I choked. “It’s not—oh no, we weren’t—”
Rhett saved the day and jumped in with, “Georgie spilled paint.”
“Sure she did,” Janice retorted with an exaggerated wink.
I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to breathe if it got much hotter in here.
Frank set the pie tin on the table saw. “Brought you apple, Everett. Figured you’d need a break.”
“Or a chaperone,” Janice added.
“Janice,” Rhett warned.
“Everett?” I parroted, paint-dripped arms dangling uselessly at my sides.Everett. That made more sense to me than a baby named Rhett.
Janice ignored us both completely. She leaned her elbows on the far end of the table saw and grinned at me. “You know, Georgie, it’s about time someone injected a little color in Rhett’s life.”
My jaw hinged open. Frank chuckled.
Rhett was already steering them toward the door, muttering under his breath. “Thanks for the pie. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t work too hard,” Janice sing-songed as the two were ushered out. “You two are just so darling!”
The door shut behind them.
Rhett ran a hand over his face. I stared down at the paint-stained concrete. The shade of red on my cheeks would be calledMortification, by Georgie.
In a daze, I mumbled, “Does Janice bring you a lot of pies?”
He groaned. “Too many.”
I laughed softly under my breath, the awkwardness still clinging like humidity. My gaze drifted toward the corner, where a drop cloth caught a shaft of sunlight through the barn doors and fluttered in the fan’s current. Curiosity urged me forward before I could think better of it.
“Hey, what’s under—”
“Nothing,” Rhett said too quickly.
Of course that only made me lift the cloth.
Underneath sat a set of furniture that didn’t belong in a barn—sleek lines, smooth edges, polish glossy enough to gleam in the fluorescent light. A dining chair with a graceful, slatted back. A small table, the surface transformed into a chess board with squares of dark and light wood.
“You made these?” I asked, though I already knew.
Rhett sidled up beside me and his hand closed over the drop cloth. “Just projects,” he muttered, pulling the fabric back over the top in a single, brisk movement. “Practice.”
“Practice?” I let out a soft laugh. “If this is practice, I’d hate to see your finished work.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug, eyes sliding away. “I don’t really show them.”
And that was the end of it. Conversation closed, like a door gently pushed shut.
Chapter Ten
Storm clouds lingered over Bluebell Cove.
The night before, thunder had rattled the walls, sending a lump of trembling black fur to claim most of my bed. Though the worst had passed, summer rain still pattered against the windows. I stood in my kitchen, mug of hot chocolate in hand, and watched the little networks of water careen together on the glass.
My eyes caught on the half-eaten apple pie sitting out on the counter. Rhett offloaded it to me—apparently he wasn’t much for sweets—and I had spent a few hours last night chipping away at it with some of my favorite rom-coms playing on DVD. Janice did make a fantastic pie, after all. It would have been rude to leave it untouched.
