Chapter 11

ELEVEN

My car was the cause of my life stress.

I should sell it.

Burn it?

Nah, too hasty. Selling it was a good idea. To someone far enough away that I would never take the chance of seeing it again on the street. A person in Idaho, for example. I never went to Idaho. That had to be safe.

I even went online and searched for a small town in that state with a dealership that might want to buy back my baby. I was that desperate.

Or insane, take your pick.

I’d stayed up too late grading papers several nights in a row, which had led to a recent dependence on Death by Coffee. Turned out they weren’t lying. Once you got on that stuff, it was hard to get off of it.

Who needed sleep, right?

Well, it turned out I did. Since my breakup—did it count as a breakup if our entire relationship had lasted under thirty-six hours?—and the start of the semester had worn me raw, I obviously should not be making big life choices.

So, naturally, I made several.

I didn’t sell my car. I did, however, agree to move my appointment for custom work to mid-February. Specifically, February 14 th . A day I was guaranteed not to be busy, since I’d been dropped faster than tequila made a woman’s clothes come off.

Also, I was never voluntarily listening to the country channel on satellite radio again.

But as that date drew closer and my loneliness grew deeper instead of lessening, I began to consider the paths life had taken me on. Specifically, how I’d ended up in Crescent Cove and when I was going back.

There could be a message that I wasn’t seeing.

Sure, certain heartbreak and an early onset midlife crisis seemed like the likely ones. But I was an artist. Trained to look deeper.

An artist who was doing a series of paintings on the one woman I was supposed to be forgetting. So far, that wasn’t working out too well. Not to mention I was dreaming about her so much that I had no choice but to get them out of my head and on to paper.

I looked between the trio of canvases I had on easels in my studio. What I should’ve done was put them up for consignment—once they were finished anyway. The last thing I needed were more reminders of her.

Though it didn’t matter, because I thought of her all day every day anyway.

The first one was an amalgamation of that charcoal drawing I’d done in the park the day after our kiss. I’d changed her attire from just the scarf to the white dress shirt I’d dreamed of the night we’d been together. The material draped over her curves, clinging to her in some places and falling loosely in others.

Of course I kept dreaming about her in it.

I was near obsessed with getting everything down. The interesting shadows that teased the juncture of her thighs, mostly hidden by her shirttails. My shirttails, the buttons strategically undone. Her long hair dipped over one eye.

She made the perfect ingenue.

Perfectly unattainable.

In the second painting, she was different, although the changes were modest. Her hair was just a bit wilder, her shoulders back, the shirt barely held closed. More shadows. More defiance in every line of her body. Her beauty fisted my throat and made the sweeps of my paintbrush erratic.

I tried to catalog every detail, to show the subtle changes from the first. I didn’t know why I’d done a series. We’d only had that one stolen night. It wasn’t as if I’d seen her evolve. I never would.

The third canvas was bare.

I didn’t know what I’d do for that one. I’d just known I had to do three.

After I’d worked for a while getting the shading just right of her hair over her shoulder, I grabbed my phone and took a few quick snapshots of the paintings in progress. I liked to catalog the stages of each piece. Some of my customers enjoyed seeing the process of them coming to life. And sometimes, I just needed to have a record of every step.

Then I tossed my cell over my shoulder in the direction of the mattress and went back to it.

Awhile later, my phone buzzed, and I fumbled on my bed until I found it in the disordered sheets. When I did manage to lay down, rest was elusive. More nights than not, I stumbled out of bed to paint. I was driven to finish these, even if it felt like I was painting a future I couldn’t see yet.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

I glanced at the readout. My real estate agent, Connie.

My heartbeat kicked into high gear.

“Hi, Connie. What’s up?”

“You know what’s up. Your offer was accepted.”

I sat on the edge of my bed. “No counter?”

“None. Looks like you’re going to be a new homeowner, Callum. Congratulations.”

Those words echoed in my head as I drove toward Crescent Cove an hour later. Instead of the mini blizzard I’d encountered the first time I’d driven this route, today the sunshine reflected off the icicles gleaming on roofs and sparkled on the thin glaze of snow on lawns. It was still cold enough to freeze my balls, but the sun made me think spring was coming.

Someday.

Dare had a loaner waiting for me when I dropped off my car for the custom work we’d talked about. He was in the middle of a job so he just waved hello while Gage handled the paperwork.

“I’m going to live here soon,” I announced.

Not that he’d asked. Or even spoken much to me. Apparently, Crescent Cove-ites had long memories. At least this one did.

He grunted. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m buying a house on the lake.”

“Where exactly?”

We discussed details, and surprise of all surprises, Gage was my new neighbor. Sort of. He wasn’t right next door, which probably was good for the state of my pumpkins next Halloween. He seemed much friendlier today than he had in December, but I wouldn’t exactly say he’d rolled out the welcome wagon.

Closer though. In general, the townsfolk were pretty friendly. Maybe eventually, I’d be one of them.

Dare’s idea of a loaner was more family friendly than my sports car. The Jeep was more practical than mine as well, especially to drive out to the lake view roads. I parked on the street near the hair salon and walked straight inside, ready to face my fate with a smile.

All right, that was a total lie. I was already sweating bullets, but I could do a poker face with the best of them. Especially when I had one hell of a bribe in my back pocket.

I hadn’t bought a house just to get a woman to go out with me.

Not exactly. That would’ve been crazy.

I’d done it because the house had spoken to me, as so much of this town did. It was as if I’d been caught in a web once I’d entered the town limits of Crescent Cove. One I didn’t want to shake free of anytime soon.

Stepping in to To Dye For made me think of Ellie immediately. Somehow it felt like her. I hadn’t been in many salons, but I knew this one with its farmhouse-style décor and plethora of plants was different. Special. Much like the woman I’d come to whisk away to my house on the water?—

No, I’d come to ask her out for a low pressure lunch. I wouldn’t scare her away this time. I was living the casual life now.

Minus the offer I’d had accepted on the house she loved. A minor detail, really.

One she didn’t need to know about until after lunch. Way after. At least not until I walked her back to her car.

A pretty blond in a billowy poet’s blouse flashed a smile at me. “Hi, I’m Paisley. Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I’m actually looking for Ellie.”

“Oh. Oh. Ohhh.” On the third oh, she braced both hands on the counter and actually leaned over to check me out from head to toe. “You must be artist dude. Nice job, girl.”

“Excuse me?”

“So, Ellie actually isn’t available right now. As you can see.” Expansively, she threw back her arm to encompass the rest of the hair styling stations. It was a small operation but had room to grow. Everything was neat as a pin and welcoming. “But you are here. Very much here. Hmm.”

“Okay, is she due in today? I can wait. Or maybe you could tell me her hours?”

“No, I can’t do that. Confidentiality laws and all.”

I frowned. “But this is a salon. What if I wanted her to do my hair?” I swallowed hard at the inappropriate images that filled my head, most of them involving Ellie, shaving cream, and partial nudity.

Perhaps total nudity. It was my daydream. I could make it as X-rated as I wanted to.

As long as I stayed hidden by this counter.

“Hmm, that’s an idea, right? I can’t send you away if you wanted her to do your hair. Since you would be a paying customer and all. No freebies, ” she added, as if she could sense I was about to demand a chop on the house.

“I’ll pay of course.”

“Right. Because paying customers have to be served no matter what. The client is always right. Isn’t that true, Melody?” Paisley asked an older blond woman blow-drying a high school-aged girl’s hair at the first station. “We have to make sure they’re happy.”

Melody frowned as she looked between us, and then it appeared as if Paisley did a quick hand gesture just out of my range of sight. “Oh, definitely. The customer is the boss. We just want to make sure they’re pleased.”

“Right.” Paisley nodded vigorously as she faced me again. “So, tell us, what exactly are your needs today?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Is this going on YouTube? I feel like I’m being videotaped to be made fun of later.”

She surprised me by letting out a light laugh. “I like you. You seem responsible.” She looked me up and down again. “Nice coat. Burberry? You must have a job.”

I took another look at my surroundings. The hidden camera was going to become apparent at any moment, I just knew it. “I do. Two, in fact. One is a bit more…transient, but the other is quite stable. Are you sure Ellie isn’t here? I really need to talk to her.”

Paisley cocked her head, narrowing her eyes. “Are you going to let her shape your hair? It’s overgrown.”

“I like it that way,” I said defensively.

I didn’t add I hadn’t gotten it cut since just before I’d met Ellie. Depression tended to do that to a man.

“But yes, she can cut it. She can do whatever she wants to do to me.” At Paisley’s arched brow, I cleared my throat. “I mean, hair-wise.”

“I’m sure.”

I stayed silent.

“Good thing Ellie saw you first. Then again, there was a reason she hasn’t seen you since. And why might that be?”

I was pretty sure they knew who I was. And that meant Ellie had mentioned me. She hadn’t forgotten me the minute she’d rolled out of bed.

Logically, I’d known it wasn’t possible. Not after the connection we’d had—and probably still had, if she would just give it a chance.

Somehow I’d have to make her see I was worth the risk.

“It was her choice. I’m here to see if perhaps I can change her mind.” I hoped I sounded confident and not overdue for a visit from Sheriff Brooks.

“Is that right?”

“Yes. I’m not here to be a nuisance.” God, was I being a fool to do all this? “Look, I just want to see her. I need to see her. I—” I broke off at Paisley’s widening smile. “What?”

“Oh, you’ll do, won’t you? Wait right here while I get her.”

I crossed my arms. “I thought you said she wasn’t here.”

“I said she wasn’t available. If you didn’t get past the gate, I would’ve told you that she’d moved to Montana. But you made it past level one. Don’t get cocky. You’re got many levels to go.”

I shook my head as she headed into the back. “This town is always going to keep me on my toes.”

“You’ve got that right,” Melody agreed with a wink.