After taking Maltie to do her business, the two tiptoed up the stairs, and Shelby flung open Angelina’s bedroom door. “Morning, sunshine!”
A groan and a pillow over red curls resulted from Shelby’s outburst. Maltie jumped onto the bed and began a frantic attempt to rescue the suffocating girl.
“How about going to the riverfront market with me?”
Flailing an arm at the dog, Angelina muttered something that sounded like she’d stayed out too late.
Immediately aware of her responsibilities in her mother’s absence, Shelby edged a hip onto the mattress and helped Maltie turn back the comforter. “You weren’t out drinking, were you?”
Angelina slanted an eye at her. “No, dancing. The only intoxication occurred about midnight when we tackled Renfro’s by the River’s death by chocolate. I think I gained five pounds. Now can I please sleep? This is my only day to stay in bed.”
Shelby took the extra pillow and smashed it into Angelina’s head. “Fine, but you’re missing a beautiful morning.”
“Leave the dog. She’s sweet, unlike you.”
Half an hour later, wearing a navy sundress and sandals with her hair in a low, side ponytail, Shelby parked at Eighth Street and joined the families and couples making their way to the river walk. Was she the only person alone? As their pedestrian group passed street corner musicians spouting bright jazz notes through brass instruments, a mom pushing a stroller offered Shelby a tentative smile. Did she recognize her?
Shelby pulled her hair farther around her face. She should have worn a hat. The last thing she wanted was the millionth repeat conversation about her tragic loss.
She stopped at the first vendor offering muffins and coffee and bought her breakfast, then perched on a brick wall to share the muffin with a trio of bold pigeons. The squeals of children enjoying the last summery days with a romp in the huge fountain nearby thrust the familiar fist of pain into Shelby’s middle. She and Chet had started discussing a family about a month before the accident. Something else that would never be.
Reminding herself of her mission, Shelby noticed a tent across the way where a young brunette artist displayed a professional-looking collection of watercolors. Even from this distance, she distinguished impressive likenesses of the Augusta Canal, Sacred Heart Church, 1794 Meadow Garden, and Imperial Theatre. Tossing her muffin wrapper in a trash can, Shelby started to cross over to investigate when a man coming from the opposite direction delivered a brown paper-wrapped package. The artist jumped up and gave him an enthusiastic hug. The man’s stance made Shelby pause. Masculine. Casual. But non-threatening, stopping just short of self-effacing. One hand on his hip as he talked to the artist. And that ball cap. Scott.
A musical burst of laughter issued from the vendor. Curious, Shelby edged up to the nearest booth with handmade leather, metal, and beaded jewelry. The earthy tones drew her, especially one delicate bracelet featuring a hammered bronze cross, though she hardly knew why. Looking at all that shabby chic stuff for Ruby must be getting to her. Regardless, she tried it on while cutting her gaze to Scott and the girl.
The artist touched Scott’s arm. “You’re so sweet. I knew I could count on you.”
Through the mesh wire displaying paintings, Shelby made out long mahogany layers framing hazel eyes, bow lips, and a heart-shaped face. The girl wore a softly draping, forest-green shirt and jeans that flattered petite curves.
The young jewelry vendor appeared at Shelby’s elbow. Her auburn hair swung forward as she gestured to the bracelet. “That’s one of my favorite pieces. Do you like it?”
“Oh, um, yes.”
“Hey, aren’t you Shelby Dodson?”
The enthusiastic question drew the attention of the two standing in front of the next booth. They turned. Scott beamed.
“Well, hi, Shelby!”
She responded with a sheepish grin. “Hi.”
“I knew it!” The jewelry crafter shook her finger at Shelby. “I loved your show. Recorded every episode. I watch all the other fix-it shows, but none of them are as good as yours. Gee, I miss it.”
“Thank you.” Shelby attempted to secure her slipping smile. “I do too.” Scott admired the bracelet on her wrist. “That’s nice. Are you going to get it?”
“Oh.” She undid the clasp and slid the item back onto the display rack. “I’m going to think about it. Thank you.” She made eye contact with the disappointed seller, who gave a polite nod and encouraged her to return.
“Just shopping around?” Scott asked as Shelby stepped out of the jewelry booth.
“Actually, I’m looking for decorative pieces for the Wentworths.”
“Oh, then come meet my old friend, Caitlyn Curtis, and check out her art.”
“I do like to include the work of local artists, especially when they depict local scenes. And these are very good.” Shelby gave the paintings an admiring glance as Caitlyn approached and shook her hand. If she recognized Shelby from the TV show, she gave no indication.
Scott didn’t go into elaborate introductions as he came up behind her either. In fact, he seemed to assume Caitlyn knew who Shelby was. He nudged Caitlyn’s arm. “Shelby needs some artwork for the Wentworth renovation I told you about.”
Caitlyn stirred at the prospect of a sale—or maybe at Scott’s touch. “Oh, what are you looking for?”
Shelby examined a collection of neighborhood prints at the back of the booth. “I like these, especially this streetscape of antique shops and restaurants on Broad, and … is this Heard Avenue?”
“Yes.”
Scott beamed. “The Wentworths would love a print of their own neighborhood.”
“I agree. I’ll take these two, but I’m just getting started with my shopping.”
Caitlyn stepped forward, her hand resting on her hip. “Oh, no problem. I can wrap them for you and hold them here. You can stop back by later to pick them up.” Her gaze shifted to Scott. “Or—better yet—I’ll drop them by to your folks’ business on my way home. I’ve been meaning to take a peek at the space for lease next door that you told me about, anyway.”
Glancing at Scott for his reaction, Shelby knit her brow. Sounded to her like Caitlyn was more interested in arranging extra time alone with Scott than sparing Shelby inconvenience.
Scott didn’t seem to find anything wrong with the plan. His face brightened, and he shrugged. “Sure. I can bring them to the bungalow on Monday.”
Shelby smiled at him. “Perfect. Thanks, Scott.” Anything from her but agreement would have sounded argumentative.
“Scott doesn’t disappoint.” Caitlyn removed the bottom print from the wire frame. Before she could ask him, Scott did likewise with the top print. Caitlyn grinned. “See what I mean? He’s a perfect gentleman. I would’ve been in real trouble when my advance sale lady came by for the print I set aside for her—and left at the store—if Scott hadn’t gotten my SOS.”
Which meant they had each other’s phone numbers, something Shelby found strangely annoying.
Scott leaned the second picture against Caitlyn’s check-out table. “Gave me an excuse to get out for a while.”
“Well, I appreciate it.” Caitlyn gave Scott’s bicep a squeeze.
Shelby cleared her throat. “Do you take a check?”
A few minutes later, while Caitlyn wrapped the first print in brown paper, Scott asked Shelby, “So, what else are you looking for today?”
“Anything that strikes me with the right look. I’ll hit up antique stores later on for some furniture, Oriental vases, Tiffany lamps, and old kitchen appliances and fixtures that Lester might enjoy, but I hoped for prints today, and maybe baskets and pottery. Both were popular in the Craftsman home. See? I do my research.”
“I know you do.”
“But I always have to keep my overall palate in mind.”
“I’m beginning to get that. Any chance you could use a sidekick?”
The burst of pleasure that someone initiated spending time with her surprised Sh
elby. Her days of turning others down due to her busy schedule were now a memory. “Well … sure!”
A frown flitted across Caitlyn’s adorable face. “Didn’t you tell me you interrupted a project to come down here, Scott? Will your stepdad be upset?”
He shrugged. “It can wait. Dad knows when I’m renovating a house, work takes priority over anything at the warehouse.”
Shelby assumed Scott’s stepfather still stockpiled salvage finds and resold them. She remembered how Scott used to get teased about the family business. Not wanting to embarrass him, she merely smiled. Caitlyn pressed her lips together.
“Nice to meet you, Caitlyn.” Shelby waved as she walked away. “Those prints are going to look great.”
A raised hand supplied her only answer.
“You know her from owning a business close to your stepdad’s?” Attempting to sound casual, Shelby ran her fingers over a crowing rooster fronting a display of painted metal yard art.
“College, actually.”
“She seems to think highly of you.”
If she hoped Scott would offer his opinion of Caitlyn, she was disappointed.
“Oh, I love these.” He gravitated toward a farm vendor’s display of flavored honey sticks.
As he paid for a handful, Shelby pondered what about the young artist set her on edge. Maybe because Caitlyn was one of those people who seemed very satisfied with herself. Maybe because she was an artist. Given the history behind her father’s infidelity, that was quite enough.
“Here, try one.” Scott shuffled his treasure trove of liquid-filled straws in a paper bag. “Wildflower, cinnamon or—check this out—root beer. Wait, I know the answer.” With a smile, he ripped open the top of the cinnamon stick.
Just to see what he would do, Shelby sucked honey out of the top, made a face, and shoved it back toward him. “Actually, I want root beer.”
“Really? Okay.” Without missing a beat, Scott pulled out the flavor she demanded. He almost succeeded in not looking disappointed.
“I’m just kidding!” Shelby burst into laughter. “The cinnamon is great.”
Scott frowned, totally perplexed. Shelby didn’t know what to make of such an eager-to-please guy. She made a conciliatory move of touching his arm. The unexpected warmth and firmness of it, along with the smile he gave her, reminded Shelby of how affirming it felt to have a steady guy at her side. Relieved to spot a quality pottery booth, she hurried over to inspect the wares.
Ten minutes later, Scott half joked, half complained as they left the riverfront loaded down with purchases. “Remind me again why you had to buy so much of one thing?”
“Because this salt-glazed pottery is top quality, and to get pieces in both ivory and the light blue-gray was totally lucky. And because the scale and trim of the bungalow calls for decorating on a bigger scale. One piece would get lost. A collection of pieces will make a statement in any number of rooms. I can even hang those platters and dishes.”
“Well, you sure made the potter happy. Wait.” Scott nudged her with his elbow as they passed the jewelry booth. “Did you want to buy that bracelet?”
Thankful that both Caitlyn and the jeweler appeared busy with customers, Shelby kept walking. “No, I don’t think so.”
Scott caught up with her. “I thought you liked it.”
“I did. It just wasn’t me.”
“Okay, but it seems to me if you liked it, it was you.”
Shelby sighed as they waited at the crosswalk, feeling defensive at being forced to explain. “It won’t match anything I have. My entire wardrobe is preppy and professional. Chet always said jewelry that wasn’t gold, silver, or precious stones wasn’t worth the money.”
Scott remained silent as they crossed the street to Shelby’s CRV. But she could hear him thinking. After they deposited their boxes in the hatchback, he caught her gaze. “I don’t mean to disrespect the guy after he’s gone, but isn’t it time now you can decide what you like?”
Shelby blinked. “It’s just a bracelet, Scott.”
“Right.” He shifted his weight and focused on a candy bar wrapper lying on the street drain. “Well, this has been fun.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “What?”
“You really want to know?” He squinted up at her.
“Yes. Yes, I really want to know.” Too late, Shelby realized her somewhat sarcastic tone and crossed arms contradicted her statement, but thankfully, Scott nodded.
“All right. Sometimes, it seems your style, even your lifestyle, doesn’t really fit you. You’ll see a vision for something different at the Wentworths’ house, or an item you like yourself, but you keep going back to what you’re used to.”
Shelby put a hand on her hip. “And how do you come by this special knowledge, pray tell? Do you have a psychology degree I don’t know about?”
“No.” He shrugged. “Just by watching. I mean, you were kind of like that in high school too. You looked perfect but not very happy. And now, you do what you think you have to, or what others expect of you, but not what you want to.”
“Don’t we all?”
Scott stubbed the toe of his work boot against the curb. “To some extent.”
“Have you been testing me?” As this unsettling notion took root, Shelby slammed the hatch and faced him. “Seeing if I’ll do stuff at the house because I think you expect it? Seeing if you can manipulate me into extra labor?”
“No! Manipulating you is the last thing I want. Just the opposite. I thought if you learned some renovation basics, you’d discover that not only could you do more than you thought, you’d take satisfaction in it. And acquire more skills for your future.”
Shelby twisted her lips to one side, annoyed he’d been right. But then, maybe this conversation presented an opportunity for a little manipulating of her own. “Fine, I’ll make you a bet.”
Scott glanced up, eyebrows raised.
“I can prove you don’t know me as well as you think. I’ll ask you questions about what I’d do in certain situations. Say, three. If you get two or more right, I’ll … let’s see, what’s a yucky job you said I should do … scrape the paint off the window frames.”
“Each and every one?”
She nodded.
Like a plotting mad scientist, Scott drummed his fingers against his chin. “And if I get only one, or none, right?”
Shelby dipped her head in an attempt to detract from the blush that spread over her cheeks. “You go spy out Julian’s for me.”
“What?”
“Julian Etier’s new shop at Broad and Tenth. I can see some of what he stocks online, but I’ve been dying to know how he’s marketing it.”
“Who is Julian Etier?”
A puff of disgust escaped Shelby’s lips. “This wealthy dude who was supposed to have retired from a career in Atlanta interior design. He moved back home to help care for his elderly father and at first, just did a few decorating jobs for friends. But then, since my show stopped airing and his dad passed away, he’s gone public and opened a shop—for those who can afford him, anyway. I need to know if I start my own design business how much competition he’s going to be. Augusta and surrounding regions can only sustain so much style panache.”
“And you can’t just go in there and say, ‘Hi, Julian, I came to see what you’ve been up to in my absence’?”
“Good gracious, no. That would be humiliating. And stalkerish.” As Shelby pressed the lock button on her remote, a reassuring beeping sang out. “Well? Are you up for it?”
The calculating gleam that lit Scott’s green eyes tightened the muscles in Shelby’s stomach. “I’ll make the time.” He gave a slow nod. “With one alteration to the bet.”
Chapter Ten
Shelby looked so cute in her navy sundress and big, movie-star sunglasses. Scott had already searched for an excuse to spend more time with her before she proposed her crazy bet. Under Shelby’s terms, he didn’t care if he won or lost. Didn’t she get it that he wasn’
t trying to entice her to do things for him—he was dying to do things for her? Just walking down the street next to her filled him with pleasure. But with this opportunity to get to know her better, fear of how she’d take his suggestion almost froze him.
His blonde companion tapped the toe of her sandal. “Well?”
He had to sound convincing. And selfish, even if it went against his grain. “I’m starving. You’re taking all my morning, so you can buy me lunch.”
She blew air through her rounded lips and put her hands on her hips again. “Okay, fine. If you win, we’ll walk by the front of Julian’s, then we’ll go to lunch.”
Scott relaxed and nodded. She didn’t suspect his motives.
“So question one.” Shelby peeked at him over her shoulder and over the top of her sunglasses as they set out walking. “Would I choose as a flip project a 1980s ranch or a Victorian cottage?”
“Easy. The ranch.”
“But I live in a historic house.”
“Because of convenience, not love. You’d choose the ranch because its open floor plan and clean lines would lend itself to your contemporary design style.” “Hmm.”
Shelby frowned, and Scott chuckled. She had to stump him on both of the other questions. She remained deep in thought as they bypassed a line of tourists boarding a red-and-green tour trolley stopped along the divided historic business corridor. Finally, she asked, “Back in high school, I didn’t talk to you because I was stressed out, or because I didn’t notice you?”
What kind of question was that? She could have asked any number of remote personal things about herself. Scott went with his gut. “Because you didn’t notice me?”
“No!” Shelby did a two-step to get in front of him, pointing her fingerin obvious delight. “Man, I thought that was a dead giveaway, but I felt like I should clarify after you seemed bummed I didn’t recognize you. Did you really think I was such a snob?”
No secret, insecurity from those days remained his biggest weakness. “Um … yeah?”
“Scott Matthews!”
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