Sparing the Heart (Pastime Pursuits #3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

I prepped all four years of high school for college. I couldn’t wait to go and be part of that world. I finally paid off my loans, and it was worth every penny. I’m thirty-five and I already ran my own business. Sure, my business degree hasn’t made me some Forbes 500 CEO of a large corporation or anything, but I do okay.  
    “I’ve gotta go.”
    He turns to walk away and someone who sounds like me shouts “Wait!”
    Delivery guy, Steve, whoever, stops and waits for me to say something. Words are swirling in my head, but I can’t make a sentence because I don’t really have anything to say. Why did I want him to stop? To talk maybe? I want to have a long conversation with a human being. Lunch with Gretchen was great, and bowling was a fun night out. I want more of that. I need more of that. I’m cooped up in this condo by myself. I talk to clients, but outside of work, who am I?
    Then it hits me. “Never mind.”
    I know exactly who I am. I’m the lady so desperately in need of friends she tries to hang out with her pizza delivery guy.
    I’m pathetic.

Chapter
  Six

    My attempted interaction with the pizza guy convinced me to text Gretchen for a night out. She quickly jumped at the chance to spend time with the girls, so she invited Tiffany, too. Tonight we’re enjoying a little painting and a lot of wine.
    I’ve never attended a paint night before. People post on Facebook all the time about them, and they seem like a ton of fun. I meet Gretchen and Tiffany at the studio. I’m ready for laughs, companionship, and, considering my painting skills, embarrassment.
    Our instructor is a petite woman named Amy. She’s lived in Madison her entire life and has been quite the artist since she was twelve years old. She assures us this will be easy, but I’m nervous. Everything I draw can be mistaken for the same thing — a horse — so my confidence is lost. I’m here for fun, though, not to become an artist.
    The image is specific to the area — a breathtaking sunset over the Capital. The light shimmers over the lake and a sailboat is passing by. The burnt oranges and bold pinks in the horizon intimidate me, so I take another drink. Drinking two nights in a row is excessive for me, but I’ll lay low next weekend.
    The first thing she does is give us a carbon piece of paper. We take that over to a table and trace the pattern onto our canvas.
    “Wait? We don’t actually draw this ourselves?” I ask Amy.
    “Nope. I told you this would be easy.” She winks at me.  
    “I didn’t expect it to be this simple.” Tiffany and Gretchen each take a turn tracing the template and we meet back at the table.
    The setup is intimate, which I love. There are three tables with four chairs, except our table, which is only the three of us. I’m sitting next to Gretchen and Tiffany is on the other side. The studio offers more than paint nights. The shelves surrounding us contain different items, such as plates, mugs, and other trinkets people can decorate.  
    “On your chairs you’ll find a smock. Be sure to put this on because if the acrylic splashes on your clothes, it’s almost impossible to clean.”
    I touch the fabric of my blouse. Since this is a girl’s night, I wanted to look my best, which meant putting on my favorite top, my most slimming skirt, and my red hot heels. Now I’m regretting this outfit.
    Amy sets a paint tray next to each station and tells us she’ll guide us through step by step how to smear the brush against the picture. “Don’t follow the instructions verbatim, though. This is your painting. Make it your own. Even following what I say, everyone’s will turn out different.”
    “She has no idea,” Tiffany says from behind her canvas. “Anything that has to do with art is impossible for me.” She peeks her head around. “I just came for the wine.”
    “Speaking of … “ Right on cue a bottle of wine is placed on our table along with three glasses.
    I pour a glass for each of us as