The furniture of wood, leather, and glass looked both comfortable and stylish without being a statement. It actually looked like someone lived here in...tead of being some avant-garde show piece.Alison, if it was Alison, went straight to a spindly-legged stand next to the stairs and pulled out her checkbook. She tapped her lips with a pen and considered something. "I think I'll go with a case of those peanut butter ones this year. Eddie will want a case of the thin mints, though."While most. “I don’t think so. I…can’t idolize an artist.” I bit my lip, “I love the paintings. I pity the painters.” His eyes widened. “Fascinating,” he growled. “…Explain.” “I don’t know,” I breathed. “The better they were, I think, the more they suffered. Like van Gogh.” His face was stern, and solemn. “And yet you want to paint.” I laughed nervously. “Yeah, well—I’m not that good. So I shouldn’t have to worry.” “But you could be,” he cocked his head. “You could be great. If you’re not afraid to. More

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