by Sey, Susan
All of it. Plus more, evidently.
He sucked in a shaky breath, released it slowly. Something happened when he kissed Addy. When she kissed him back. Something blindingly bright and dangerously combustible. Something he’d never experienced before and wasn’t quite sure what to do with. Especially not if it got bigger, brighter and more dangerous with every kiss.
“Jackson!”
On the other side of the door, she was shouting at him. In spite of the foreboding snaking through his lust-addled system, he smiled. She’d been doing that kind of a lot lately, the shouting. He liked it.
“What?” He sounded so ordinary, he thought smugly. Polite, curious, conversational.
“You can’t just do that!”
“Do what?”
“You can’t just, just—”
There was a sputtering pause, during which he pictured her batting at the air with clawed hands in a furious search for words. A laugh welled up inside him which he carefully squelched. “Can’t just what?”
“Just french me goodnight.” A thud drifted through the door. Had she actually stamped her foot? Kicked the door? “You’re not allowed to french me goodnight, Jackson!”
Joy welled up inside him, golden and thick and astonishing. “Sorry.”
“You are not!”
“Neither are you.”
Startled silence. He nodded with satisfaction. That was probably as far as he could push her for one night.
“Goodnight, Addy.”
Her goodnight was a heartily slammed door.
Chapter 18
THE KEY TO hiding, Addy knew, was staying right where people could see you. See you, stop you, maybe even chat with you a bit. The trick was looking busy. Actually being busy was better, of course. Oh, gosh, there’s a customer, I’m late for a meeting, I need just a minute with that person over there, can I get right back to you?
It wasn’t an easy trick to pull off in a town the size of Devil’s Kettle, but Addy was a pro. She hadn’t slid unscathed through all those middle schools by accident, after all. She had skills. And by using every last one, she’d successfully avoided in-depth human conversation for four whole days now. It was a hot streak, even for her.
It ended on Saturday afternoon.
She was sitting at the shiny white desk in the middle of the Davis Gallery, halfway through her usual Saturday shift. The slim curve of white plastic that passed for a chair in an art gallery bit into her butt and Addy wondered — not for the first time — how a woman as bony as Georgie could possibly sit on it for any length of time. She thought longingly of the comfy, butt-sprung chair in her own office, of her big scarred desk. Of her latest Davis Place cost projections spread across the top of it.
Her heart yearned toward those spreadsheets. Good old reliable math. So soothingly unambiguous, so completely clear. So utterly unlike the rest of her hosed up life. So completely useless when it came to fixing said life.
She sighed wearily. Her avoidance skills were ninja-level, but even she couldn’t keep this up forever. She was going to have to confront Bianca eventually. And when she did, she should have a plan. A proposal. You never went into negotiations without knowing what you wanted, so what did Addy want? What were her options here?
She supposed she could accept Bianca’s banishment as permanent.
Pain roared through her and she rejected the idea hastily. Even if she was prepared to accept being kicked out of the family on a personal level, how could she abandon Matty to Bianca’s grief-addled parenting? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Maybe there was no shaking her mother-in-law’s faith in Matty’s talent, but Diego’s new paintings were one heck of a trump card. If showing them would buy Matty even a few years of breathing room, Addy was prepared to do it.
She’d have a lot more leverage, however, if negotiations were friendly. Which brought her to option number two: repairing her and Bianca’s relationship, and fast. For Matty’s sake, yes, but also for her own. Because, lord help her, she wanted her family back. They were crazy and impulsive, spoiled and dramatic, but they were loyal and loving and they were hers. In spite of everything, she loved them. She wanted them back. She wanted her cherished normal back.
Unfortunately, keeping Diego’s paintings from Bianca — from the world — for all those years might’ve damaged her precious normal beyond repair. She had to acknowledge that. But where love existed, so did hope. And Addy loved her family desperately so maybe a third option existed: maybe they could rebuild rather than repair. Maybe the old normal was shot but they could create a new one, couldn’t they? They could make a new normal, something healthy and honest this time. Something with no secrets or shadows. Something with room for—
Well, with room for the french-me-goodnight situation that had cropped up between her and Jax. Addy sighed. It was getting out of hand, really, the way Jax simply grabbed her up at random, unpredictable moments and kissed the daylights out of her. Even worse was the way he then walked off like nothing unusual had even happened, leaving her sputtering and spinning, her heart on pause, her libido on fast-forward.
Nothing normal about that, except for the fact that it happened all the time. Which made it…normal? Well, no. Nothing that knocked her nervous system clear into orbit like that could be plausibly termed normal, but it could definitely become a habit. Maybe it already was one. Which would be a problem because Addy could hardly talk let alone think when Jax was done kissing her. And obviously thinking was a top priority right now. Unless Jax was nearby and had that look in his eye. Then kissing Jax was her top priority. Her only priority. Her only coherent thought, in fact.
Crap.
No wonder she was binging on spreadsheets.
Suddenly the door jingled and Bianca and Georgie sailed in. At least Bianca sailed. Georgie moved more carefully, her eyes hidden behind a pair of enormous sunglasses.
Addy’s cheeks went up in flames and she rose slowly. “Bianca,” she said, her blood throbbing sickly in her wrists, her ears. “Georgie.”
Bianca crossed the room and patted Addy’s cheek as if she hadn’t booted her out of the family home a few days earlier. As if she hadn’t accused her of murder, for heaven’s sake, then maintained a hostile silence ever since. “Hello, dear.”
Georgie didn’t speak. She only elbowed Addy away from that deeply uncomfortable chair and lowered herself into it with a small moan. Then she folded her arms on the desk and gently placed her forehead on them.
Addy blinked at Georgie’s shiny head. “Everything okay there, champ?”
“I got engaged last night,” she announced from the cradle of her arms. She wiggled her ring finger and Addy’s stomach did a little swoop and dive. It was one thing to talk about an on-demand engagement but it was another thing entirely to be presented with five blinding carats of reality.
“Wow. Congratulations.” She paused, sent Bianca an uncertain look. “You celebrated a little, I take it?”
Bianca held up a thumb and forefinger about an inch apart and shrugged lightly.
Georgie said, “Mom and I drank mojitos all night and looked at wedding dresses online.” She started to sit up, then stopped. She touched careful fingers to her temple and gingerly lowered her head to the desk again. “You know how I feel about a good mojito.”
“I do.”
“And that was on top of the wine at dinner.”
“Oh dear.”
“It’s possible there was a bottle of champagne in there somewhere, too.”
“Ouch.”
“I think Mom and I called Chou in Paris.”
“We did,” Bianca confirmed.
Addy winced. “At least the time change worked in your favor.”
“She says she can fit Georgie in for a custom dress if we send her the measurements immediately and she doesn’t gain an ounce.” Bianca stroked all that silky hair. “No more mojitos for you, darling girl.”
Georgie moaned.
The gallery door jingled again and this time Jax strode in
on a blast of lake-tinged air. Something lifted inside Addy’s chest at the sight of him, something odd and breathless and unmistakably joyful. She saw Matty hunching in behind him like a reluctant shadow, but her brain registered that as a non-essential detail. Her body shot to attention for Jax. She could be thoroughly frenched at any moment.
Oh boy. She might really be in trouble here.
“Hey, great,” he said. “You’re here.”
“It’s Saturday,” she managed. “I’m always here on Saturdays.”
“I know.” He gave her curls a fond pat. “I wasn’t looking for you, though it’s nice to see you. You’ve been scarce lately.” She suppressed a guilty wince. She’d been avoiding him, of course. She’d been avoiding everybody. But she had skills such that nobody should’ve noticed. Trust Jax to notice anyway. He turned to his mom. “I was looking for you, actually.” He glanced at Georgie’s head on the desk. “Her, too.” He poked his sister’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I got engaged last night.”
“Congratulations. To Peter?”
Georgie rolled her head to the side to glare up at him. “Who else?”
Jax shrugged cheerfully. “Always good to be sure.” He turned to Bianca. “So, you’re finally ready to apologize?”
Bianca fixed him with an icy gaze. “For what?”
“Not ready yet. Okay.” He sighed. “What are you doing here then?”
“Trying to have a private conversation,” Bianca said sweetly. “I’d have thought it would be easier, given Addison’s unexpected talent for keeping secrets.”
“Mom.” Georgie sat up. She closed her eyes for a moment, held out a hand for silence though nobody had said anything. She regained her equilibrium and fixed her mother with a hard blue stare. “We went over this. I know you were hurt by the way Addy handled the paintings Diego left her—”
“The very personal, private, revealing paintings of which she has sole ownership?” Jax said, a small smile on his lips. “Those paintings?”
“Yes,” Georgie said, rubbing circles into one temple. “Those ones. Now I know she didn’t handle them the way you’d have liked, but she had a right to grieve her own way just like you’ve been allowed to grieve your own way.”
“God help us all,” Matty muttered.
“And now I’m getting married.” Georgie held out her ring finger for Jax’s inspection.
“Yikes.” He glanced at the massive diamond. “Either Peter’s doing better than I thought, or he loves the crap out of you.”
“Why choose?” She turned back to her mother. “I won’t choose between you and Addy either, you know. You’re the mother of the bride.” Bianca pressed her lips together and looked away, her eyes suddenly soft and shiny. “That, however—” She shot a finger Addy’s way. “—is my only sister, and therefore my maid of honor.”
Addy blinked. She didn’t know what shocked her more, being somebody’s maid of honor, or Georgie so casually claiming her as a sister. As if their relationship were more than the fragile paper her marriage certificate was printed on. Her throat went tight and she swallowed down four days’ worth of tears.
“So it’s time to work this shit out,” Georgie went on, “because I am the bride here.” She folded her arms on top of the desk and lowered her forehead to them once more.
Matty rocked back on his heels, fists in his pockets, eyes narrow on Georgie’s shiny head. “Is she hungover?”
“Well,” Addy said carefully. “She might’ve had a toast too many.”
Jax frowned at his sister, too. “Of what?”
“Everything,” Bianca said. “Mojitos, champagne, wine—”
“Either stop talking about it,” Georgie said darkly, “or bring me the trash can.”
Matty laughed. It had been a while since Addy had heard him laugh that sincerely, or really at all. She found herself smiling at him. Everybody was smiling at him, actually. He must’ve felt all the fond eyes on him because he immediately broke off to glare at the floor.
The door jingled again and a pair of middle-aged women wandered in. One was small and wren-like, with a cap of shocking red hair and ambitious earrings. The other was long and slim, draped in a deep, quiet blue. Actual customers? Sing hallelujah.
“I’m telling you, Carol,” the smaller one said, “if you don’t go back to the Gilded Fish to get that scarf, you’re dead to me. I’d kill to wear that color and I’ll probably have to kill you if you don’t.”
Carol laughed and patted at the smooth twist of her pale hair. “Down, girl. It’s just a scarf.”
“A great scarf.” The smaller woman adjusted the pretty shopping bags that dangled from her arm like bangles. “Which you would be criminally insane not to own.” She angled her chin for a sideways glance. “Buy me a cup of coffee, though, and I’ll consider not institutionalizing you.”
“Oh, Amy.” Carol’s lips twitched. “You say the sweetest things.”
“If it’s coffee you’re after, you can’t do better than the Sugar Rush.” Jax hitched a hip onto the desk and gave them a warm smile. He also blocked the women’s view of Georgie snoozing on the desk. “Right next door. You can get a to-go cup and a doughnut the size of a dinner plate.”
“Lovely.” Carol grinned at him. “My ticket out of the institution.”
“Welcome to the Davis Gallery, ladies,” Addy said, planting herself at Jax’s side. Close enough to complete the human shield. Close enough to feel the burn of his body heat. Lord, he ran hot. “The Sugar Rush is definitely a favorite but I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least mention the Wooden Spoon as a sit-down alternative. That’ll be out the door and a block to the right.” She leaned in confidentially. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted Gerte’s North Shore triple berry pie.”
“Pie?” The smaller woman — Amy, she thought — ran a speculative gaze over Addy. “Pie plus caffeine, and all in the direction of the miraculous scarf?” She nodded decisively. “I like you. You might be my new best friend. I was in the market for one, you know.” She gave Carol a dismissive wave. “That one has no taste.”
Carol laughed. “Says the woman who didn’t know who Diego Davis even was until her former best friend—” She broke off and stared. “Good God. You’re her.”
The smaller woman blinked at Addy, then at Carol. Frowned. “Her? Her who?”
“Her.” Carol pointed at Addison. “She’s the angel.”
Jax stiffened beside her, and Addy fixed her smile more firmly in place.
Amy lifted a plucked brow and considered Addy more closely. “I do sometimes hear angels singing when somebody suggests pie but—”
“Amy, you cultureless cretin.” Carol sighed, took the colorful little woman by the shoulders and pointed her toward the central wall of the gallery where Diego’s Angel hung in all her golden glory.
The Addison on the canvas glowed with good humor and innocent sexuality, her curves filled in with a round generosity, while an aura shone around her ringlets like she was the virgin madonna. It was compelling, Addy knew, that contrast. The ripe sexuality and the pure innocence. The fresh beauty and the naughty laughter. It just wasn’t real. Wasn’t her.
“That, my girl, is Diego’s Angel.” Carol turned Amy gently back to face Addison. “And so is that.”
“Oh. Oh my.”
Addy watched with a twinge of regret as the warmth in the women’s eyes melted into something else. As Addison became something both more and less than a fellow human being to them. As the facts of her life that most people kept private — her body, her sexuality, and her late husband’s opinion of them both — fell into the public domain. Addison the friendly shopkeeper disappeared, and Diego’s Angel took her place.
Then the door jingled and Nan Davis marched in, a sour frown on her tiny face. Addy was almost grateful.
“Hey, Nan,” she said brightly. “These ladies were just trying to decide between a doughnut at the Sugar Rush and a slice of the North Shore triple berry at the Wood
en Spoon. What do you think?”
At seventy-five, Nan was a tiny, wizened thing with a bullet-proof mushroom cap of dyed black hair, a three-pack-a-day smoking habit and a newspaper at her disposal. She stretched her thin, bright lips into a rictus of a smile for the tourists. “Either one is good,” she said. “Can’t go wrong.”
“I’d go with the Wooden Spoon, myself. Oooh, they could try the sweet lefse!” Addy turned back to the tourists. “It’s worth every calorie, I swear.”
But Carol was communing with the painting. “God, she’s gorgeous,” she murmured, devouring it with avid eyes. “She’s so clearly you, and yet—” She threw Addy a glance over her shoulder. “—so clearly not.”
No kidding, Addy thought.
“Bianca,” Nan growled at her daughter-in-law. “I need to talk to you.”
Bianca serenely ignored her, and watched the tourists worship at the shrine of Diego’s Angel.
“He idealized you,” Carol mused. “Made you beautiful.”
“Made her beautiful?” Amy gawked at her friend in near-comic dismay. “For God’s sake, Carol. You have manners, I know you do. How about you use them?” She turned stricken eyes on Addy. “I’m so sorry. She didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You’re a very pretty girl.”
“Pretty as a painting,” Jax said. “Prettier.” Addy put her elbow in his ribs.
“Don’t worry about it,” Addy assured her. “Besides, she’s right. That’s not really me up there. Diego painted with his heart, not his eyes.”
“That’s it exactly,” Carol breathed, and she gazed in wonder at the canvas. “God, it just drips devotion. Pure adoration. I can feel it, right here, like gravity.” She pressed both hands to her chest and stepped reverently toward the canvas. “I have to...” She broke off, shook her head. She turned back to Addy and fished her phone out of her purse. “I have to have a picture of the contrast. Of how love elevates the ordinary. Do you mind posing?”