Sindy Kate — Chapter 25

Austen Westley

CLYVE

MY LIFE was back to normal. If being boring I could call it normal, then it was. I made progress forgetting Westley—bollocks—I was just fooling myself to believe I did.

I had not seen her since last week. Keene was staying at her family home since he left the hospital. The last time I spoke to him, he had the same diagnosis, though he was better now that he was under treatment.

Despite Westley and I were not in talking terms, I kept my promise. Good for Keene, and since Westley’s father hired a private nurse for him, I knew he didn’t need me anymore.

Until now, I couldn’t figure out their marriage. Whatever it was, I thought it was better that way—the lesser I knew, the better, and the less the pain I felt. Again, bollocks! It still hurt bloody much.

I purchased a rundown real estate that would take months to be done its renovation. I used the back that served as the studio, and I spent half of my time there alone. In less than an hour, I was going to meet an artist, and if we ended up in good terms, he would work with me.

I just finished half of my acrylic painting of a cherry blossom tree in fall. I stood up from my chair and examined the result. I usually used a brush, but I tried a palette knife, and it looked good than I expected, but something was missing that I couldn’t put my finger on it.

They said paintings were meant to be seen, interpreted, and to be praised, and beauty was always in the eye of the beholder. Maybe what I lack in this piece was some emotion, or it was the same element of chaos I wanted the people to see.

I sighed in frustration.

“That’s pretty good. Maybe a little bit lacking passions or you painted it out of frustration because you wanted to finish it on time,” said the male voice from my back with uncertainty as if he was afraid to offend me.

I turned around—he was the artist who posted his works on the art website. “Sorry, the door is opened. When I asked a man about you, he said I could find you here.”

I needed an artist. The first time I checked his works, I knew he would be a great deal. I emailed him last week to bring his resume if he was interested to work with me, and he replied and willing for an interview.

I wiped my hand against the smock and held out. “You’re younger than the photo in your profile.”

He was around my height—a few years younger than me, athletic, curly chestnut brown messy hair, sharp brown eyes, and days’ worth of scruff. He was wearing a plain white shirt and ripped jeans with leather and threads bracelets. He didn’t look he came from California based on the address from his profile. His skin wasn’t tanned, or he probably spent most of his time in the studio, painting?

I wasn’t entirely expecting him to appear with his outfit for a job interview, but he wasn’t looked like the type of guy who always followed the rules.

He shook my hand. “Mr. Linton, nice to meet you.”

“Glad you made it. Nice to meet you, too. So, do you have a name other than West? Or is it something like a pseudonym?”

“Friends call me West. My name is Austen Westley.”

“Pardon me. Did you just say Westley?” My voice made a pitch cry. My eyes widened as he caught me by surprise.

Bloody hell!

Is this some cosmic joke? Way to forget her, mate. Now, this could be a nightmare having another Westley in my life every bloody day.

“Yes. My mom’s surname. Is there a problem?” He eyed me suspiciously.

“No. I happened to know someone, but I guess it’s a pretty common name around here, yeah?” I removed my smock and hung it on the rack. “There’s a café a few blocks from here. Let’s talk about the job I am offering you when we get there.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Austen walked out of the studio after he handed me his resume.

After washing my hands, I grabbed my phone from the table and dialed Westley. I was tempted to hang up when it took a few rings and she hadn’t picked it up.

“Linton.” My heart hammered in my chest the moment she called my name. Her voice seemed lively compared to the last time we spoke.

Never a bloody day she didn’t visit my thought, but she was married and she betrayed my trust, so it had to end one way or another.

I did a great job of ignoring her messages and her calls until she finally gave up. But not quite on forgetting her though. I still missed her. Terribly.

“Westley.” I locked the door after me, and Austen was inspecting the entire place. I realized they have something in common; their posture, the shape of their faces especially their lips. Dear, God.

“Linton, are you there?”

I blinked and shook my head. “Yeah, I’m here. Do you happen to have a brother?”

“Well, that’s so random for someone who ignored me for days. And you didn’t even say hi or ask me how are you this fine day, Westley?” she mimicked my accent.

“Just answer me, please? I hope this time you’ll answer me truthfully.”

There was a moment of silence from the other line, then she cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, Clyve. I wanted to explain, but you never gave me a freaking chance.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Westley.” My heart ached. I liked her a lot, and if she happened to tell me before I found out, I might have taken the risk because it hurt like hell knowing that we had something, yet we couldn’t be together.

“If you say so,” she said in dismay. “Well, I have a half-brother from my mom. When my father was busy making money and a named for himself, Mom had an affair, and you can fill the gap. I was still a little to tell you the details, but I remember they fought a lot. Mom chose to keep her pregnancy and left my father. That was how Austen Night Westley was born. I haven’t seen him for years. The last time I talked to him, he was in L.A.”

“I see.”

“What is it all about, Linton?”

“We’ll be at the Steaming Café in a few minutes. Might wanna meet someone there?”

“We? And who’s someone?”

“Why don’t you come and join us for a cuppa?”

“Linton?”

“See you there, Westley.” I hung up the phone and walked towards Austen who was leaning against the white wall. “My apology. I just called a friend.”