Chapter 43 

Leslie huffed out a heavy breath as she sat down on her high stool, pulling a cotton handkerchief from the back pocket of her jeans and dabbing at the beads of sweat that clung stubbornly to her forehead. A bottle of water was perched on a stand near her. She reached for it and took two big gulps from it.

"Woo! This is always harder to do than it looks," she muttered, he muscles screaming at her for subjecting them such torture. The air was thick with the scent of paintings and dust.

She had spent the whole afternoon cooped up in her studio, cleaning out the old junk and properly organizing all her painting supplies. Anna had even volunteered to help her out, but she'd chased her away, determined to clean it on her own, giving herself the much-needed distraction from a certain hazel-eyed man. But it was all a futile attempt because, immediately after she stopped whatever she was doing, her thoughts would float to Julian.

"Ugh, why can't I stop thinking about Mr. Iceberg, as B had so