by Ava Miles
“You’re pretty handy,” she commented, staring at him now. “Why do I have a feeling you’re more than an artist?”
He forced a poker face. It hadn’t dawned on him that he might give himself away by inventing something so simple. All she had to do was Google “Evan the inventor,” and he’d show up in the results.
“Even da Vinci had to create inventions to make his artistic work come alive,” he told her. “I like to create things.”
“Da Vinci, huh?” she said, setting his new pride and joy aside. “That’s a pretty big comparison.”
For Evan Murray, it was. For Evan Michaels, well…he didn’t like to brag, but he thought Maestro would be impressed with some of his inventions if they ever met in a parallel universe.
Evan made himself shrug casually. “You know what they say. ‘That which you admire in another is already inside of you.’”
It was exactly what Chase had said to him after he’d finally confessed how much he admired the other man’s ease of being…well, a man’s man.
“I’ve never heard that saying,” Margie said, picking up her purse and walking to the door. “I’ll have to remember it.”
He turned off his laptop and stuffed it into the backpack he’d bought. Then, he delicately tucked his new mistress into the bag. It was going to sleep beside him tonight. He didn’t care if that made him weird.
“You’re taking that with you?” she asked, her gaze flicking from the backpack to him.
“Ah…” He felt his ears flush. “I want to see if there are any other improvements I can make. When I was in your kitchen cleaning the rollers, I realized that space could use a good coat of paint too. You should add it to the list.”
“Already done. It’s going to be painted a sunny yellow since I’ll have start baking at three a.m., well before the sun rises.”
“The mere thought of that schedule makes me want to throw up,” he answered honestly. When he was in Paris, he was usually still partying at three a.m. or strolling on the streets in the quiet. Paris was beautiful at night, and when he was lonely, he liked to walk amongst the statues and imagine that they were alive and keeping him company.
“Don’t judge my new routine. If I don’t get up then, I’ll be depriving Dare Valley of their morning pastries. I’m sure you’ve enjoyed Paris’ baked goods. And their bakers begin at two a.m., not the wimpy three a.m. I can get away with in Dare Valley. Did you think the fairies left the bread in a nice straw basket by the baker’s doorstep at sunrise?”
Paris was so magical, he could halfway believe such a story. He lifted the backpack over his shoulder after zipping it closed. “I do like a croissant with my café crème. And don’t even get me started talking about my love affair with la baguette.”
“I can’t wait to learn how to make both of those from the experts,” she said, letting him out and then locking the door.
“Who are you apprenticing with?” he asked, not that he would likely know.
“Andre Moutard of Boulangerie Ma Belle. His place is in St. Germain.”
“I live in St. Germain,” he said. Or Evan Michaels did. In a fancy penthouse. “It’s one of the best parts of the city. I love how the window displays are always changing. It’s like they’re inventing something new each time.” Which is why he lived there. It had fed his imagination at first. And then nothing had. Until now.
He paused, wanting to say he would show her around when she came to Paris, but it was too soon for that.
“I’ve never thought about a shop window as an invention. I might have to look at my own storefront in a new way once I open.”
He almost wished he’d be there to see it. “Just put cinnamon roll after cinnamon roll in the shop window. That will speak for itself.”
She laughed. “When I’m not so tired, you’ll have to tell me where I need to go when I’m not working.”
“That I can do.” Of course, the places he went would be out of her price range. He would have to do some research.
“Where are you parked?” she asked as they walked down Main Street.
“I walked here,” he said, tipping his head up to take in the starry sky.
In Paris, he rarely saw a sky so filled with stars. The city’s famous lights obscured the galaxies beyond Earth almost as if Paris were a woman who could not stand the competition to her beauty.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll take you home.”
It was odd for a woman to say that to him without intending it as an invitation into her bed, but everything in Dare Valley was different from his usual.
She bid him goodnight almost immediately when they entered the quiet Victorian, which was likely for the best. Neither of them needed any awkwardness. He grabbed himself a glass of water in the kitchen before heading upstairs to his room.
Inside, he dug out his cell phone and called Chase. His friend lived outside Washington D.C., only two hours ahead of his current time in Dare Valley—not that he couldn’t call Chase at any time of the day. He had carte blanche.
“How’s normal life so far?” Chase asked the minute he picked up.
“I invented something!” he immediately said, not bothering to keep the old nerdy glee out of his voice.
“You did? That’s terrific. I knew you could get back in the game.” He laughed that loud, gusty laugh of his. “Evan, I’m going to freeze all of your accounts from now on so you’ll be poor for the rest of your life. Tell me what you cooked up.”
Evan described his makeshift prototype in grand detail, and goosebumps broke out across his arms. When he was finished, he was nearly breathless with excitement. “It’s terrific, right?”
There was a long pause. “I don’t think the Painter’s Prep Mistress is going to make us millions, Evan. There’s no money in retail.”
Since he had to shake something, and it couldn’t be Chase’s neck, he shook his cell. When he put it back to his ear, he said, “Don’t you dare steal my thunder. You know I haven’t had a real idea in two years.” And the ones before that had fizzled like day-old champagne.
“Your company, Evan, the one I run for you, is a defense contractor. We—i.e. you—invent top-secret thingamabobs that we sell to increase a nation’s national security. Your Paint Prep Mistress isn’t going to keep the bad guys away.”
“Stop talking about my mistress like that!”
“Evan!”
“Dammit, Chase. I know what we do, or what I used to do. Today, I found the spark again, the one that used to mean everything to me. I thought you’d understand.” He hung up and put his head in his hands, losing that heady feeling he’d experienced all day.
The phone immediately rang.
Since it would have been sulky not to pick up, he answered. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” Chase began. “I got all excited when you said you’d invented something, and then when you told me what it was… You’re not the only one who can feel disappointment, Evan. I’m really glad you found the spark again. But we need some new products. There are only so many new government contracts I can win with old technology unless you want me to start selling INV-333 to non-NATO countries.”
After the successful testing of his invisibility cloak a la Harry Potter, which he called INV-333, he’d told Chase they could only sell to countries that were strong allies of the United States and France. Evan watched the news. There were plenty of governments who would pay top dollar for INV-333, and while he couldn’t be completely sure how any governments would ultimately use his defense equipment, he was at least going to make sure they didn’t use it against his country of birth or residence.
“I still don’t want to sell to non-NATO countries,” he said, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Something is happening here, Chase. Like I hoped it would. I can feel it.”
“I told you, all you needed to do to light that spark again was cut down on the partying. I might have to send Jane Wilcox and Rhett Butler Blaylock a thank-you card.”
That
would be the day. “I’m still going to tinker with my Paint Prep Mistress. Maybe we should create a retail arm of Quid-Atch Incorporated.”
All Evan’s early inventions had been inspired by Harry Potter. Mrs. Alice, a kind librarian at his middle school, had given him the first book the year his father had left to take a job in Texas. His dad had promised to send for them, but in the end he’d only sent divorce papers. With few options and fewer resources, Evan’s mom had started cleaning houses and office buildings at night to keep money in the bank, and after that, he’d rarely seen her.
His identification with the boy wizard was immediate—like Harry, he had no real adult caretakers and kids his age misunderstood him. But that didn’t mean it always had to be that way. The books helped him appreciate his gifts, his knack for taking things apart, putting them back together, and inventing something new. They lit his inner fire.
Years later, when Chase had asked him what he wanted to name his company, the answer had been obvious. He named it after the game he loved from the famous book series that had unlocked his imagination.
He’d tried reading the books again last year, hoping they would spark something new in him, but nothing. Zilch.
“Evan, I know you don’t want to run the company, but trust me when I say if you want to start a retail arm of Quid-Atch Incorporated, you’re going to have to do it yourself. I have my hands full on the defense side.”
Chase traveled back and forth from their headquarters in Virginia’s high-tech corridor, Tyson’s Corner, to the major NATO-country capitals. “I’ve told you to hire more people.”
“I have, but there are some things I have to do myself. The heads of defense departments don’t like to be wined and dined by vice presidents.” There was a long sigh. “Evan, our clients have been raising concern over your…non-business activities for a while now. People are starting to think you’ve lost your edge. This paint invention isn’t going to change that perception.”
And perception was everything. For the last two years, he’d been making frequent trips to Tyson’s Corner to keep his employees motivated. If the people at Quid-Atch learned their magician had lost his magic, it would create massive panic. Not just in terms of their employees and clients, but their stock price. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been doing anything. He’d tweaked their inventions, putting out new and improved models all the while hinting at a big design in the works. Of course, there was no big design. Heck, there wasn’t even a big idea.
Desperation had brought him here. But after the spark today with his first invention in two years, however practical and non-defense like, he did believe something bigger than him was at work. Now all he had to do was follow his gut.
“Tell them I’m in seclusion. Working.”
“Now you sound like a monk.” Chase laughed. “Oh, right. I forgot. You rather are right now, aren’t you?”
Evan kicked off his hiking boots—his only other pair of shoes besides flip-flops and tennis shoes—and laid back on the bed. “I should never have told you about that part of the side bet.” Chase had laughed so hard he’d snorted on the phone, something Evan had never heard him do.
“And yet you did. I’m going to get back to sleep now since I have to get up in the morning and run your company.”
“You always say that. Quid-Atch is as much yours as it is mine. I’m only the brains, and right now, we both know I’m not contributing much in that department.”
“You’ll get it back. I have faith in you. I always have.”
His chest squeezed. Chase had never wavered in his loyalty. “Thanks.”
“Good night, Brother Evan.”
He was laughing at the monk joke when Chase hung up the phone. Pulling his paint mistress close, Evan rolled onto his side with a smile on his face and gave in to the jet lag that had been dogging him all afternoon.
And he dreamed about a magical paint.
Chapter 4
The next morning Evan awoke to the sound of water running in the house. The simple red letters of the alarm clock read five, so he expected it was his sexy landlord who was up and about and not the still-mysterious Martin. He was tempted to fall back asleep, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Margie in the shower. Soon he was awake for reasons other than the start of the new day.
Finally, he rose to open the blinds. The mountains surrounding Dare Valley filled him with awe. Ribbons of sunrise spilled over the rocks and pines, turning everything to liquid gold. Say what you would about this town being small, but it sure had box seats to nature’s glory.
Since physical fitness had turned him from a nerdy scientist into what some tabloids called a towering Adonis, he dressed in a T-shirt and running shorts, laced up his cheap running shoes, and headed out for a long run.
Margie was in the kitchen when he came down the stairs, her hair wet and her face all rosy from her shower. She was already measuring out ingredients for some recipe. Even unadorned, she pulled at him unlike any woman he’d ever seen.
“Are you putting chocolate chips in your banana bread?” he asked, noticing the chocolate neatly measured out in a cup near the bowl of over-ripe bananas she was mixing with a fork.
“Uh-huh,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “Are you up this early because of jet lag?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d get a run in before I start painting. Can you recommend a trail?”
Her eyelashes lifted playfully as her gaze met his. “How much of a challenge are you looking for?”
He wanted to tell her he could do the toughest one out there to impress her with his manhood, but that would be stupid. The altitude would kick his butt. “Let’s go with a medium one today.”
She explained where he could find the park soon to be named The Park of Sunset Dreams, and he headed out. It was as beautiful as it sounded, and he was delighted to see other runners out for a morning jog. Paris never felt as crammed to him as New York City, but Dare Valley was almost scarce in its people-to-places ratio. The altitude did make his lungs burn, but it would only make him stronger.
His visit to the local produce market was outright depressing. On the rare occasion he shopped for his own food in Paris, he never looked at prices. But since Evan Murray was on a budget, he needed to keep track of each penny. When had eggs gotten so expensive? And grapefruit? He splurged on the grapefruit to accompany his yogurt and granola, thinking it had better be the best damn grapefruit he’d ever eaten. To offset his splurge, he picked up ramen noodles for dinner. He was already missing the three-course meals he’d enjoyed without a thought in Paris.
When he returned to the house, he was greeted with the delicious smell of baking bread, chocolate, and bananas. His stomach growled. He put his groceries in the refrigerator as Margie puttered around the kitchen in a yellow cotton dress, her sable hair dry now.
“Something smells delicious.” Even he could hear the begging in his voice. He blamed it on the grocery store experience and the dinner of ramen awaiting him.
Her eyes twinkled. “I might give you a taste when the bread is cool enough to slice. If you cut it when it’s too warm, the chocolate streaks.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” he said. Apparently he wasn’t above flirting with her, after all.
“No, we wouldn’t.” She ran her eyes over him, and while she wasn’t obvious about it, he could tell she liked what she saw.
He might have puffed out his chest a bit. “I’ll just go grab a shower.”
Leaving the kitchen, he realized he was aroused, and it was mortifying when he met Martin on the stairs. The guy was only a little taller than Margie and had wire-rimmed glasses that made Evan want to take him under his wing. Thank God his own vision had always been twenty-twenty.
“Ah, hi,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Evan.”
“Martin,” the man responded. His clasp was bony and lacked confidence. “Margie says you’re only staying a month.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m not her
e a lot, but if you need anything, let me know. Although Margie knows everything.”
“She seems very capable.” And sexy. Don’t forget sexy, he told himself.
“That woman could run a small country,” Martin said. “I’m off to the lab.”
“Enjoy.”
He watched Martin sail out of the front door. In a way, he reminded Evan of himself, and it took him a moment to shake off the old memories.
Margie was in the kitchen when Evan came down from his shower. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot she’d made and added granola to a strawberry yogurt before cutting open his grapefruit ever so slowly so no juice would escape. With the sugar she gave him, he feasted on the grapefruit, but its flavor didn’t quite make up for its price.
Sure enough, when he was finished, she gave him a piece of her chocolate banana bread. After one bite, he knew this would become his substitute for pain au chocolat while he was in Dare Valley.
“This is incredible, Margie,” he said, savoring the warm chocolate and the playful hints of banana. The bread was moist and had a hint of crunch from the nuts she used—walnuts, he guessed from the slightly bitter taste. “I think I’m in love.”
She made a humming sound. “I’m glad you like it. I’m thinking about having a few breads with chocolate in them.”
“There’s no way you’re going to apprentice at a boulangerie in Paris without learning how to make pain au chocolat.”
She smiled. “I will be, yes. I’ve splurged on buying one of the machines you need to make croissants. There’s no way I’m going to make them by hand.”
He didn’t know anything about baking, but even he could imagine all those buttery layers would be a bitch to make.
“You’re a smart woman. It will be a good investment.” He finished the last bite of his breakfast and put his dishes in the dishwasher, making sure he hadn’t left a crumb on the counter. “Well, I’m off to paint your castle.”
Her lips twitched, and he noticed a speck of chocolate in the corner of her rosy-red mouth. She had clearly enjoyed her newest concoction. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the thought of kissing that chocolate away and sucking on her lip.