by Susan Hatler
Janine opened the door. “You can’t let some art bully ruin your fun. I’ve seen your paintings. She’s probably just jealous of your natural talent. What do you think about this dress?”
It looked beautiful on her, all satin and warm honey-brown. “It’s perfect. Conservative and flirty all in one. I think you have a winner.”
“Yay!” Janine’s smile was radiant, but then it quickly deflated. “I have to be honest and not keep this from you. That gal, Chelsea? Olivia and I ran into her at the country club. We were there for work and apparently she’s a member there. Anyway, she kept crowing about how great her work is and how she snagged Brian and he’s the best. She was boasting big time.”
“Yes, that’s Chelsea. I also know Brian and he’s really good. Woodworking’s his passion. That’s another problem. I really like Brian. Um, as a friend. A good friend.” I clamped my mouth shut then tried again. “I mean, he’s Wendy’s brother and we all grew up together and he and I stayed friends.” There, that didn’t sound like I was pining away for him. I hoped. “So if I enter the contest then I’m competing against him. If I did win then he wouldn’t and that would rob him of a lot of exposure for his work. I certainly don’t want that.”
Janine ducked back into the dressing room. “You’d be competing against Chelsea, too, though. You really can’t let her win. We’d all have to hear about it afterward.”
I couldn’t stifle the laugh that rose up. “You have a good point.”
Janine came back out and I took the dress to the register to ring it up. After she left, I turned back to my laptop screen. I had two pages opened up on the screen. The contract for Wexley, and the entry into the art contest. I had to decide and I knew what would help make that decision. I needed to drive to the Inn at Blue Moon Bay and talk to Brian.
During my lunch break at the dress shop, I drove through the grand gates of the Inn at Blue Moon Bay and down the cobblestone driveway. This inn had always been a lovely place, filled with old-fashioned charm and large windows. The deep and long porch stretching behind it, with its rows of comfortable chairs and small tables, issued a welcoming invitation to sit down and watch the waves slowly rolling into the golden-brown sand below.
I parked next to a white Porsche convertible, got out of the car, and walked toward the front doors slowly. Over the past few years, I’d gotten in the habit of dropping by the inn, during work breaks and on weekends, to visit Brian. I hoped there weren’t a lot of guests hanging out in the lobby and, to my relief, the only person there when I entered was Brian.
He stood behind the little welcome desk, wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt and jeans. His tousled hair hung in his eyes as he glanced away from the computer screen. His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself.” I inhaled the lovely scent of ground roast as the entry doors closed gently behind me. “Do I smell coffee?”
“Yes.” He gestured to a long coffee bar set up along one wall. “Wendy keeps expanding that thing. If she adds one more espresso machine we’re going to have to apply for a coffee shop license or something.”
“Well, I’m always up for a good cup of coffee.” I grinned at him then headed for the bar. Instead of making an espresso drink, I poured myself a cup of French roast, and then stirred in sugar and cream.
“There’s some cinnamon-flavored whip over there, too.”
“Ah, you know what I like.” I turned and smiled at him. “I take it you still prefer lattes over coffee?”
He leaned across the desk. “Absolutely. I see you still drink yours with sugar and cream.”
“That’s how I like it.” I smiled for a moment, but then my heart sank. We knew so much about each other, right down to how we liked our coffee. But asking him if he could ever see me as more than a friend? That was something I was too afraid to ask.
“You’re quiet.”
I shot him a look over the rim of the cup. “Am I?”
He walked out from behind the desk. “Yes, and you were quiet the other night at the library unveiling, too. Did I do something to upset you?”
I set the cup down and forced my lips into a smile. “No, not at all. I was just . . . surprised, I guess, that you’d agreed to work with Chelsea.”
He shrugged. “Well, it’s a great chance to really show what I can do. I’d like to make a name for myself as a woodworker. I love working here at the inn, which has always been a family thing and always will be. But I’d enjoy some projects with wood, too. This competition seems like a good way to get some exposure. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Good.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I guess they asked Chelsea ahead of time to enter the contest since she’s Blue Moon Bay’s most well-known artist. I was flattered when she asked me to make the custom frames since my name hasn’t really been out there.” He stopped and studied my face. Then his brows came together. “What’s wrong?”
A guest entered then, saving me from having to answer.
“Oh, I’m fine.” I waved my hand then made a show of checking the time on my phone. “I have to run. I’ll see you later,” I said, before dodging around the arriving guest and skirting out the front door. The doors had barely swung shut behind me when I heard them open again.
“Hold on a second, Megan,” Brian called out.
He’d followed me? My eyes blurred. I didn’t want to turn around, but I did. “You can’t just leave a guest hanging around an empty front desk. Wendy will freak out!”
“I pointed him to the coffee bar,” he said, coming closer to me. “Something’s going on with you. I can see it all over your face. I’m not going back in there until you tell me what it is. If you want me to keep my guests happy, you’ll tell me quickly.”
I fought to keep my mouth closed, but the pressure of him making that guest wait in the lobby built up way too quickly. “I want to enter the contest,” I blurted.
He tucked his chin, then gave me a side glance. “You do? Why didn’t you say so earlier? I know you like to paint, but you never told me you wanted to do it at a professional level.”
“It’s kind of been a secret dream of mine, which, well, isn’t so secret anymore. I enjoy designing websites, but I find it artistically constricting. Aunt Bea taught me to paint when I was young and you know I went to art school. Painting is my true passion. I’m sorry. I should’ve mentioned it before . . .”
He kept his gaze on mine. “I understand.”
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “But if I enter the competition then I’d be competing against you, and that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”
“No way.” He shook his head. “You’re not using me as an excuse not to enter the contest. I’ve seen your paintings. They’re amazing, just like you are.”
Had he just said . . .? My heart pounded and I gawked at him, trying to figure out if he’d called me amazing to try to cheer me up, or if it were possible he liked me as more than a friend. There was only one way to find out. My hand trembled and my voice seemed stuck in my throat, but I managed to finally open my lips. “D-Do you mean that?”
He sucked in a breath. An unreadable expression settled over his face. Then he reached out and patted my shoulder. There was absolutely nothing in that touch to give the impression that he cared for me in the same way I cared for him. I mean, he may as well have chucked me under the chin again. I took a step back toward my car.
“I mean, Wendy would kill me dead if she knew I stood in your way on this competition. Run, don’t walk, down to the Chamber of Commerce, and sign up for this contest.”
“I’m not sure,” I said, as a tiny hole settled in my heart. I’d been wrong. He hadn’t called me amazing because he was harboring a hidden love for me. He was just being a good friend.
“Just go sign up. I have to get back in there before Wendy rolls up and finds a caffeine-crazed guest running loose in the lobby.” He turned and walked back through
the door, leaving me standing there confused and hurt.
I stood frozen, inhaling deeply, then forced my feet to move toward my car. I looked upward as I went. The sky stood in a high blue arch while the bodies of the gulls made a bright exclamation against the clouded sky. Their cries reached my ears and I turned to stare out at the ocean behind the inn.
The sun-spangled waves dipped and lowered close to the shore but further out the breakers stood high before curling in on themselves in a lovely fluid loop. There was something so powerful and yet soothing about those waters, about the way they curled inward then dashed themselves apart just to run into the sand and pull back out. I wasn’t soothed though. Not even that beautiful sight could soothe me just then.
I had big decisions to make and I’d just made one of them. I was going to enter the contest. I had to know if I could make it professionally as an artist. I had to let go and try for this dream I’d wanted for so very long. Brian didn’t care if signed up. He’d made that very clear. Just as he made it clear he’d never see me as anything but a friend.
I took a deep breath, then released it slowly. As I watched the ocean roll in on itself the happiness and optimism that always buoyed my heart and soul came flooding back in. With each wave my excitement rose. The guy Janine wanted to introduce me to might be the perfect woodworker to create my frames for the contest. I was excited at the prospect, looking forward to painting again, and having people actually see my work.
In the end, letting go of that contract from the Wexley Corporation wouldn’t be hard at all. In my heart, I’d always known the contract was wrong for me, which was why I hadn’t signed it right away. Letting go of Brian, on the other hand, was not so easy. Even though I knew he and I would never be anything more than friends, I kept reminding myself of that fact over and over. He wasn’t mine, and he didn’t want to be either.
Chapter Three
The front doorbell of my tiny cottage made its signature chime. The sound could be construed as charming, if you liked foghorns. The deep blast hadn’t appealed to me initially, but the doorbell had come with the cottage when I rented it and now the sound felt familiar and homey. I decided that it somehow went with the rest of the quirky house.
The cottage had a funky layout that would have sent those home flippers on television running for the door. The ceilings were high-pitched like the roof and the walls had been painted in varying shades of color, not necessarily matching the swaths of trim. The floors were old reclaimed hardwoods, lovingly polished until they shined, and complimented with scattered rugs I’d picked up from arts and crafts fairs.
The windows were tall and wide with deep sashes and sills and the sheer curtains that covered them were open with the blinds up, letting in lots of lemony sunlight. My paintings accented the walls, along with shelves covered in seashells and other treasures I’d collected from the ocean, and my eclectic furniture completed this cute if unusual home that I loved dearly.
I headed for the door to meet Janine’s woodworker acquaintance, checking my reflection in a mirror on the wall as I went by. I wore a pair of baggy jeans and a rainbow-colored tank along with some comfortable flats. I’d pulled my blond hair up in a messy pile on top of my head since I had to paint today, but some wisps had fallen down on either side of my face.
I pulled open the door, hoping to make a good impression on my prospective partner for the art competition. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon. You must be Megan?” Jackson Davis’s deep voice held just a hint of southern drawl. Straight, white teeth flashed at me from behind full lips. Large, crystalline blue eyes framed by jet-black lashes peered down at me, and a large masculine hand raked through equally dark hair.
In truth, he looked like an actor making a living playing a hunky cowboy, right down to the checkered work shirt rolled up to his elbows and the faded jeans. For a moment, I had serious misgivings. Weren’t guys who looked like this supposed to be riding in a rodeo? Admittedly, this guy was the definition of smoking hot, but he didn’t hold a candle to Brian. Oh, great. Why did I have to compare every guy to Brian? Besides, this was a work interview, not a date.
I cleared my throat, holding out a hand. “Yes, I’m Megan. You must be Jackson.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, his hand wrapping around mine, his fingers calloused and strong. No tingles like I got every time Brian took my hand, though. Ugh. I’d compared him to Brian again. I so needed to stop that. He nodded toward the front porch. “I apologize if I look a bit stunned, but I am.”
Uh-oh. That couldn’t be good.
“I got a little knocked out by the porch and the quarter turn handrails. Whoever built it had a great eye and hand.”
“I completely agree.” I clasped my hands together, admiring his taste. Okay, maybe this would work out well. He had a good eye and a healthy interest in my porch railings. That screamed quality woodworker, even if his looks screamed cowboy. I peered over his shoulder at the porch. “My landlord’s grandfather, Mister Turner, built those railings. He built the whole house in fact, which will explain a lot I’m sure.”
Hero-worship popped into his eyes. “No kidding? I’d read he was originally from Blue Moon Bay. I admire Mister Turner’s work. It’s what got me interested in woodworking when I was a kid.”
“Would you like to come in and have some tea?” I asked, releasing a nervous breath. I stepped back and he came through the door, a bag swinging from his hand.
“I’ll have to thank Janine again,” he said, tipping his head. “I don’t know if she knew Mister Turner had built this cottage or not, but if she had she would’ve wanted me to see it. We had a conversation about him just yesterday.”
“I have to thank her, too.” I headed for the kitchen, talking over one shoulder. “I’m glad she introduced us and that you decided to come talk with me about the contest. To be honest, I can’t enter the competition if I don’t have someone highly talented to make the frames. I already know my biggest competition has a quality woodworker on her team. Let’s talk this out in the kitchen since it’s the biggest room in the house and it has the best available surface to work on.”
The door between the small living room and the massive and seriously outdated kitchen was a slider made entirely of glass. While I set the kettle to boil, Jackson unpacked his bag. He had bits of wood, a notepad and pens, some measuring devices, and a few other odds and ends that he arranged neatly on one side of the table.
When the tea was done, I handed him a cup, which he accepted graciously. Then he gestured toward his display. “I wanted to give you some examples of wood I enjoy working with so we could figure out whether the frames I could do would fit with your paintings.”
“That’s a great idea,” I enthused as I picked up a polished bit of wood. It was silky smooth with large darker stripes of color running through it. “What’s this?”
“Burl oak.” He took a swig of tea. “Do you like it?”
I sipped my own tea and then set my cup down, my hand accidentally brushing against his. Immediately, I pictured Chelsea and Brian close together, going over ideas, her hand accidentally brushing his. . . My stomach clenched. Chelsea being this close to Brian was so not something I wanted to think about. I dropped into a chair, scooting away a bit. Then I stared at the piece of wood until my mind moved back to work. “I find the colors and texture inspiring. In fact, it just gave me an idea, as weird as that sounds.”
“Not at all. Inspiration strikes when it wants.” He took a chair, his long legs bending at the knees. “The first theme has been announced, ‘capture the spirit of the Blue Moon Bay library,’ so do you have a general idea of what you want to convey in your painting?”
“I think so, but it can all change, of course.” I gestured to the piece of wood. “The dark pattern in the burl oak reminds me of the ocean waves. In keeping with The Best of Blue Moon Bay, the ocean, the books in the library, and . . . don’t laugh, okay?”
He leaned forward. “I’d never
laugh. Tell me.”
I bit my bottom lip. “I imagine the ocean, with books floating on the water, and readers perched on the books. Waves will be rippling outward, just like the frame has little ripples and rings. Oh, I’m sure that sounds—”
“Artistic.”
“Really? It doesn’t sound silly?”
He shook his head. “I’ve always admired artists and their creativity. I think your idea sounds good and true to Blue Moon Bay and the library. I like it. I could configure the wood for that frame in a free-flowing way to play up the ripple effect.”
“Is that possible?” I clapped my hands. “Okay, you might think this is lame. But I thought of a way we could play with ideas and see how well we’d work together at the same time, if you’re game.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Okay, I have just the thing!” I hurried to the pantry—which was actually more of a cupboard—and gathered the makings for sugar cookies. Brian loved sugar cookies just like his grandma used to make, and I often brought a plateful to the inn for him. I sighed, trying to push Brian from my mind. “We’re going to make cookies so you can cut the dough to show me what you meant. We might be able to envision it better and I figure anything with sugar adds fun to the project.”
“Great idea. Will the cookies be edible?”
“Of course.” I mixed the dough carefully, creaming the sugar and butter just enough and then added the other ingredients. Once I had workable dough, I separated a chunk and Jackson went to work with a small knife, carving slowly, while I rolled out the rest of the dough and used some cookie cutters to make cute dolphin and whale shaped cookies.
I’d just put the cookies in the oven when Jackson said, “Okay, how about this?”
“That’s perfect,” I said, amazed that he could carve so much detail into his cookie dough frame. “I had scribbled notes for the three frames, but we can scratch them and use this one.”