Her Best Man. Crystal Green
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took the bait, even though she was only changing the subject again. “Shoot.”
She got to her knees, canting toward the mural. “Don’t hate me, but I’ve been doing more than just rendering cowboys here.”
“Do tell.”
She pointed to a darkened spot that served to transition a gold pan into a shimmering waterfall.
His gaze focused on an ethereal symbol amid the painted transition.
“Tell me that’s not the Eiffel Tower,” he said, leaning closer.
Allaire made a touchdown sign with her arms. “Yes! I wanted to put my personality into this. Eventually, you’re going to be able to pick out my fantasy trip to Europe in the mural—iconic images like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and the Swiss Alps. But you’ll have to look closely.”
D.J. loved the thought of having a part of her in his restaurant. It was like a gift.
She must’ve taken his silence for disapproval, because immediately she seemed worried.
“Is that all right?” she asked.
He latched his gaze to hers, connecting, settling into what was more of a home than he’d ever had. “You shouldn’t wonder about my opinion,” he said. “I’ll always appreciate your work.”
And you, he tacitly added. I’ll always appreciate anything you see fit to give me.
Her gaze brightened, as blue and vivid as the mural’s waterfall, and D.J. told himself it was enough.
At least for now.
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