Time for me, p.1
Time for Me, page 1
TIME FOR ME
A VACATION SWEETHEARTS PREQUEL
JAN THOMPSON
TIME FOR ME (VACATION SWEETHEARTS BOOK 0)
Copyright © 2021 Jan Edttii Lim Thompson
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Published by Georgia Press LLC
Author Website: JanThompson.com
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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This book is a work of fiction. All characters, persons, places, events, and things either are the product of the author’s active imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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Cover Design: Georgia Press & Deranged Doctor Design
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eBook ISBN 978-1-944188-81-8
Paperback ISBN 978-1-944188-80-1
To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who died on the cross to save me from my sins and rose again from the grave to give me eternal life in heaven.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.
―John 3:16
CONTENTS
About TIME FOR ME
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
The Next Book is SMILE FOR ME
SMILE FOR ME Chapter 1
Read a Free Novel!
Acknowledgments
Books by Jan Thompson
Savannah Sweethearts
Vacation Sweethearts
Seaside Chapel
Protector Sweethearts
Defender Sweethearts
Binary Hackers
About Jan Thompson
ABOUT TIME FOR ME
VACATION SWEETHEARTS PREQUEL
When art gallery archivist Sheryl Breckenridge tries to get world-famous sculptor Winton Pace to display his artwork at Simon’s Gallery, she doesn’t expect him to fall in love with her. Will she reciprocate in this friends-to-more romance?
Time for Me is the prequel novella in USA Today bestselling author Jan Thompson’s Vacation Sweethearts series. We first meet Sheryl in Ask You Later (A Savannah Sweethearts Prequel) and Winton Pace in Draw You Near (Savannah Sweethearts Book 3). In Time for Me, we revisit Simon’s Gallery, which is mentioned a few times in previous Savannah Sweethearts stories.
SHE NEEDS A PERSONAL FAVOR…
Eight years ago, art gallery archivist Sheryl Breckenridge watched Abilene—the owner of the gallery she works in—break sculptor Winton Pace’s heart. Today, Abilene is happily married to someone else and has moved out of the country. Abilene still owns Simon’s Gallery in Savannah, Georgia, and that’s the sticking point. The gallery is not doing well and needs an infusion of publicity. The director wants Sheryl to persuade Winton to display some of his bronze sculptures in the gallery, in the hope of attracting more business. So off to Folly Island, South Carolina, Sheryl goes.
HE NEEDS A PLUS-ONE…
Winton Pace does not want to have anything to do with the gallery owned by his ex-girlfriend, Abilene. However, he needs a plus-one to his sister’s wedding in Charleston in a couple of days. When his good friend Sheryl shows up at his beach house, asking for a favor, he makes a deal with her. If she would accompany him to the wedding to appease his mother, he will let Sheryl take home a few of his bronze pieces to display at Simon’s Gallery.
WHERE DO THEY GO FROM HERE?
One thing leads to another, and Winton and Sheryl end up attending a charity dinner together in Atlanta. Where do they go from here? Does it help that seven years ago, Winton did ask Sheryl out, but she declined? They have remained friends all these years, but have things changed between them now?
Time for Me (Vacation Sweethearts Book 0)
JanThompson.com/time
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CHAPTER ONE
Driving more than two hours to Folly Beach, South Carolina, wasn’t Sheryl Breckenridge’s idea of work, but to keep her job as the archivist at Simon’s Gallery, she had to do what Baxter asked of her. The gallery director and registrar had repeated ad nauseam that the gallery was in the red and would soon be out of business, taking both of their jobs with it.
So off Sheryl drove out of state.
She knew that the hotel was a dump and would probably do a number on her respiratory allergies, but she could not afford to get a better hotel room. Times were tough at Simon’s Gallery. Sometimes Sheryl wondered why gallerist Abilene Cargill didn’t infuse more of her own money into the gallery, considering that she and her husband were both billionaires. Then again, the establishment hadn’t shown a profit in five or six years.
It was up to Sheryl and Baxter to save the gallery.
In more ways than one, Sheryl didn’t appreciate Baxter’s taking advantage of her past friendships with artists, especially Winton Pace, who Baxter hoped could save Simon’s Gallery. World-renowned reputation aside, the sculptor was not only a loner, but he was also difficult to please. His private collection of sculptures he never showed to the public—which Sheryl had seen—said all kinds of things about who the man was.
And Sheryl knew Winton more than many other people. After all, she was his go-to friend whenever he got himself into a woe-is-me moment.
Therein was the rub.
No, she did not want to take advantage of Winton. She decided on the drive here that she would tell him the truth from the get-go and let him decide if he wanted to help the gallery owned by his ex-girlfriend, Abilene, who still seemed to affect his present-day decision-making.
I need a lot of prayer, Lord!
Maybe she didn’t need to keep her job at Simon’s Gallery. Once she told Winton the truth about their business meeting today, her job could be over. Winton would probably say no to whatever Baxter wanted Sheryl to propose.
Ah, then she could make the drive from Folly Beach back to Savannah tonight and sleep in her own bed.
Then again, with Winton Pace, one never knew which way it’d go.
Before she finished listening to an audiobook, Sheryl found herself skirting Charleston to Folly Beach, where the sculptor owned an oceanfront retreat few outsiders had ever visited. In fact, only a small handful of people had seen the interior of that custom-designed beach house. Winton had turned the entire house into an art gallery for his exclusive bronze sculptures.
Any art gallery would love to display those pieces, each unique, without multiple editions.
If they were so expensive, why house them in a beach house exposed to annual barrages of hurricanes?
Sheryl rolled her eyes as she rolled down the windows to catch the April breeze. Driving through the billowing wind, she heard her engine loud and clear. “On your last leg.”
If she could get a pay raise, she’d buy a newer used car.
But first she’d make sure both her grandparents had enough money for food and lodging at the Savannah Senior Living Resort. Thanks to their military service to the country, SSLR had given them a veteran’s discount, but that wasn’t a hundred percent of the scholarship. Sheryl still had to foot the rest.
So. Yeah, I need to keep my job.
Finding another job like she had might be hard. She had a good rapport with the gallery director, although he sometimes made her do things she didn’t want—like go talk to a good friend about saving the gallery.
Truly, why would Winton accommodate her?
Then again, Sheryl prayed that Winton would come through for them. If he didn’t, the gallery would close.
Of course, Sheryl could always find another job, but how many galleries were there in Savannah? She loved her job as archivist. Dealing with artists and patrons, and cataloging all the artwork that ever went through Simon’s Gallery, gave Sheryl a lot of happiness, so Baxter thought that she could handle asking Winton to salvage what could be saved of their careers.
Sheryl hated how Baxter tried to take advantage of her friendship with only the best sculptor in the western hemisphere. Sure, she had known Winton for ten years since he’d dated Abilene Cargill, nee Dupree, before she married a British art collector who bought the gallery for her from Simon Kowalski, who had since retired to Arizona.
On the day of Abilene’s wedding, Winton was brokenhearted. Sheryl brought him a box of chocolates, which he’d tossed into the Savannah River—thereby earning him a ticket for littering. He then quit his art instructor job at the local college, sold his beach house on Tybee Island, and moved out of state to Charleston, South Carolina, eventually buying a new beach house on Folly Beach.
“Lord Jesus, show me what to say,” Sheryl prayed aloud as she approached Winton’s home.
The house was plantation style, but Sheryl knew it was brand new when Winton built it eight years ago. He hadn’t been back to Savannah since then. And now here she ca me to drag him back into his past.
“I’m not really a salesperson. Why would Winton listen to me? More critically, why would he want to display his art pieces in his ex-girlfriend’s art gallery?”
Her ringing phone startled her.
“Call from Baxter,” her phone’s artificial voice said.
“I’m driving!” She yelled into the wind and decided not to take the call.
CHAPTER TWO
Winton Pace stared at the ocean from his balcony and felt bored, the very reason that had made him say yes when Sheryl Breckenridge had called, out of the blue, and asked for a business meeting. He hadn’t seen her in a while, though they sometimes emailed and texted. Winton considered Sheryl a friend, someone he could count on.
She had rarely asked for his help, so coming here on a business trip must be pretty serious.
On normal days, he would have said no when Baxter asked for a meeting. However, boredom trumped bravery. Besides, Baxter had sent Sheryl, and for some reason, Winton wanted to see her.
Am I really that bored?
Truly, how could he be bored? He could always carve another sculpture.
But he would have no one to give it to.
And besides, he didn’t feel inspired. He was tired of the same old bronze pieces he’d been creating for the better part of seven years. They had filled galleries all over the world, entered private collections, and been auctioned off for charity.
Sure.
And yet…
Yet something was missing.
He turned away from the ocean, dragged himself into the living room, and studied the sketch on the coffee table.
“What is that blob? What is this nonsense?” He ripped the page out of his sketchbook, tore it into several pieces, and threw them onto the marble floor.
He turned the page and picked up a pencil. It was blunt, but who cared. He stared at the blank paper.
Without a sketch, he couldn’t create his one-of-a-kind bronze sculptures. Well, other artists might be able to, but he always began with a sketch on paper before he formed the sculpture in clay. This year he hadn’t sent the foundry any clay pieces to be cast into bronze. They patiently waited for him to get inspired.
And inspired he hadn’t been.
He barely heard the phone ring the first time.
When the caller kept calling and hanging up, he knew who it was.
When the phone rang again, he answered. “Mom, I’m busy.”
No, he wasn’t. He was stuck in a rut. His creativity was in a quicksand, and there was no way out.
“I found you a plus-one for your sister’s wedding,” Mom said in her singsong voice.
“Mom.” Winton drew a deep breath. “Irma said I didn’t need to bring anyone.”
“But the wedding is two days away.”
“So?”
“Petra needs a date. You need a date. I solved two problems at once.”
“Petra?” Winton about choked. “Plastic-surgery Petra?”
“She’s working on a better version of herself.”
“How many versions of herself can she have?” Winton almost regretted saying that. But this was Petra, who had started naturally beautiful before her lack of confidence took over her trust fund.
Petra had been waiting for Winton to sculpt a portrait of her. He kept sending her to another sculptor, but she refused to go. It had to be Winton or no one.
“Winton, please. She’s a nice girl.”
“Mom, how old am I?” Winton leaned back on the couch.
“Thirty-seven and not getting younger.”
“Exactly. I’m not your baby anymore. Stop setting me up with unmarried daughters of people you kinda know.”
Mom made a noise. “You’re just like your dad. Stubborn.”
The doorbell rang.
Usually, Winton let Glenna get it. The housekeeper was like an aunt he never had, and she certainly didn’t meddle like Mom often did. Winton paid Glenna well to keep his house nice and photography ready even though he rarely had visitors.
The doorbell rang again.
“Glenna!” Winton called.
No answer.
He glanced at his watch. Oh. It was after five.
He remembered now that Glenna left at five o’clock every Wednesday evening to go to midweek church, where she helped with middle school activities.
He heard voices and noises coming from the kitchen, where his personal chef and her sous chefs were busy preparing dinner.
“Mom, I have to run. Someone’s at the door, and Glenna’s left.” Before Mom could keep chattering on about Petra the Prettier-than-Before, Winton hung up.
He closed his sketchpad and dragged himself to the front door.
The peephole showed a worried face.
Sheryl Breckenridge.
That woman needed some spice in her life. Something to make her smile. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, but he dared not entertain it.
He unlocked the door and opened it.
A wind blew through the front porch, making Sheryl’s dark-brown hair go all askew, covering her face. She tried to push it all away, quickly tying it up into a ponytail using a hair band she found in her purse.
Winton smiled. “Nice to see you again, and I mean it this time.”
“I thought you weren’t home.” Sheryl extended her hand.
“Why are we shaking hands? Come here.” He stepped outside his door and hugged his friend.
She stiffened. Stepped back. “I’m here for business.”
“I know you are. Would you like to get out of the wind and come inside?” Winton held the door.
When Sheryl walked by him, he noticed the tiny baby curls at the base of her neck. They were the things he remembered seeing the first time he met her, back when his ex-girlfriend, Abilene, had taken him to the gallery where she was an art teacher and Sheryl was a gallery assistant, before Sheryl worked her way up to archivist by way of a master’s degree in fine arts, which she’d earned by going to night school for one year and then spending the next school year full time on campus.
Even though Abilene had long left Winton’s life—now living outside London with a husband and two kids—Sheryl was still working at the gallery.
Still, he felt a lingering hurt that he couldn’t shake off. He had created a bronze figurine just for Abilene. After all his hard work, he’d found out that she had moved on. She had returned the sculpture to him. He kept it in a box somewhere in the basement, unable to look at it or sell it.
He should let it go. After all, Abilene reminded him of what he had lost.
On the other hand, Sheryl reminded him that life went on, although they were only friends. He had tried to date her on the rebound, but Sheryl had refused to go out with him except as a friend.
Perhaps that had been how they’d remained friends over the years. They had to be since they worked in the same industry and interacted in the course of work.
Was Sheryl still single today?
He wondered if he should pry.
He closed the front door and locked it. He didn’t know the neighbors, and he wasn’t sure who else would walk up to the door and into his private gallery of unsold sculptures.
“I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Sheryl said in the hallway. “Just need to ask you a question. Say yes, and I’ll have more to talk about—plus some paper for you to sign—but say no, and I’ll leave. That way you can get back quickly to your artistic endeavors.”
