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“Speaking of which,” Faith said, standing, “we should go too and leave you to your afternoon plans.”
I began standing when movement at the window made me suck in a breath. I clapped a hand over my mouth as a familiar face peered in the glass, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of me.
Mrs. Bellamy sucked in a startled breath. “Is that Gage Buchanan?” she asked as she brought a hand to her chest. “My goodness, he scared the wits out of me.”
Gage knocked on the glass and pointed at me, mouthing something.
“Well, we’ll go now,” Faith said breathlessly, pulling on me so that I stumbled after her. But my head remained turned, eyes wide and glued to Gage. What was he going to do? Call me out here and now in front of Mrs. Bellamy? Call out Faith? God, this plot twist in our plan had really complicated things.
But I couldn’t let this affect Faith. “Mrs. Bellamy, do you have a back door we can use?”
“A back door? Why ever—”
Gage knocked at the window again, what he was mouthing now clear. Stay there. He disappeared, likely heading back to the front door where Marta would let him in.
“That man at the window thinks I’m someone I’m not,” I said in a rush.
“I’m worried Gage has a drinking problem,” Faith said as she picked up the bag of art. “The last time we saw him, he was running around half-naked.”
“Drinking problem? Gage Buchanan? Absolutely not. He’s one of the most upstanding men in Calliope—”
“Mrs. Bellamy, he’s in your garden knocking on your window.”
She frowned. “He did look quite agitated.” The doorbell started chiming. “And you do have to scale a stone wall to get into that garden.” She paused for only a moment. “I’ll call his mother. These things should be dealt with quickly and quietly. Turn right down the hall and there’s a back door off the kitchen that circles around to the driveway.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bellamy,” Faith called as we fast-walked out of the room, breaking into a run when we entered the hall, and swallowing down nervous giggles. Thank God someone was baking something sweet in the kitchen because the heavenly scent of sugar and cinnamon told us exactly where to turn.
“Just passing through,” Faith called to the surprised-looking man who was taking a Bundt cake out of the oven. I noticed his hair looked like someone’s fingers had recently been running through it. Apparently, there was some hanky-panky going on in the Bellamys’ kitchen. I waved at the man and then we opened the back door and burst out into the summer sunshine, hurrying along the side of the house and peeking around to the driveway where Faith’s car sat.
“Go!” Faith said and we both ran for the car, the sound of voices coming from behind us as Gage spoke to Mrs. Bellamy. I glanced back. Was he telling her that I was a liar? Would the police show up at Faith’s gallery tonight? All I had was my word against his and absolutely zero proof of my credentials because they didn’t actually exist.
I groaned, my head hitting the headrest as Faith started the car and began to drive. I looked over my shoulder to see Gage who had turned from the door at the sound of the car. He stood there, his expression unreadable in the glare of the sun, the lines of his body still somehow familiar even though I’d only known him for a few brief hours. I felt a pang in the region of my chest. What a mess I’d already made.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gage
She was good, I’d give her that. She’d successfully evaded me for three days now. I’d gone to Faith’s gallery on four separate occasions; the night before, the lights had gone off right before I’d rung the bell.
After my mother had suggested I might have a drinking problem—as if she didn’t know me better than that—apparently, Faith had parroted this after I’d climbed Mrs. Bellamy’s garden wall and appeared at the window like a stalker. And…fine, I couldn’t blame them for looking for an explanation for such out-of-character behavior. I’d acted like a fool. And I never acted like a fool. I ground my back teeth. Even so, I wasn’t going to publicly accuse Faith of aiding and abetting Rory without proof. Perhaps she’d lied to Faith about who she was as well. Maybe Faith really did think I had a drinking problem.
Maybe I was just hoping that there was some other explanation. And that hope was making me act like a lunatic even I didn’t recognize anymore.
I pulled up to the curb in front of a popular Calliope restaurant and hopped out of my car, handing the keys to the valet. There was a small crowd near the front, customers who’d obviously just left and were chatting and snapping some photos as they waited for their car. I recognized Archer and Bree Hale who owned the neighboring town of Pelion and were posing with their twin sons and younger daughter as Haven Hale, a pack on her chest holding her sleeping baby, held her phone up and made goofy faces that were making the boys, at least, laugh for the photographs. Travis Hale was standing off to the side, watching Haven with that same expression she’d had at the coffee shop a few weeks before—the one that suggested an imminent medical emergency that would require resuscitation. It might be in both their best interests to carry smelling salts as a precaution. “Gage,” Travis greeted me. “How are you?”
I stopped and took his extended hand. I considered Travis a friend even though, despite that I was a grade below him, he and I had always had a competitive relationship since we were teens running in the same circles. He’d always appeared polished, but in actuality had sharp edges that he hid well until you brushed up against them and got injured. A lot had happened since those days though—then Haven had come to town and inspired Travis to take accountability for the hurtful way he’d treated others, namely his half brother with the scar on his throat currently posing with his smiling wife, giggling boys, and solemn daughter. “I’m good. Celebrating something?” I asked. The Hale family lived and worked in Pelion, though they sometimes came to Calliope for some occasion or another, as this side of the lake offered more of a variety of restaurants that would accommodate groups of people.
“Yeah. It’s Bree’s birthday.”
“Ah.” I squinted at him. “And how’s the cat-chasing?”
His mouth flattened and he glanced back at his wife, now doing a funny little dance as the small girl in Bree’s arms continued to look unimpressed, yawning and putting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Haven told you about that, did she?”
“She did.” I couldn’t help the smirk.
“Don’t worry, Buchanan, someday you’ll be chasing down cats too.”
“I’m not sure why you feel the need to threaten me, Hale.”
