Page 43 of Dragged Home for Christmas

Mike tilted Sam’s face toward his. “And in case I didn’t make it obvious, I think you could be important too.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Good to know.” Then he grinned once more. “By the way, you have paint on your nose.”

Mike frowned. “I do? Where?” He bent down toward Sam. “Show me.”

Sam reached up and touched him. “There.” He smirked again.

Mike gave him a mock glare. “You just put paint there, didn’t you?”

He gazed at Mike with an innocent air. “Me? I would never.” He smirked. “Okay, maybe a little.” Sam straightened. “Back to work. This is me cracking the whip.” He moved along the wall, then stretched out to grab his paintbrush. Sam frowned. “Okay, that’s weird.”

“What is?”

“I went to move the paint can closer, but it was already close by.” He shrugged. “I guess I moved it without thinking.”

“Either that, or we’ve got a helpful ghost around the place,” Mike suggested with a grin. “Hey, we could get the ghost to do all the painting.”

Elliott poked his head around the door. “Mike, you’ve got a visitor.” He chuckled. “You might wanna wash your face first.”

Mike pointed at Sam. “It’s his fault.”

Elliott rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than kids. Now hurry up. Don’t keep her waiting.” He hurried away before Mike could ask whoherwas.

He climbed down from the ladder and put his brushin the can. Mike glanced at Sam. “You’d better wash up too. You’ve got paint on your face.”

“Where?” Sam demanded.

“There,” Mike said, smearing his paint-covered thumb down Sam’s cheek, before making a run for it, Sam giving chase, promising retribution.

Only five more kisses.

Mike was going to make sure every one of those kisses curled Sam’s toes and sent his thermostat climbing.

By the time he’d made sure his face was free from paint, Elliott and Jim were sitting in the lobby, talking to a woman with long silver hair. Someone had made tea. Jim stood as Mike and Sam approached.

“Mike, this is Ellen Sanderson, the president of the Provincetown Artists’ Association.”

Ellen rose to greet him. “Mr. O’Neill. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I knew your uncle.” She nodded in Sam’s direction.

Mike chuckled. “I hear that a lot.” He took a seat on the couch facing her. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. I had to take care of something.”

Elliott smirked.

“I know you’re busy at the moment, with all your plans, but I’ve been talking with Stephan Yeager and Gabe Driscoll, and I think we might be in a position to help each other.”

Mike poured tea for himself and Sam. “Really?”

“I know Stephan uses the theater space for his art classes. Well, I’d like to use it too. The Association puts on exhibitions of our members’ work about four or five times a year, and I thought we could have them here. We would pay for the space, of course.” She smiled. “Thus far, we’ve had shows in several bars and in the lobby of the Boatslip.”The skin around her eyes crinkled. “Which isn’t always ideal, especially during the summer. Far too many people.”

Jim chuckled. “That’s tea dance for ya. Not enough room to swing the proverbial cat.” He grinned. “Then again, that could probably account for a lot of sales too.”

“Thatistrue,” Ellen admitted.

Mike offered her a warm smile. “I think we can do business, Ms. Sanderson.”

“Call me Ellen.”

“Then I’m Mike.”

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