Page 80 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

Nate sent Tammy a friendly wave before he zipped his jacket and headed out into the cold. He hustled to the Tahoe and turned over the engine, smiling when hot air blew through the heater vents. “That’s what I like.” After securing his seat belt, he backed out of his spot and started heading through town and out on Route 1, eager to get home and out of the nasty weather. Slowing, he turned down his dirt road, grinning as he approached the house. The lights were on downstairs and smoke plumed from the chimney before the strong gusts of wind blew it away. This was his favorite part of the day—coming home to Callie. He pulled into his spot in the empty driveway, noting that she’d put the truck in the garage.

He sat where he was, watching her through the living room windows as she paced back and forth while she spoke on the phone. “Marion,” he muttered and sighed as his bubble of contentment burst. “Son of a bitch.” Sitting back in his seat, he shut off the engine and got comfortable, wanting to give Callie the opportunity to finish her conversation without interruption.

He pulled the locket out of his pocket and studied the ornate S that looked exactly like the sketch and stained glass image leaning against the wall in the cottage closet. There was something about the entire situation that didn’t sit right. In all likelihood, there was a simple, reasonable explanation for Callie’s dream and her discovery at Everything Antiques, but the moment she’d opened her hand and showed him the dull golden jewelry, the hair had stood up on the back of his neck. He’d seen a lot of weird shit over the years—and this was right at the top of the list. But as he turned the locket over in his palm and brushed his thumb over the small dent, he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

~~~~

Callie hovered her finger over Marion’s contact information, knowing that it was time to make her call. She’d spent the majority of her afternoon accomplishing a long list of various chores until bringing in a stack of wood from the pile out back had resulted in a mammoth-sized splinter and a twenty-minute battle with the tweezers. With her thumb cleaned and bandaged, there was nothing left to do but take care of business, which was slightly terrifying. She took a steadying breath, then another, yet she couldn’t make herself press the phone symbol on the screen.

“You can do this,” she encouraged herself as she sat on the arm of Nate’s comfy couch. But she still didn’t move to accomplish her task. Sighing hopelessly, she set the phone on the cushion next to her, eyeing the device as if it were her enemy. She wasn’t afraid of Marion per se; it was more about what her conversation with her agent would mean. A month ago she’d been Callie Davis, world-famous stained glass artist. Now she was Callie Davis, Sheriff Nate Carter’s girlfriend and Molly’s helper at the bakery, which she loved even more. But that wasn’t all. That wasn’t the part that made her stomach sick. Knowing that she couldn’t keep up the pace anymore—that she didn’t want to and finally had to say it out loud—was what frightened her most.

For as long as she could remember, her art had been her saving grace—her security blanket in a world that hadn’t always felt so safe. So much of her identity was wrapped up in her talents. For most of her life, she’d defined herself by what she could do with a pencil and pad of paper, then with glass and a soldering iron. On so many levels she had no idea who she was without her gift. Each day she was learning, and for the most part she liked the different facets of herself—except for her cowardly, avoidant streak. “Just do it,” she murmured as she picked up the phone and pressed on the screen, then listened to the ringing as she was connected.

“Callie Davis,” Marion answered.

Callie gripped her cell phone tighter. “Hi, Marion.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes.”

“How’s the vacation?”

“Good.”

“How’s the art going?”

She blew out a long breath, remembering Nate’s suggestion to just blurt it out. “There is no art. I don’t have anything.”

The line stayed silent. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.

Callie frowned. “Marion?”

“I think the reception’s bad because it sounds like you just said you have nothing for the biggest exhibition of your career. Our biggest exhibition to date.”

She winced as she stood. “The reception’s fine. I have nothing prepared for another show.” She nibbled the nail on her index finger and started pacing back and forth when she could hear Marion’s breathing growing labored on the other end. “I need more time.”

“How much more time?”

She shrugged despite the fact that Marion wasn’t there to see her. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not a luxury either one of us can manage. Mr. Iwasaki’s breathing down my neck. Several collectors and dealers are on my ass.”

“I know and I’m sorry.”

“Callie, let me remind you that I’m not only your agent, but the owner of this gallery. You’re contracted for this show. In my building. In the near future. Gemma and I have been building it up for months—since the unveiling at JFK.”

“I realize that, but I’m currently committed here on Carter Island.”

“No, you’re committed to me—to your contract for at least the next three and a half months.”

She swallowed, hating that Marion kept throwing around the dreaded c-word. “I’m burnt out—”

“Burnt out,” Marion interrupted. “What does that even mean?”