by Lydia Reeves
Geoff had already left for the day, but my other part-time employee, Marian, was working in the cafe. She slid our drinks across the counter with an amicable, “Hey, boss.”
I took the coffees while Jeanne grabbed the plate with her slice of cheesecake, and we settled in at a small table in the corner.
“So, I’m guessing your mom called you about the party? You’ll be there, right?” she asked, taking a bite of her cheesecake. I’d never met a dentist who ate as much sugar as Jeanne did.
I nodded. “I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss the little guy’s big day.” I took a sip of the scalding coffee. “Besides, it’ll give my mom something to focus on other than my failures.”
Jeanne smiled. “Failures like hiring someone other than your brother to paint your wall?”
Jeanne always was one step ahead of me. I shrugged. “She pitched the mural idea and it sounded good. I wasn’t thinking about how my mom or my brother would react.”
“From your tone, I’m guessing your mom already brought it up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course she did. Good publicity, support your family, et cetera.” I couldn’t keep the bite out of my voice.
Jeanne snickered into her coffee then looked appraisingly at where Ellen was mixing paint.
“Well, I like her. Anyone who pisses your mom off by default has my approval.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Approval for what?”
She blinked guileless eyes at me. “Oh, nothing. Just approval.”
“Mm-hmm.”
She took another bite of cheesecake and her mouth curved in a devilish grin. “You should bring her to the party next Saturday. That would cause quite a stir.”
I stared at her incredulously. “Why on earth would I bring her to Dylan’s party? She’s just someone I hired to paint my wall while her car gets fixed. It’s not like I’m dating her.”
Jeanne just looked at me. “Oh, sure, I know. Just a thought.”
* * *
It really wasn’t like I was dating her. We were just two people, working together in the bookstore…checking in with each other…eating lunch together…going upstairs to our apartment to make dinner together…possibly touching each other a little too long, maybe sneaking kisses.
Ellen made good progress on the mural that day, finishing most of the work of blocking in all the major scenes and characters and setting herself up to start detailing the next day. When I told her I was closing the store and heading upstairs for dinner, she started cleaning up her paints and brushes and joined me.
I had no intention of throwing myself at her, but we’d barely made it into the apartment before she grabbed a fistful of my shirt and pulled me to her. One kiss turned into two, then three, and I only just managed to get her out of her clothes before I ended up covered in paint again.
By the time we got around to dinner it was pushing midnight, and we ate naked in my bed, wrapped in sheets and blankets, trading bites and stories and laughter. It took me a while to identify the tight feeling in my chest as happiness.
“So,” Ellen said, leaning back on her hands. “Who was the lady sitting with you at the cafe today?” The sheet shifted with her movement and fell, exposing one breast, and her skin glowed golden in the light from my bedside lamp. She saw me staring and smirked, deliberately shifting again so the sheet fell all the way to her waist. I realized I had completely missed her question and tried to drag my eyes back up.
“What’s that?”
She smiled. “The blond lady in the cafe. You guys were talking for quite a while. Is she a regular or something?”
I liked the thought that she’d been watching me enough to notice me sitting with Jeanne. “No, that’s Jeanne. She’s my sister-in-law. Well, ex-sister-in-law. She divorced my brother about five years ago. She came in to invite me to her son’s birthday party.” I didn’t add that Jeanne had also come to check Ellen out.
I looked up at her face. It was open and happy, nothing there beyond curiosity at how I spent my day, but I couldn’t resist teasing her. “Why, are you jealous?”
She laughed. “Well, if I was going to be, she’d be a good choice. She’s gorgeous.”
I nodded. “Yeah, just my brother’s type.”
“Gorgeous isn’t really a type.”
“That’s true,” I conceded with a grin. “His type is actually sweet, but kind of vapid and not too bright. Jeanne may be sweet, but she isn’t any of the rest, so I guess that’s why they didn’t work out.”
She tilted her head. “It doesn’t sound like you and your brother have much in common.”
I felt my mouth pull up on one side. “Thank you.”
She laughed again. “Do you get along with him?”
My smile fell and I shrugged. I leaned forward and snagged a lock of her hair, toying with the strands as I thought it through. I didn’t generally like talking about my family, but I felt the need to answer her honestly. I let the strands of her hair run through my fingers like water and sat back. “It’s complicated, I guess. My brother isn’t a bad guy, and we get along well enough. But it’s like you said, we don’t have much in common, and that’s always been to my detriment.”
She looked at me closely. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s very talented. He’s an artist, like I told you, and a writer. Dabbles in music, too. To hear my parents tell it, he can also cure the sick and walk on water.”
She ignored my sarcasm. “Are you suggesting that you’re not talented?”
I shrugged. “I know I can’t walk on water.”
“Seriously though. You’re a really great person. I don’t know about your drawing or writing abilities, but I’ve only known you for a couple of days, and I’ve already seen enough to know you’re amazing.”
I quirked a smile at her. “You’re sleeping with me. You have to say that.”
She attempted to stifle a smile, and opened her mouth to argue again, but I cut her off. “No, I know my brother is not objectively better than me. I guess I’ve just always been in his shadow, and after a lifetime of being compared to someone and coming up short…it just starts to get old, that’s all.”
She shifted on the bed, rearranging her legs as she seemed to mull this over. “I’ve always been an only child. I guess I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a sibling in the first place, let alone one that you always got compared to,” she said quietly. “But I do know what it’s like to be the odd one out. I’m really sorry your own family makes you feel that way.”
I gave a half shrug. “I guess I’m used to it.”
“Your brother has a son, too, you said?”
“That’s right. Dylan. He’s turning six on Saturday, so I’ll get to spend the day listening to my mom compare her sons. Oh, and hear about how terrible I am for not having my brother paint my wall.”
“What?!”
I gave a wry smile. “Yep, sorry. Apparently, you made me betray my brother.”
She scowled. “Who is your brother, anyway?”
“Jeremy Whitaker.”
I watched her face, which she worked to keep neutral, but her quick indrawn breath gave her away. I felt a twist in my gut. “You’ve heard of him.”
She nodded, almost apologetically. “He’s pretty well known. I saw one of his exhibitions when I lived in San Francisco. I didn’t realize he’d written a book.”
I gave a quiet laugh, and rose from the bed, not bothering to take the sheet with me. In the living room, I retrieved my brother’s book and brought it back into the bedroom, handing it to her wordlessly before climbing back beneath the sheets.
She took it and stared at the cover, tracing her fingers over the brush strokes visible in the paint. “Wow,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“Who is she?”
“What?” I asked, but I knew what she meant.
“The girl in the painting. Who is she?”
“Her name is Caroline. She was my brother’s girlfriend.” And
mine, I didn’t say.
“Have you read the book? What is it?”
I nodded. “It’s a series of short stories. Each chapter starts with a painting, and then has a story based on the theme of the artwork. It’s pretty good, actually,” I admitted grudgingly.
“Are all the paintings of women?”
“Not all of them.”
Ellen traced the image on the cover again. “I guess you were right. ‘Gorgeous’ might be your brother’s type.”
I reached out a hand and stroked a finger down the soft skin of her shoulder. “You’re more gorgeous than any of them.”
Her breath caught and she met my eyes. Hers were fierce with emotion. “And you have just as much value as your brother.”
I let my fingers trail over her collarbone and down to cup the soft skin of her breast. Her breathing stuttered and I felt her nipple pebble under my touch. I ran my thumb lightly over the peak, back and forth, and watched as her eyes fluttered closed.
Then they opened again. “Are you sorry you didn’t have your brother paint your wall?” she asked quietly.
I moved my hand away from her breast and lifted it to her mouth, running my thumb over her lower lip. “Not a bit,” I said, meeting her gaze so she would know I was serious. “I wouldn’t trade your mural for anything. Your work is beautiful and unique.”
I leaned in and replaced my thumb with my lips.
“And so are you.”
Chapter 9
ELLEN
By the time the weekend and much of the following week had flown by, I realized that I scarcely recognized my own life. I didn’t know when I’d fallen into this routine of domestic bliss, but if I closed my eyes and didn’t think too hard, I could almost pretend it was real. Each day that week we woke together, and eventually made our way out of bed and into our clothes and down to the bookstore. Geoff—who was quickly becoming my favorite person—was always there to greet us with something delectable, a kiss on the cheek for me and a smirk for Sam. I worked on the mural while he ran the store, and at the end of the day we went upstairs and made dinner before falling into bed together. Meanwhile, the bed in the guest room stayed pitifully empty.
My panic after that first night, my fear that I had messed up and gotten in over my head, hadn’t disappeared, exactly, but I had successfully filed it away under “Things to Deal with Later.”
And for the time being, that was working. Days passed, and nothing interrupted our happy routine. Tony called only to say he was still waiting on a part for my car, but he expected everything would be done by Thursday or Friday. Dana called to tell me she was excited to see me, and though I apologized profusely for leaving her hanging, she insisted that I should take all the time I needed, and her house was there when I was ready. I got an email from the children’s book publisher I had worked with previously, wanting to hire me on for a series of books by a new author, but the project wouldn’t start for a few weeks yet. And so, I put all those little bits of real life aside, and focused instead on the mural and on the wonderful feeling of being with Sam.
He really was wonderful. Beneath the quiet intensity of his exterior was a warm and generous man. He was both thoughtful and sweet, and I knew that while I would be sad to leave, these would be memories to treasure for a lifetime.
When Jeanne came into the store on Tuesday afternoon, just as I was putting the finishing touches on the hazy figure of Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Past, Sam beckoned me down to the cafe to meet her. She shook my hand, heedless of the paint streak I left on her palm and said, “So, you’re the artist everyone in town is talking about. Your work is beautiful. You’re doing a wonderful job on both the mural and my brother-in-law here.”
I liked her immediately. I even forgave her for being a dentist when she admitted that she hated dentists, too. Though considering the amount of chocolate she ate while we sat together, I thought I might be able to guess why.
We talked about art, and the bookstore, and a little bit about my past—she had moved quite a bit in her life and sympathized—and she showed me pictures of her son, Dylan, who was, unsurprisingly, a very handsome kid. And after she left, Sam looked at me across the table in silence for a long moment, before blurting out, “Do you want to come to the birthday party on Saturday?”
I blinked. “What?”
He ducked his head to take a sip of his coffee and I could see his ears were slightly pink under his dark hair. “You don’t have to, it was just a thought. Jeanne would love to have you there, too, but I know—”
“Sure.”
“—you’d probably—wait, what?”
“Sure, I’d love to go. Your nephew seems like a good kid, and I’m happy to provide another line of defense between you and your mom.”
Besides, Saturday was only four days away. My car might be finished by then but the mural likely wouldn’t be, and I’d rather spend the day with Sam’s family than sit in his apartment alone.
“Oh,” he said, looking slightly bewildered, like he wasn’t sure if he was more surprised that he’d asked or that I’d said yes. “Well, that’s great.”
I grinned at him and leaned across the table, pulling the paintbrush I’d been using from my hair and wiping a smear of yellow paint down his cheek. I gave him a wink and rose to head back to work. His grumbling protest followed behind me, but I didn’t look back.
* * *
To my surprise, the mural ended up taking less time than I expected. Once I got into the swing of things the detail work progressed quickly, and by Thursday evening it was becoming clear that I would have it finished up the following day. I had mixed emotions. Part of me was sad that it was almost over, which meant as soon as my car was done my time here would be drawing to a close. Another part of me was immensely proud of the work I had done. Rather than decrease as the mural became old news, my audience had grown, and more and more people had started approaching me to ask questions. I heard people start to pick out my hidden Easter eggs, exclaiming over finding small literary references hidden in unlikely places. It was thrilling to hear.
Two other people had shown interest in my work, and one—the elementary school principal—had gone so far as to ask my rates and whether or not I’d be interested in doing a mural for the school. I was sad to tell her I wouldn’t be staying in town that long, and hoped she would be able to find another artist to do the work.
My heart was heavy that evening as I packed up my supplies, rinsing out brushes and moving everything out of the way. I had torn down the scaffolding that afternoon and borrowed Sam’s truck to return it, since everything that was left could be reached with a small step-ladder. I felt subdued that evening, but I tried to keep my feelings to myself. Sam knew what this was; we’d both known from the beginning. He didn’t seem upset, so I wouldn’t weigh him down with feelings I’d known better than to develop in the first place.
I was right—the mural was completely done by early evening the following day. It was near closing time and the store was quiet, so I cleaned up the majority of my supplies and stepped back one last time to view it from across the store, the way new customers would see it when they walked in. I was happy with how it had all come together in the end, and thrilled that it hadn’t taken as much time as I’d feared when I’d started. Sam was out of the store running errands, but Geoff was still there, and Rachel gave me a thumbs-up from her vantage point by the register.
Geoff provided me with a congratulatory chocolate-filled croissant, and joined me in the cafe while I ate it.
“So, what’s the plan now?” he asked bluntly. “You ditching us all and moving on?”
I laughed around a mouthful of chocolate. “I dunno. I’m tempted to stay just for your baking.”
His smile turned serious. “You could, you know. Stay, I mean. Fairfield isn’t such a bad place to live. Small, sure, and gossipy, but we all like you. And I’m pretty sure Sam likes you, and—”
I cut him off with a hand on his arm. “I appreciate it, Geoff, r
eally I do, but I can’t stay. I like Sam too, but it’s not like that. I wasn’t even supposed to be here this long. My friend in Ohio is expecting me, and I’ve got to move on.”
My heart ached when I said the words, and just for a moment, I considered what it would be like to stay. To let what I had with Sam develop into something more. The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. Then I thought about San Diego, remembering what had happened the one time I’d let myself settle down, and I ruthlessly quashed the feeling. What I had with Sam was special; I couldn’t let myself stay and ruin it.
Geoff just looked at me, his expression sad. “Does Sam know?”
“Does Sam know what?” came the deep, gravelly voice I’d become so used to in such a short span of time.
“That’s my cue.” Geoff stood and ducked away from the table, leaving Sam to take his seat.
He looked across the table at me questioningly.
Oh. Wow. I wasn’t prepared to have this conversation now.
“Well, the mural is done, so—”
“What?” He looked up sharply. Then his face split into the most beautiful grin I’d seen, and he grabbed my hand and hauled me up from the table. I didn’t even have time to protest before he’d dragged me halfway across the store to where he could take it all in.
I watched as his jaw dropped open, and I laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. You’ve been watching it the whole time, you idiot.”
He just grinned and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me close and dropping a kiss on my lips. “It’s better than I ever imagined. Thank you, El.”
I felt a blush heat my cheeks. “I made you a list of all the books I included, in case you want to do some kind of treasure hunt, or event at the store. It’s in your office.”