by Susan Hatler
“Can I see your list?”
I passed it over. He read my ideas and then said, “Great, now for this one . . .” And then he took another bit of dough, rolled it into a ball and then flattened it, and went to work carving. Pretty soon we had three sugary frames sitting on my counter.
The timer dinged. I took the finished cookies out and set them on the counter to cool. Then I went back to the table and looked over the bits of wood again. Ideas stirred inside me. We discussed various woods at length, then chose which wood would work best for each frame. Jackson seemed professional, talented, and easy to work with. My heart tugged a little, still wishing I could’ve worked with Brian. But that wasn’t possible.
“This went really well.” I looked across the table at Jackson. “So, is it official? Are we working together in this competition?”
He grinned. “We are.”
“This is going to be so good,” I said, more to reassure myself than anything. I watched Jackson bite into a cookie. A drift of crumbs spilled out onto his shirt. For a moment, I wished I had even the slightest urge to sweep those crumbs away as an excuse to touch him. But, I didn’t have any kind of longing at all for him. He was nice, smoking hot, and really talented. He might even be single, too, since he’d just moved here.
What was wrong with me that I couldn’t like Jackson the way I liked Brian? I actually more than liked Brian. Oh, man. My heart was such a mess.
“Since we’re agreed on working together, let’s sign the paperwork while I’m here. I’ll drop it off at the Chamber of Commerce on my way out.” Jackson dug around in his bag until he found the paperwork, signed them, and then slid the papers over. I signed with the pen he’d also pushed toward me, and attached my résumé. Seeing my name written there in large flourishes made the competition and the possibility of working as an artist in Italy more real.
Happiness bubbled up inside me. I’d always wanted to be an artist. Not just a website designer with artistic leanings but a real artist, someone who created things that gave other people joy. The contest was a right step in that direction and was long overdue. Aunt Bea would be proud of me. I wished she could be here.
Jackson stowed the paperwork in his bag and checked his phone. “I have to get some estimates done so I need to go. Assuming our application is approved, we can chat later about the particulars like how big the frames should be and so forth. I’ll need the measurements of the canvases you’re going to use in order to get started.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I stood and went to the cabinets to find a small tin I’d stashed there. I filled it with some cookies and handed it to him.
“Much obliged.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“I’ll walk you out.” We walked through the house to the front door, and I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “I really do appreciate you helping me and being my partner in the contest. I know I’ve already said so but I just wanted to say it again.”
“I can say the same. Have a good day, Megan.”
“You, too.” I opened the door and then blinked at what I saw. Or, who.
Brian Watts stood on my front porch, his hand outstretched toward the doorbell, and paused mid-air. His gaze flew to mine, then moved to Jackson, and finally back to me again. A slight line formed between his brows. He did not look happy.
Jackson nodded at Brian before moving past him toward the truck parked outside my house. He climbed in, the engine roared to life, and he drove down the road. I watched Brian’s jaw tighten and he rubbed it with one hand. Brian rarely came to my house so something had to be up. He was clearly upset.
“Hi,” I said.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your date,” he said, his voice was low and tight.
“You’re not interrupting anything.” I waved a hand, opening the door wide so he could come in. “He was just leaving.” I glanced at Brian’s outfit. He had obviously come straight from his shift at the inn. He wore a polo shirt with the inn’s logo—that Wendy insisted made him look more professional—and a pair of khakis as well as dress shoes. My belly danced at the mere sight of him, which was not good. “Come on in. I made cookies if you want some.”
He turned his head toward the street again and then finally stepped inside the house. “Yeah sure. Cookies are great. I can’t say no to cookies.”
I led him to the kitchen. I picked up Jackson’s empty cup off the table and set it in the sink. “Would you like some tea with your cookies?”
His gaze lingered on the cup. “Do you have any coffee?”
“Coffee yes, latte no.”
“That’s fine. Thanks.”
“What’s going on?” I set to work with the coffee pot, measuring the coffee grounds before putting them in and adding water. I looked over my shoulder. There was a cute but tense expression on his face. “It’s not like you to show up here unannounced. Is everything all right at the inn?”
His eyes held a strange expression. “The inn?”
“Yeah, the inn.” The coffee whistled and I took it off the burner and poured a cup for Brian, along with a dash of heated milk. I pushed the plate of cookies closer to him. “You look upset, so I wondered if there was another problem with one of the guests.”
“Oh.” He reached for a cookie and munched it while I stood there. My hands braced on the top of a chair. He shook his head. “No, nothing’s wrong with the inn.”
Wow. It usually wasn’t this hard to get stuff out of him. Whatever had him upset had to be big, but I let it go for the moment and started cleaning up the kitchen.
“Let me help you.” He came to the counter and reached for the cookie sheet at the same time I did. Our fingers brushed and tingles danced across my skin. I tried to ignore the feeling, knowing it did no good to care about him in that way. I wiped down the counters, while Brian loaded the dishwasher. “So, who’s the guy?” he asked.
I stopped scrubbing at the dried dough on the counter. “What?”
He straightened. “The guy that just left. Who is he?”
“Oh.” I went back to trying to get the stubborn, dried-on dough off of the counter. “That’s Jackson. He’s nice.”
“How do you know him?”
I frowned and then picked at the dough with my fingernail, finally getting it out of there. “Janine introduced us.”
He moved close to me and reached for the mixing bowl. His shoulder brushed against mine. Tingles raced up my spine. I turned my head to look at him. For one heart-stopping second our faces were very close. If I leaned forward, just a tiny little bit, my mouth would be on his.
It would have been easy to do it, to just kiss him. Well, it would have been easy if he’d wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him. I jerked my head back and grabbed the rubber spatula I had used to fold in the flour and other dry ingredients.
He cleared his throat. “Janine introduced you two?”
I turned on the faucet and washed the spatula, chastising myself for almost-kissing him. My cheeks heated and I didn’t dare look at him. He was a friend and he didn’t want to be anything more. I needed to stop wanting what I couldn’t have. “Yes, Jackson is rooming with the guy she’s dating.” I stuck the spatula in the drying rack and grabbed a dishtowel to dry my hands.
“I’m not doing the competition with Chelsea.”
My jaw dropped open. “Why not? You said this opportunity is important to you.”
He picked up his cup and took a long drink. Then he set the cup back down and lifted his shoulders in a high shrug. “It is. But that doesn’t mean I have to do the competition with Chelsea.”
“I’m not understanding you.” I leaned against the counter and gaped at him. “Brian you have to do the contest. You have to. It’s important to get your name out there as a talented woodworker and we both know it.”
He nodded. “The contest is important to me, but Chelsea . . .”
I held my breath. Was he about to say that Chelsea wasn’t important to him? Or maybe that they were
now in a relationship and it felt weird working with her? My nerves tightened. A slim bar of sunlight came through the window and touched one side of his handsome face as I waited.
“I’m going to ask Chelsea to find another partner.”
Had he lost his mind? “You already agreed!”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to work with you.”
My knees went weak and I grabbed onto the counter for balance. He wanted to work with me? For a few seconds, sheer joy poured through my veins. The contest was a chance for both of us to show everyone what we could do—singly and together.
I suddenly had a vivid fantasy of the two of us working together, spending lots of time together. The contest could bind us together in a new way and maybe, just maybe, if he spent enough time with me then he might see me as someone besides a friend of his little sister.
My fantasy quickly unraveled. I’d spent plenty of time with Brian over the years. There had never been anything to indicate he liked me as more than a friend. Working with him would only make accepting this harder on me. Besides there was. . .
“Jackson,” I said.
Brian’s brows came together. “The guy who was just here?”
“Yes. I already agreed to work with Jackson on the competition.” I twisted my hands together. “Janine told me he was a woodworker and she told him I needed a partner for the contest. So he came over today and we had a meeting. We have good ideas and I already signed the paperwork to work with him. I think we’d work well together.”
He stepped toward me. “You and I would work well together.”
Boy how long had I waited for him to say those very words? Only he didn’t mean them the way I needed him to. He meant he could do the frames and I could paint the art. I needed him to mean that he and I, as a couple, would work. So pathetic. Tears stung the back of my eyelids but I blinked them away. I had to get over Brian. I was breaking my own heart with foolish fantasies. “I’m sure you and I would work well together, but I already agreed to work with Jackson. I can’t just back out.”
“Are you two dating?” he blurted.
I stared at him, wondering why he’d ask that. Brian and I were friends, yes, and we had shared horror stories of bad first dates and even break-ups but he’d never come right out and asked me a question like that before. I stepped toward him. “You know I just had a really weird break-up.”
“So you’re not dating him?”
I shifted slightly. “No, we’re just working together.”
He crossed his arms. “I see.”
“Why’s that important to you? Whether or not I’m dating him?”
He stepped toward me. “You just never date guys who deserve you. That’s all.”
I deserved to date him, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t need you insulting my dating record when you’re the one who broke up with Monica, your girlfriend of nine months, because you don’t do ‘long distance.’ She moved to San Felipe, not Siberia. It’s only a forty-five minute drive.”
“I’m a hometown guy. Moving away is a deal breaker.” He moved toward me until our toes were practically touching. I inhaled his earthy scent, which made my stomach flip. Was that his shampoo that smelled so yummy? If so, I needed to buy a bottle. Make that a case.
“Is that right?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s right. But you . . .” He shook his head. “You date guys who ask for reimbursement on coffee after you break-up. There was also that guy who said his sisters should get free dresses at the shop. Let’s not forget that guy who claimed to be a pilot—as if flying a two-foot remote controlled aircraft qualifies. And my favorite has to be pancake guy.”
I jabbed my finger at him. “You promised never to bring him up again. How was I supposed to know he had a crazy addiction to pancakes? It was not my fault he made the diner cancel their all-you-can-eat special.”
“We all paid for that one,” he said, his breath wafting against my mouth. “But that just proves my point. All the guys you date, they don’t deserve you.”
He was too close. Way too close. I had the strong urge to move closer, and bury my face in his neck. Instead, I bit my lip. “I just don’t know why it matters to you who I date. Tell me.”
The air between us thickened. His breath came out in short, heavy puffs. I was so ready to move past this friendship and kiss him. I imagined his mouth against mine, and what he tasted like. Yes, I needed to make a move. I couldn’t wait any longer. I leaned forward slightly—
Just as Brian stepped back. He looked away, clearing his throat. “You’re Wendy’s friend. You’re my friend, too. I’m trying to look out for you. That’s all.”
I bristled. The part of me that wanted to declare how I cared about him felt rejected in the worst way. “Well, thanks for your concern. My dating record may not be stellar, but I can handle my own life even if I decide to start dating Jackson.”
Not that I wanted to date Jackson. At all.
Things had never been so tense between Brian and me. I knew he wanted us to work together for this competition and that was sweet. I wanted more from him than he could give me, though, and I couldn’t tell him that.
“I guess I should go,” he finally said.
“Okay.” I didn’t want him to leave on such a sour note. I didn’t want him to leave at all, but it was best that he did. I was too raw and he was, too. I wrung my hands as we walked to the door. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah.” He nodded then walked out the door.
I closed the door and leaned back against it. So many emotions swirled inside me as Brian’s truck cranked up outside. I hugged my arms around my body. Everything in me screamed to call Jackson and tell him I’d changed my mind and that I’d be working with Brian. But for my heart’s sake, I needed to distance myself from him. Now more than ever.
Chapter Four
Two weeks passed and I hadn’t heard from Brian once. I’d stopped dropping by the inn so maybe he thought I was upset with him, which I wasn’t. But seeing him all of the time just reminded me of what I could never have with him, and the truth was that I needed to get over my feelings for him. I had important things to focus on right now.
Namely, my dream to work as an artist in Italy.
I’d been selected as a contestant in The Best of Blue Moon Bay—yay!— along with two other artists, plus Chelsea Chambers. There were four of us in total who would be competing against each other. I’d tried not to think about the other competitors the last couple weeks and just focused on making my painting the best it could be. Before I knew it, the night of the first competition had arrived.
I pulled into the parking lot of the Blue Moon Bay library, my gaze glued to the clock on the dash. I couldn’t believe I was late to the first competition. So very late. Suddenly I realized all that was at stake and my nerves went raw. Not to mention the real insecurity that hit me every time I considered Chelsea’s impressive art career balanced against my own amateur status.
I’d finished what I needed to get done these past two weeks, but I’d missed my friendship with Brian. If I could just talk to him for a few minutes in the library, I knew he would help settle my nerves. It sounded weird, but I wanted his thoughts on my painting even though we were competing against each other. Brian always knew how to make me feel better.
I was probably the last person Brian wanted to talk to, though.
“Stop freaking out and get inside,” I mumbled, checking my reflection in the mirror. I swiped on pink lipstick and brushed on black mascara, which was all I had time for right now.
I got out of the car, trepidation setting in as people walked past me in their finery. My dress was a super-sweet little froth of white satin and lace. As I trotted in my heels something scraped my inner arm right near my waist. I looked down and spotted the tag I’d forgotten to remove when I’d snagged this little number off the sale rack twenty minutes ago. I yanked the tag off, tucked i
t into my purse, and dashed toward the library.
The inside was packed with a sea of people. It was a swirl of color and music and crowds and I took a breath, trying to steady my nerves. My eyes flew to the contest banner and the photo of the Italian art gallery where I wanted desperately to paint for the next year.
“There you are!” Olivia grabbed me and gave me a quick hug. “It’s about time, girl. I thought you weren’t going to make it. Love that dress.”
“I’m glad since I had to buy it.” I gave her a rueful smile.
“Come again?”
“I got held up at the dress shop by a customer who came in late and insisted on trying on every single dress in the shop. I didn’t have time to go home and change, so I grabbed this dress right off the rack.”
“Well, you picked a stunning dress. I have to run. The donors need me. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” I watched her dash off, then I looked around. Waiters circulated through the crowd of donors, citizens, competing artists and their supporters. The local and regional media were here, too, but I didn’t see Brian anywhere.
My heart sank. I had to find him. If anyone could talk me out of tossing myself off the long back terrace and right into the ocean, it was Brian. That last thought made me grin. Nothing could be that bad. Um, even though it kind of felt that way.
Wendy and Max hurtled toward me. Wendy gave me a big smile and a hug just like Olivia had. My friends were so great. “There you are, Megan. You’re so late.”
“Dress shop,” I said, and we exchanged a knowing look. Then I asked, “Is Brian here yet? I need to talk to him.”
She frowned and turned her head. “I saw him over by the book stacks a few minutes ago. I don’t know where he is now, though.”
Max and Wendy moved on to talk with another couple and I wondered if Brian could be upstairs. I started in that direction when a tall male physique stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Crystalline blue eyes peered down at me.