. Truex this is Flynn Simmons, he owns the art gallery I was telling you about."  I state, awkwardly. My nerves starting to get the best of me, this happens every time I show any of my pieces. With Truex here its even more nerve wrecking. I've been rejected from gallery after gallery, to say I have butterflies in my stomach would be an understatement.

Flynn holds out his hand. "I know who he is."

Stunned. I ask, "You know each other?"

Flynn, laughs. "No, I just know of him. Big football fan." He explains.

"Oh." I smile, uncomfortably. Not knowing how to respond, so I get down to business. ''Well, here's my work." I offer, gesturing to the stacks of canvases leaning against all available wall space. "I'm sorry its not displayed better. I'm working on getting a bigger place." I explain, apologetically.

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