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‘Yes, it is.’ She never would have guessed how important until now.
Jessie studied the row of fussy little boutique shops across the street as they left the toy shop. Her eyes lighted on something at the end of the road, nestled between a cookware emporium and an expensive leatherwear shop. It made a slow smile spread across her face.
‘I’ve just had a fantastic idea.’ She grabbed Monroe’s hand and pulled him across the street.
‘You’re a smart lady.’ Monroe tucked the small toolbox under his arm. Full of handy little car maintenance accessories, it was just what any budding mechanic could wish for.
‘Now all you need is a card and some wrapping paper and you’re all set.’
‘Great.’ The relief in his voice made her smile. ‘I owe you big time, Red. How about we grab a beer down by the marina? My treat.’
‘That would be lovely.’ She looped her arm in his, feeling more relaxed and comfortable around him than she ever had before. His arm felt solid and warm against hers, the hair on it soft and yet very masculine. The awareness between them was still there, but, having seen him agonise over Emmy’s present for over an hour, she didn’t find it nearly so threatening. Now would be a good time to bring up the request that had been nagging at her for nearly twenty-four hours. ‘Actually, I wanted to ask you a favour, too.’
‘Sure. What is it?’ He pulled his arm out of hers and rested his hand on the small of her back. Hefting the toolbox under one arm, he drew her close to his side, guiding her through the Saturday shoppers on the raised clapboard sidewalk. His palm seemed to sizzle through the thin silk of her work suit, the possessiveness of his gesture making her feel light-headed.
‘I’ll tell you when we get to the marina.’ Maybe she needed a little Dutch courage after all, Jessie thought.
‘Okay, shoot. What was the favour?’
As they settled on the deck of the waterfront bar, two icy beers on the small table between them, Monroe waited for her answer. What could she possibly want from him?
Jessie took a sip of her drink. ‘I’d like to see what you’ve been painting for the last week and a half.’
He paused, the bottle of beer halfway to his lips. ‘How do you know about that?’ He put the beer back on the table.
‘You mentioned it. When we were in the diner that time. Is it supposed to be a secret, then?’
‘No.’ He picked up a few peanuts from the little dish on the table, cracked them in his palm and then studied them as he removed the shells. ‘It’s not a secret.’
It wasn’t, not really, but he didn’t know if he wanted her to see his work. Which was weird. He’d never been bothered about anyone looking at it before. He didn’t paint for anyone but himself. He didn’t have to justify or prove himself to anyone. But he couldn’t help feeling that her opinion would matter to him. What if she hated his stuff? What if she thought it was trash? And why the hell did he care what she thought?
She tilted her head to one side, watching him as he popped the peanuts into his mouth, chewed. ‘I only wondered because you’ve never mentioned it,’ she said. ‘To Linc or Ali, I mean.’
He swallowed, stretched his legs out under the table, and tried to look relaxed. ‘Why would I? It’s not important.’
Jessie knew he wasn’t telling the truth. His artwork was important to him. He’d been working at it all afternoon and well into the night, every day since he’d arrived.
‘All right.’ She lingered on the words, could already see the refusal in his eyes. ‘If it’s not important, you won’t mind me seeing them, will you?’
He lifted his bottle again, took a long drag of his beer. ‘There’s nothing much finished yet.’
He was lying again; she was sure of it. But why? ‘Could I look at them when you have?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess so, but, like I said, it’s no big deal.’
‘I’d still love to see them.’
He hitched his shoulders, but the movement was stiff, dismissive.
Jessie turned away and stared at Cranford’s famous Tall Ship, standing alone in the bay like the proud sentinel of a bygone era.
He’d been deliberately offhand and evasive about his artwork. He didn’t want her to see it and the realisation hurt. She thought in the last few days they’d become friends, a little. Yet, it was obvious that he didn’t trust her. Not to look at his work anyway. Which must be a very big deal if he would guard it so carefully. Sighing quietly as a small flock of seagulls nearby flew off in a rush, she forced herself to let the hurt go.
She was overreacting, as usual. She liked the easy camaraderie they’d established. If he wasn’t ready to show her his work yet, she’d just have to wait.
&
nbsp; Turning back, she was discomfited to see him watching her, his beer bottle empty now, the peanuts in the bowl gone.
