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Rory shot me a brief apologetic dipping of her brow that I thought was her acknowledging that I was officially spreading the lie and she was allowing me to. But I wasn’t going to blow her cover, and she’d already presented herself as Faith’s new employee, so I was kind of stuck.
“Oh,” Haven smiled and wiped her hand on her jean shorts. “Welcome to town.”
Rory shook her hand and smiled. “Thank you.”
“I see you lost one,” I said, nodding to the plant at her feet.
“Not if I can help it,” Haven said as she set her hands on her hips. “I’m going to re-plant her along the fence line over there.” She nodded toward a white, split-rail fence that looked newly installed. “I think she’s just being a princess about the amount of sun she wants.”
“Your nursery is beautiful,” Rory said as she glanced around from the charming red barn to the distant orchard behind it, tall apple trees reaching into the clear blue of the sky.
“Thank you,” Haven said, obvious pride filling her expression as she too glanced around at the people browsing the pots of flowers on tiers in the front of the barn. “It’s been a labor of love.” She looked back at Rory. “Hey, we’re having a Fourth of July bonfire here if you’re interested. Very simple, nothing fancy, but we’d love to have you.”
“Thank you so much, Haven. That’s very kind of you.”
“You too, of course, Gage,” Haven said. “Anyway, you said you were looking for me?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. Rory and I are on a treasure hunt of sorts.” I smiled over at her. “It’s a long story, but we’re trying to find some information on a piece of art that was apparently purchased at an antique store or a flea market and hoping to potentially find more pieces by the same artist. We thought you might be able to point us toward the best place to start.”
“Oh! Sure, I can help with that.” She gave a short laugh. “I think I’ve at least stopped in to every local spot. What kind of art is it? Not that I know anything very specific, but is it new or old?”
“It’s probably about twenty-seven years old and likely done by a local,” Rory told her.
“Okay, so not an actual antique.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second. “I’d start at the Pink Elephant. The owner has an eclectic mix of things, from antique furniture and paintings to more crafty pieces. She has a good eye and picks things up from local artists. After the Pink Elephant, try Ruby’s Slippers. It’s mostly vintage clothing, but the owner of that store also has paintings that she picks up from flea markets hung up on all the walls that are for sale.”
“I knew you were the one to ask,” I said. “Thanks so much, Haven.”
“My pleasure,” she said with a grin as she bent and picked up the plant. “Nice to meet you, Rory.”
“You too, Haven.”
She turned and headed for the fence where she was apparently going to attempt to meet the needs of an overly dramatic plant. Rory gave one last look around, a small smile curving her lips. She sighed as though she almost hated to leave, and then we headed for my car.
“Ready for some treasure hunting, Cakes?” I asked as I turned the ignition.
“I was born ready, Ivy League,” she said with a laugh.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rory
The Pink Elephant was situated in the downtown area just down the highway from Calliope. When we entered the dim shop, the owner, who was sitting on a stool behind a counter near the back, removed her earbuds and gave us a smile. The soft noise of the overhead fan whirred above us. “Welcome! Can I help you find anything specific, or are you just digging around?”
“Hi,” I said. “I hope you can help us. We’re looking for watercolor paintings that were probably done by a local artist who we’re attempting to identify. We have one of a portion of Pelion Lake we believe was done about twenty-seven years ago, but there may be some that exist that are more recent. The initials in the corner say M.S. Do you have anything like that?” I suddenly wished I’d taken a snapshot of it on my phone so we could show it to her, but I was also pretty certain we’d recognize one of the paintings if we saw it.
“A local artist?” the older, gray-haired woman asked. “Hmm. If I have anything fitting that description, it’d be in the back in one of the picture bins.” She pointed to her left where there was a doorway that led down a couple steps into another room. “Anything I think is more valuable, I hang up on the wall,” she said as she looked up and waved her arm around, “but I don’t currently have a lot. Antique paintings—especially signed ones—are popular right now, and there haven’t been many estate sales in the last few months. I suppose I should be glad of the fact that no one has died recently, but it’s also not great for business,” she said with a small laugh. “Anyway, help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Gage and I both said as we headed for the back room. It felt warmer back here as there was no overhead fan to stir up the air. And without the benefit of the glass front door letting in some light, it was much more dim. It smelled of potpourri and eucalyptus, scents that conjured to mind my granny’s house before my mother and I had moved in and made it our own. I heard the front door open and the shop owner greet some customers, engaging in conversation.
I walked around the large shelving unit in the middle of the room that held candles and other craft items that were obviously handmade as Gage headed for the three wooden boxes sitting on the floor that were full of framed art.
He bent and started going through the first box, glancing at each painting as he leaned it against the one in front of it. I bent over too and looked over his shoulder as he worked. His movements slowed, and I became aware of how close we were, his unforgettable scent deeper and more complex than it’d been in his car. I could smell his cologne, but also his skin, and the cinnamon on his breath. A tumble of visions came back to me as I breathed him in, the memories of when I’d first experienced the smell of his skin and the taste of his tongue.
My nipples hardened, and a small buzz took up at the apex of my thighs, the chatter and laughter of the women at the front of the store fading as blood whooshed between my ears. Gage flipped another frame and I took in a lighthouse done in oils as his breath seemed to hitch. I should move. The air seemed to thicken, the molecules in the space between us swelling. I felt woozy but also hyper-aware. God, I couldn’t help it. Every time this man got close to me, I wanted to get naked. I was desperate to feel the slow slide of his body over mine. In mine. I should definitely move away. Only I didn’t want to. And though it felt dangerous, there was also safety in the fact that we were in a public place, and so I lingered, taking what I could. All that I dared. “Rory,” he said, and his voice sounded as thick as whatever was currently lodged in my own throat. His finger jerked and he flipped another frame, and I blinked as my gaze landed on a smaller-sized watercolor of a lake and a shore and—
“Holy shit,” I said, reaching for it and pulling it from the stack. We both stood, my eyes meeting his when he turned. They looked slightly glazed, his lips parted before he blinked and moved around to stand next to me so we could both look down at the now-familiar art. “M.S.,” I whispered. “Holy shit,” I repeated. “Gage, we found one.”
“Look through the other boxes,” he said, bending toward the second one. I hesitated only a moment and then went to the third. My limbs still felt slightly shaky, not from discovering a picture—though my heart was now beating an excited tempo—but from my reaction to being so close to Gage…to lingering there as my blood heated and my tissue softened in response to my own yearning for him.
