AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Sure.”
“How much of that champagne have you had?”
I glance down at my hand and realize I’m still gripping my flute. I stick it behind my back like a naughty schoolchild caught pilfering cookies from the cookie jar.
“Um, just a couple.” Or a few. Several, in fact.
He chuckles. “At least you seem to be enjoying yourself. I saw you going to town on those crab cakes a few minutes ago.”
I bristle. What is he saying? That I eat too much? That because I’m tall I’m too big overall? It took me years to wear any variation on the color green like I am tonight because the bullies loved to call me the Jolly Green Giant.
“Why does that matter?” I snap.
He throws his hands up like a perp. “Didn’t say it did. Just making conversation.”
“Well, Mr. High and Mighty Creative Type, you should know you suck at it.” I’m gesturing at Sam with my free hand, but I somehow stumble into him. He catches me, and as I gaze up into those eyes of his, I attempt to figure out how this happened.
“Okaaay,” he draws out the word, “let’s get you some caffeine and some more food.” He leads me by the arm off the gallery sales floor and toward a nook with a door that says “Private.” His manhandling me should be irritating, I know that, but it’s not. The warmth of his hand pervades up my arm to radiate through my entire torso—and lower.
Where’s he taking me, and what’s he going to do once we arrive?
But this room we’ve entered isn’t private at all. It seems to be serving as a temporary kitchen. And rather than copping a feel, he calls out, raising his voice.
“Hello, can we get a coffee over here, please? As strong as you can make it. Also, if you have any more of those petit fours, grab those, too.”
“Right away, Mr. Baldwin.”
Not only does a server appear within heartbeats to bring over coffee in a hefty white mug, but Violet Dean does, too. I recognize her from her picture in the local online news stories about her classy, French inspired restaurant.
“Everything okay, Sam?” she asks him, placing a palm on his forearm, and for reasons that are a total mystery to me, a spike of jealousy bolts through my gut.
What the hell is wrong with me? This dude is a stranger. What right do I have to feel one way or the other about him?
“I think someone’s a little tipsy,” he says, holding his thumb and index finger about an inch apart. I squint at him, wondering who he’s referring to. It’s only as he hands me that coffee cup and a golden plate with a stack of miniature frosted cakes that it registers that he means me.
“That’s outrageous. I’m as right as rain.” Despite this, I steal a petit four and toss it in my mouth.
Ooh, hazelnut. Yummy.
“Uh-huh,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow at me. Damn, he’s pretty. I’m fairly certain all those dark eyelashes are longer than mine. “I’ll believe you if you can walk from here to that table without tripping over your own feet.”
“Of course I can. I’m an athlete.”
“Here, better hand over that mug.”
I jump up, wobble for a moment, and then, with my arms out as if I’m heel-toeing it along a tightrope, I make my way over to the pre-appointed destination. It’s insulting that he would question my well-being. I know what I can and can’t handle.
Yet the table keeps moving on me. Also, the room seems to tilt the farther I go. Ultimately, my legs prove undependable as Sam races up to support me.
Well, that’s disappointing.
“Why don’t you stay here,” he proposes, “and I’ll be back in a bit.”
I nod, sipping at the coffee he’s returned to me and, once he’s gone, gulping down the dessert like it’s going out of style. I watch as the catering staff packs up, and sooner than I expect, Sam’s back, thanking the caterers and Violet Dean.
“Great to see you again, Vi, and thank you for your spectacular offerings. I’ll be by the Heron soon.”
He provides her with a fleeting embrace, and I have to look away. But then, the two of us traipse out into the gallery again. Everyone else is gone, and when we cross next to that painting of the cat and dog, I detour over there. He’s compelled to come with me since he’s guiding my frame by the waist.
