“Hey,” she said when she must have observed the tension gather in me. Big strong man, so afraid of the little brunette with a larger-than-life smile. “I come in peace,” she added and just like that, like always, I was disarmed by her.
I smiled at my planer as I set it on the bench and pushed up my safety goggles. “Come on in.”
I wouldn’t have to make the decision after all. The moment I saw her, it all became obvious. She was here. And for once, all of me was on the same page.
I was tired of fighting my desire to be near her. She moved to one of the stools near the tall bench, tugging her sweater down over her hands and wrapping herself up. She wore tight leggings and a sweater despite the cold. I went to the main door and tugged it down to keep out most of the chilly air. It always got hot when I was working, but the temperature at this time of night dipped low.
My feet brought me to stand in front of her. Her focus was blurred, eyes wide in a thousand-yard stare.
“Claire?” I asked.
She straightened and blinked, turning her head in my direction, but her eyes still locked on some distant point. I frowned, noticing that she was more disheveled than I’d seen her. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair piled on her head, and a pale pallor to her cheeks. She had warned me that she was different whenshe was in research mode, but it was startling to see firsthand. An air of anxiety hummed in the air around her, in the jumping of her leg and the short nails bitten to the quick. Her gaze kept moving around the room, avoiding me.
“Claire,” I said more firmly and rested my hands on her shoulders.
She finally met my eyes. They cleared their haze, and she took me in for the first time. I was aware that I only wore my loose work khakis and a white tee, clinging to my sweating body. They moved over me and she swallowed.
“How are you?” she asked, voice high and tight.
Whatever was on her mind, she was trying hard to delay the inevitable. That made me nervous. There was no conversation Claire wasn’t perfectly willing to barrel straight through. I stepped back, crossing my arms to lean against the workbench opposite her.
Maybe she hadn’t come here to take things to the next level; maybe she was here to stop us from going down the physical path that seemed inevitable only seconds ago.
I wished I hadn’t set down my tool so I could keep my hands busy and avoid making eye contact.
“I’m fine. I haven’t seen you around much,” I said and cursed myself for the stiff and awkward small talk. This was why we both agreed it was a waste of time.
“I’ve been working,” she said, eyes going foggy again as she checked out to wherever she went.
I nodded. “I wondered where you disappeared to.” Then Iwondered if that gave too much away. So I quickly added, “New story?”
She straightened, a hint of her usual clarity returning to her distracted and rapidly moving eyes.
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here.” She tugged her bottom lip in to chew on it. “I actually found out something, and it’s a lot to take in.”
“Ah.” I gripped the bench behind me.
Claire’s stomach made a loud rumble, and she quickly wrapped her hands around her middle.
“Are you hungry?” Had we even shared a meal since the fall festival? That didn’t seem right. That’s what she was missing. Wining and dining. That’s what she deserved. “Want some food?”
Her face went slack, like the mention of food made her nauseated. “No. I’m just—ignore that. It’s nerves.”
The visits in town, the nervous fidgeting, the researching; it all clicked into place. All at once, I knew why she was here. I knew what she discovered.
I ground my molars as grim determination sharpened her features, and she forced herself to meet my gaze.
My palms grew sweaty, and the edges of my vision blurred.
“I found out something.” I shook my head as she started talking. “I thought that there was something familiar about Lily’s, uh, your mom’s work. I couldn’t shake it.”
I turned my back. I gripped the edge of the workbench. I felt the earth tilting.Come on, get it together.
Distantly, Claire’s words filtered in, though I tried to blockthem out. “There’s this guy who’s famous in my world, well, my world adjacent. I know he’s a travel photographer who built a name for himself. Richard Stanley.”
The ringing in my ears began then. The muscles of my shoulders were high and tight. “Claire,” I growled.
If she heard me, it didn’t stop the obviously rehearsed words. “He-he first popped up around the same time that your mother was starting to make a name for herself in the art world. It’s become obvious in my research, albeit still in its initial stages, that thisman”—here, her words sharpened with disgust—“plagiarized not only your mother’s work stylistically, but in some cases actually stole some of her shots. Based on some negatives that I have uncovered. Levi, I’m so sorry.”
