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She came together even faster than the snow globe. All sinuous lines and curves. A hint of fullness here and there. Rounded and then slight. Long hair trailing down her back like water, free and flowing. And that scarf still wrapped around my neck protecting her modesty—just barely. The soft material cupped her and teased at what she might reveal if the urge struck. Those tantalizing bits of fringe trailed along her inner thigh, caressing her flesh like a lover.
Or like a man driven to sketch her, since he might never see her again.
I spent the most time on her lips. Their perfect bow, the divot on the top one, the slight dent in the bottom. So plump and glossy and bitable. This was the only part of her I felt like I knew without question, though I wouldn’t mind a lifetime to learn about the rest.
“Oh my God. What are you doing? Are you—is that—oh my God.” At my side, a woman covered her mouth.
I blocked my sketch pad with my arm. This little town was driving me nuts. “It’s my girlfriend,” I said quickly. A lie, sure, but not entirely.
Fine, yes, entirely. One kiss—no matter how hot—did not a relationship make.
“Where is she?” the woman asked accusingly, glancing around. We were surrounded by some adults, but children were definitely more prevalent.
“I’m going to meet her now.” I flipped the snow globe sketch over to cover the scarf one, although in retrospect, that might not have helped considering the subject of that one was kids. Which she noticed with a narrow-eyed stare the sheriff would have applauded. “I’m an artist,” I muttered. “I’ve sold pieces. I have an agent.”
“You aren’t from Crescent Cove.” Her statement whipped my skin with as much force as the snow-laden breeze. “Are you here for the festival?”
“I live in Syracuse.” Defense and outrage laced my voice as I stood and shoved my supplies into my messenger bag. “I’m a professor, dammit.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She crossed her arms. “I’m friends with the sheriff, you know. So, you might just want to find your girlfriend,” I half-expected her to do air quotes, “and move along.”
Clearly, there was no point trying to explain myself. The woman in my sketch was quite obviously a fully grown woman, but maybe that also made me a pervert. The suggestion was there.
I’d been branded with a scarlet P in bucolic Crescent Cove.
With a quick salute, I crossed the snowy slope to the sidewalk. I was probably being a fool by sitting around and sketching as if the woman I sought would just fall into my lap.
Last night had been my chance, and I’d lost it. But maybe I would get a good commission out of the piece I’d just drawn, so it wasn’t all bad.
I headed up the street, dodging dogwalkers and joggers and pedestrians toting a million shopping bags. It would be impossible soon to get through town. If Dare wasn’t quite done with my car, it looked like I’d be spending the rest of the day in my room at the bed and breakfast. Ideally, I’d manage to dodge the far-too-nosy proprietress, Sage Hamilton, who had practically asked for my time of birth so she could run a report on me.
Seemed a common thing in this town.
I didn’t get it. The place was crawling with tourists, and from what I’d seen with others, they seemed to be treated well. But something about me set off alarm bells or something. Not that Sage had been mean to me. Far from it. She’d acted as if she expected me to buy a home in town immediately, as if I’d fall under the Crescent Cove spell and never leave.
As if I could do nothing else.
I watched a couple embrace, the woman reaching up to cup the man’s cheeks. Something about the moment pulled at me, and I knew I’d be sketching them later as well. The whole scene tugged at me. Her bright blue coat and her flushed cheeks and the snow swirling around them as he hauled her up off her feet so that she came half out of her impractical soft-soled shoes. She should have boots in this weather. The snow was piling up again, despite the heavy crowds clogging the sidewalk.
Everyone had somewhere to go. Someone to be with.
Except me.
I yanked out my phone. Maybe it was time I called Dare to nudge things along. At least I had some inspiration for my holiday break so I could spend time sketching around the family stuff, of which there would be plenty. My mom usually put up three or four trees and blasted Christmas music at levels typically reserved for teenagers.
And then I saw a flash of pink in the crowd.
Time stopped. My heart, my brain, and even my muscles went numb. Then I sprung into action.
Clutching my phone, I weaved through the festivalgoers, mumbling apologies, keeping my gaze firmly on my prize. She was moving quickly, but I was determined.
I just had to see if it was her. If it wasn’t, I would give up and move on.
Somehow.
I surged forward and tapped the woman’s shoulder. She looked back at me as hope briefly bloomed in my chest—
And it wasn’t her. Not even close. Her face was all wrong. Her eyes were too close together, her lips were too thin. She smiled at me as I backed away, feeling like the most colossal idiot who had ever lived.
