by Nicole Smith
He glanced at the clock on the wall and realized his delivery would be arriving soon. He'd bought a vintage-style stove and refrigerator, but with modern equipment so they functioned well as contemporary appliances. With the ocean practically on his doorstep, he'd bought the beach-blue color for both. The house was from the fifties, it seemed only natural that the appliances match the retro fifties' blue.
The morning was taken up by deliveries. The appliances got dropped off and installed. Next came the truck with his belongings. The little house filled up quickly once everything was unloaded and brought inside.
Sam turned around and looked at the living room once he was done setting it up. Yes, he thought, this will do. A brown leather couch ran along one wall, with his desk and laptop computer situated right in front of the glass doors. He'd put a large rug down on the wood plank floor, good for pacing with bare feet. And a rocking chair was across from the couch, always useful for thinking time. The room could still use a few odds and ends, something for one wall in particular, but Sam thought he'd seen a sign in town about a craft fair opening May first. Today, it was time to go food shopping and fill up the new fridge and cabinets, along with picking up some beer--and vodka and a jar of olives for martinis.
Facing the blank screen was hard to do, no matter how many times he'd done it before, and running errands was a way to put it off. Besides, he wanted to stop by the bakery and see if Anna would accept his apology for yesterday's gaffe.
Once in town, he drove directly to the bakery. To his shock, he discovered Anna wasn't there. The young woman managing the shop said Anna was taking a few days off. Sam was so thrown by this he didn't even buy the cookies he planned to stock in his kitchen.
He drove around the square twice before he realized he was being a coward. Turning the car sharply off Main Street, he ended up parking in front of Anna's building. As he climbed the stairs, it occurred to him that bringing flowers would have been a good idea. Too late to fix that now.
Sam knocked on the door three times and waited. He was surprised by the level of trepidation he felt. After a minute-long wait, and about the time he'd decided to leave, the door opened.
Anna stood there, auburn hair flowing down, looking as if she'd run her hands through it numerous times. Her eyes looked more brown than green today, matching her long brown t-shirt that had various colors of paint smudged on it over tight, washed-out jeans. He couldn't help but notice her phenomenal body and he stood staring at her, sensing an energy to her he'd never felt in the bakery.
"Yes?" she said impatiently.
"I've come to apologize."
"Oh really...well...fine. I've heard your apology, now you can go."
"Seriously, Anna, if there was anything I could do to undo what happened I would. I know what it is to want to keep your work private. I'm so sorry to have intruded on yours."
"Hmm. Just what is your work, anyway?"
He paused for a moment, then said, "I'm a writer. Working on a book while I'm living here."
"Ah, I see," she said, nodding her head. "That makes sense of some things."
He said nothing and she looked at him for a minute, then said, "You might as well come in, you've seen it all already."
She turned away from the doorway and he walked through. Right away he noticed all the paintings that previously had resided against the walls were gone. Then he turned his eyes to her easel and the canvas there and rocked back on his heels in surprise.
"Anna," he breathed and began walking forward slowly, hand outstretched.
"Don't touch," she said sharply.
"No, of course not. It's--it's incredible. Rage, anger, right? That's what it is?"
He turned to her and saw her mouth quirk up into a twisted smile.
"How did you know that's what it was?"
"How could I not? It's so clear, the colors, the brushstrokes, the intensity. It's fantastic, Anna, it really is."
She bent her head forward and her hair fell around her face for a moment, then she looked up at him, eyes bright. A slow smile spread on her face. "Thanks, I appreciate hearing that. It's strange for me to hear anyone's opinion of my work, obviously. I find it weird to actually want to know what you think of it."
"Maybe you recognize the artist in me."
"Maybe so. Have you written anything I'd recognize?"
He went quiet as he thought fast. He didn't want to lie to her, and of course the way she'd worded that--nothing about recognizing or not recognizing his name, but about the work itself. Damn. Part of him wanted to tell her.
She shrugged, looking perplexed. "Not a complicated question there, Sam. But if you don't want to talk about it..."
He sighed. "It's a tough decision for me because I'm so used to keeping it private--like you and your paintings. But I feel like I owe you, of all people, the truth."
He motioned to the couch. "Mind if I sit down?"
"Sure, go ahead. You want anything to drink?"
"No, I'm fine."
Anna sat in a big, comfy dark green chair across from him, legs tucked up under her.
"Okay. I've been writing for nine years. I'm rather prolific, publishing two novels a year. I write a mystery series about a detective in a small town," he said, watching her brow furrow as she thought. "But he's not just any detective, he's a psych--"
"Oh my God! The psychic detective? Maury? Maurice Tremblay"
He nodded.
"You're Tom Anders!" He noticed her eyes widen again and she was grinning at him.
"No, I'm not Tom Anders. I'm Sam Carter. Tom is just a pen name. Sam is nothing like the famous Tom Anders."
"I don't know, you are a bit like your alter-ego. Tom Anders isn't seen that often in the entertainment shows and magazines these days. Seems like he's pretty private as well. At least, ever since he--you--were involved with that starlet and started getting chased by the paparazzi. Whatever happened to her anyway?"
Sam gave her an embarrassed look. "That was a moment of celebrity insanity that ended pretty quickly."
"Now that I look at you and remember a photo I've seen of your alter ego, I can kind of see it--but Tom Anders always wears those black glasses and very conservative, but clearly expensive, suits and I've only ever seen you in blue jeans."
The blush appearing on her face after saying that fascinated Sam.
"Yes, I dress differently for those photos. Not terribly different, but enough so I can go around like this and not be recognized."
"Oh my--you're doing the glasses thing like Superman!"
He felt himself turn a bit red. "Well...anyway, when the books became popular and then when Hollywood came calling, I knew I'd still need my privacy to keep writing. I move around to different small towns to write my books, to get into the vibe of small town life to use it in the stories about Maurice."
"Hence the easy-going persona of Sam Carter."
"Exactly. I know this is a lot to ask, but I'd appreciate it if we could keep the truth of my identity and work a secret between us. I did let your father know last night I'm a writer. But if we could keep Tom Anders out of it--that would be fantastic. I don't want an invasion of photographers out at the beach house."
Anna nodded her head, hair swinging forward again. She brushed it back behind her ears. "Not a problem. I do understand, probably better than most. I won't even tell Dad. I'll just inform him I know you're a writer." She paused and quiet rested comfortably between them. After a few minutes, she said, "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
"Not at all."
"How is it, knowing so many people are reading your words? How does it feel to be so exposed out there?"
He laughed. "It feels strange and wonderful, exciting and scary, unbelievable and comfortable--all at the same time. I like knowing my writing is giving joy or entertainment or even a distraction to people who read it. And I'm still scared every time that people will suddenly hate the new book and reject it totally. Mostly, though, at this point, it's fun. I have a good frien
d who is my agent, someone I trust completely and that helps. I don't trust the people who want into my life, the Hollywood types, the literary hangers-on, people out to tag along with my bestseller status. Norm tells it to me straight and it’s invaluable to me."
"I can see how that would be important. I've gone a long time without any criticism of my work, or approval. Since yesterday I've thought a lot about you and my Dad seeing my paintings. And I was surprised at how a part of me really wanted to hear your opinions even if you all thought the work sucked. It struck me that I've been painting in a vacuum--and maybe it's time to open the door to the world and have an audience."
Sam eyes widened in surprise that this had come out of yesterday's fiasco. Was she really ready to show her work? She seemed calm enough about it today.
"Here's a test of that statement for you. How do you feel when I tell you I know a gallery owner who would come here to look at your paintings if you'd like? He's in New York and his gallery features serious work, not just the usual contemporary garbage so often scattered through the New York galleries."
He noticed how her body tensed up as he spoke. Aha, maybe not so ready.
But then she said, "He would come here to look at them?"
"Yes, if, when, you're ready. He trusts my judgment not to waste his time."
Anna sat up straight in her chair, putting bare feet on the floor. Sam noticed her toes were sparkly with pink nail polish. Pink. Hmm, another side of the woman he was surprised by. After seeing that painting of rage, he'd have expected some dark, wine-colored polish.
He looked up from staring at her feet to find her watching him. After a moment, he smiled at her in encouragement.
"I need to think about it some more. But I might, I just might be ready to have a professional look at them. If you think--Sam do you really think they're good enough?"
"Do I think--? Anna they're excellent! Seriously good. I won't say anything to him until you let me know for certain, but believe me when I tell you they are plenty good enough." He stopped and then continued. "Are you leaving the bakery to focus more on your art now that you're moving in here?"
"No, I'll continue at the bakery, but I may have shortened hours. How did you know I'm moving--oh, of course, my father. Why did he want you here really?
"I told him I had experience doing renovations on houses--which is true--and he wanted my opinion. That was all."
Anna nodded, thinking, and then stood up. "Okay, if you want to help him out, you can. But don't let it take away from your own art. I don't want anything to interfere with your writing. Because it does bring joy to a lot of people."
"Thank you, Anna." He stood as well, amused at how she was obviously ready for him to leave. "I guess I should be going. I may take you up on helping your father, though. So don't be surprised if you see more of me around here."
She blushed prettily again, and gave him a small smile. God, he wondered, does she have any idea what that look does to me?
No, he decided, she probably didn't know. She was such a combination of things, but there was a thread of innocence wound throughout. "Thanks also for accepting my apology. I'll see you tomorrow at the bakery?"
"Yes," she said and laughed. "Not sure yet what donuts I'll be making, but they'll be good."
"Sounds delicious. Bye!" He walked through the doorway and down the stairs. After about thirty seconds, he heard the door upstairs close softly.
As he drove off in the roadster on a rather gray, muggy day, Sam suddenly felt exhilarated. And it was all because of her. Oh yeah, he was in major trouble.
Chapter 4
The last days of April passed in a haze of summer sun and humidity. Then a front came through and the air was drier with a bit of wind. May first dawned in a cerulean blue sky and temperatures getting up into the eighties.
Anna had been at the bakery since four in the morning, coming in earlier than her usual five to get extra goodies ready for the fair. The town labeled it a craft fair, but there were all types of items available. Cupcakes and cookies from the bakery were always big favorites. She shoved another tray of white cupcakes with lime green icing into the rack that would hold them in the van to go to the fair. Chocolate and vanilla cupcakes were decorated by icing of bright pink, sunny yellow, lime green, and pale blue, and were standing in order. The sugar cookies and oatmeal raisin cookies were already packaged up and ready to go.
Kayla called out a 'hello' as she entered the bakery and went back to the kitchen. "Need any help?"
"Nah, I've got it, Kayla," Anna told the high school helper. Kayla was incredibly responsible and Holly and Anna were glad to find her. "You'll stay here until I'm back, then you can take off for the fair. I'll close up."
"Sounds good. Oops, there's the door." Kayla sped on out to the front. Within a minute she was back with a curious expression on her face. "Anna? There's a guy out here--the new guy? He's asking if he can talk to you."
"Oh...uh...okay. Here, finish up setting these cupcakes on the tray, will you?"
Kayla nodded, wide-eyed.
Anna straightened her pink polyester tunic and went behind the counter to see Sam standing there looking gorgeous as usual in jeans and a black t-shirt. She smiled as she read the writing on it. "You're a Foo Fighters fan? I like them, too. What can I get you, Sam?"
He glanced down at the shirt as if he hadn't realized he was wearing it. "I wanted to see if you needed any help getting the baked goods to the fair. Your father mentioned it to me yesterday when we were working at the loft. He said you take some stuff there every year, so I'm volunteering. But I'd also like one of those muffins," he said with a grin as he pointed to the apple spice muffins.
That grin, she thought. So full of fun. "Sure, one muffin coming up. But I don't need any help, Sam. The bakery has a van and I unload it out there, then the Women's Auxiliary sells them for us and some of the proceeds go to them."
"Are you sure? Because I've cleared the decks today and I'd like to help."
"Well...okay, I guess. Come on back to the kitchen and we can finish loading up. There's a back door that leads to the van."
Anna thought Kayla's eyes would pop out when she saw Sam eating his muffin, following Anna into the kitchen. "You can take over again in the front, Kayla. Sam is volunteering to help us out today."
"Uh, okay, Anna, sure thing." Kayla wandered off slowly, and Anna sighed as she imagined just how long Kayla would take to spread this news to the customers.
"Show me where you want me to take these trays," Sam said as he lifted one off the counter.
"Just shove them into that rack there. We move the rack into the van where we lock it down so it doesn't move. I'll get the cookies and the display baskets for them, and then we'll be ready to go outside."
The bags of cookies and baskets had been placed inside a large box, which Sam took from her as soon as she carried it out of the back storage room. She shrugged and led the way to van, pushing the cupcake rack. The back door opened onto an asphalt driveway where the pale yellow van sat.
They got everything situated in the van and when Sam climbed into the passenger seat, Anna gazed at him in confusion. "What are you doing?"
"Coming with you, of course. You'll need to unload all this and I can help."
"Okay, why are you doing this?"
Sam started to say something, stopped when he looked at her face and said, "Honestly? I like being around you. I thought if I helped you get all your chores done, maybe you'd come with me to the fair. Sometimes the writing leaves me feeling too alone, and I thought you might could use some company, too."
She couldn't imagine him saying anything that would have startled her more. He liked being around her? That was more direct than usual. Lately he'd taken to complimenting her and flirting with her when he came into the bakery. It was true they'd seen more of each other because he was helping out at the loft, but...she realized he was waiting for her to respond. "Uh, yeah, sure--I mean, yes, going to the fair with you would be ni
ce." Nice? She groaned internally.
Sam grinned at her. "Fantastic! Let's get this show on the road."
She fastened her seat belt, noticed he'd already done his, and started up the engine.
Sam seemed lost in his own thoughts and Anna liked how comfortable the silence was.
Suddenly, he spoke. "Anna, have you ever been in love?"
"What?"
"You heard me--have you?"
"I don't see why you want to know."
"Humor me. I'm curious."
"Well, if you must know, yes--at least I thought it was love. Turns out it definitely wasn't on his part and it ended. There hasn't been much opportunity since then."
"And if love were to come into your life all of a sudden and hit you over the head--would you accept it? Or deny it? Or not believe it was possible?"
"Sam, what in heaven's name are you talking about?"
"Just some trouble I'm having with a character in the book."
"Ohh. I thought--"
"You thought what?"
"Nothing, nothing at all."
He appeared to shake off whatever thought had been bothering him.
Anna glanced over at him and said, "So, have you been in love a lot?"
"Me? Not a lot, no."
"How come?"
"Maybe I've been looking in the wrong places, at the wrong people for love."
She couldn't think of anything to safely say to that comment and she stayed quiet the rest of the way there.
"So this craft fair is a big deal?" Sam asked as he opened up the back of the van. There was a table set out for the bakery.
"It's the first big event of the summer. And just so you know, everyone calls it 'the fair'--they leave out the craft part. It's gotten so much bigger than crafts."
"I'm looking forward to seeing everything with you later."
Right then, Anna saw Mrs. Bidwell walk up behind Sam, clearly hearing his words by the shocked look on her face.
"Well hello, you two," Mrs. Bidwell said in her sugary voice. "Look at you, Anna, with a big, strong helper today."