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“Well, naturally. But…no.”
“Cornflower?”
“Uh-uh.”
She let out a short laugh. “Sorry, Gage. I’m out of guesses. What’s this about? And why haven’t you shaved?”
I ran my fingers over my chin. “It’s just scruff, Mom. It’s a look.” I glanced back to her and gave her an apologetic head shake. “Sorry. It’s…ah, an advertising campaign I’m working on. It’s giving the team trouble.” I picked up the glass next to me and took a sip of the whiskey I’d poured from my dad’s stash in the pool house. I didn’t drink very often, and definitely not before dinner, but damn it, that antsy feeling I’d been fighting had only increased in the last week and I felt like I might combust.
My mother eyed the drink. “Well, you’ll figure it out. You always do. But if you want to ask a person who knows more about shades of blue than I do, I’m meeting with the perfect someone in the conservatory in about ten minutes. Do you know Faith Lorenz who owns the art gallery downtown?”
“I’ve met her a time or two. Why’s she coming by?” I asked, my gaze lifting to that small portion of sky. The blue was mostly right, but also sort of not. I let out a sound of frustration and set the drink back on the side table and stood up. Damn it. Why are you obsessing about naming the blue of some woman’s eyes who you’ll never see again? What is the point other than giving yourself a migraine?
“She’s bringing an art appraiser with her who just started at the gallery last week. Faith sent out a letter to her customers who might have some art that they’d like looked at. I pulled some pieces out of the attic. I’ve no idea where they came from but—” The distant sound of the front doorbell chiming from inside interrupted my mother and she looked back at the house. “That must be them now. Stop by and say hi.”
“Maybe,” I muttered to my mother’s retreating back as she breezed toward the house. I had no intention of stopping by the conservatory. I didn’t know Faith very well and I was in no mood for small talk about dusty paintings found in our attic. Exercise hadn’t worked, neither had the whiskey. I’d take a quick shower, and then I’d head over to the club and smack some tennis balls around to let out some aggression. Maybe that would help.
What I could be occupying my mind with was what Blakely and I had discussed. But despite telling her I’d think about her proposal, my mind simply hadn’t moved in that direction since a few days before. Perhaps I was going to have to be intentional about considering the idea. Because it made sense on several fronts. And I knew how many people it would please, even if it had basically come completely out of the blue.
Blue…
I groaned as I brought my hands to my temples and massaged. Yes, I would think about Blakely’s proposal, just not this particular moment. There was no rush. The timeline we’d discussed still left plenty of time, and I thought it best to allow things to percolate naturally anyway, even if I was desperate to turn my thoughts to anything other than naming a confounding shade of blue strictly from memory.
I went inside the pool house and took off my swimsuit, the sounds of muted voices walking past the open French doors that led to the patio barely drifting to where I stood. I reached for a towel and wrapped it around my waist when I heard a laugh ring out and then fade away. My head snapped up and I dropped the towel as I whipped toward the familiar sound.
That was…
But no.
It couldn’t be.
There was no way.
You’re hearing things, Buchanan. That’s how much that damn woman got under your skin.
And yet, even so, I’d hastily picked up the towel and wrapped it around my waist again, my feet moving toward the place where that bubbly laughter had come from before I’d even made a conscious decision to do so. I moved across the patio and entered the house, standing in the hall and listening. There it was again, that laughter. And that fragrance. I recognized it—it lingered in the air. My gut clenched and I rounded the corner, the chatter growing louder, and then stepped into the doorway of the sunlit conservatory.
Singular blue orbs behind a pair of eyeglasses met my shocked gaze. My heart leaped and my mouth dropped open as she began blinking rapidly. I stared, almost not able to believe my own eyes. Her hair was swept up in some sort of sleek updo and she was wearing a navy-blue pencil skirt, one slim leg crossed demurely over the other, and an off-white, silky blouse buttoned up to the base of her throat, a creamy string of pearls circling the collar. If I hadn’t seen the flare of recognition in her lens-covered gaze, I would have thought this woman was the conservative twin of the spunky, blue-jean clad bar wench I’d met.
The one I’d had mind-blowing sex with on a pool table.
The one I’d been dreaming about almost every night since.
The one I’d been trying—mostly unsuccessfully—to get out of my head for a week and two days now.
My instinct was to rush toward her, but the way she was looking at me—with barely-suppressed panic—held my feet to the portion of floor I was currently standing on.
My bare feet.
I glanced down.
In my haste at following that laugh, I’d forgotten I was only wearing a towel.
“Oh, Gage, darling,” my mother said, turning in her chair, obviously following the gazes over her shoulder of the other two women across from her. She brought her hand to her chest, her eyes widening as she took me in. “My goodness, you’re not dressed.” She quickly composed herself. “Well. I’m, er, glad you decided to stop by. You remember Faith Lorenz, don’t you? And this is Aurora Castle. She’s the art appraiser I mentioned who works for Faith’s gallery. She’s going to take a look at a few pieces I found in storage.” She gestured toward the three or four paintings leaning against a side table near the door. “Aurora, this is my son, Gage. He was just swimming which is the reason for the, um, lack of clothing.”
An art appraiser? I almost choked out a laugh but caught myself as she suddenly stood, walking the short distance from where she’d been sitting and holding out her hand to me.
“Gage Buchanan?” Her eyes flared again, and I saw her throat move as she swallowed.
