Page 107 of Saving Grace

“Sure is. I hope it doesn’t deter the attendees tonight.”

“Doubt it. We mountain folk are used to whatever the weather decides to dish out. You’ll have your first class full and humming along, mark my words.”

I chuckle and put my bag under the counter. Flipping the power switch under the desk, the lights blink to life and the computer buzzes alive. I settle into the tall stool and double-check the list of students for tonight’s first adult oils class. After having all but memorized their names, I walk out back to check I have everything I need, plus a little extra. It’s always better to have too much than not enough.

Satisfied that I have everything I need, I return to the front showroom to find patrons filling in through the front doors. They rub their hands together, as I did, chatting away as they peruse the artwork.

“Morning,” I offer.

“Good morning. Do you have any of those canvases that you paint on? My grandson fancies himself a painter this week. I promised to pick one up for him,” an older lady asks.

“Actually, supplies can be bought at the craft and art store. We only provide canvases to students in our mixed medium classes.”

“Oh, shoot. Of course! Where’s my head? Doris would have my guts for garters if she knew I forgot her shop. I’ll pop in there next. Thanks for the reminder, lovely.”

“Anytime. And if your grandson would like to sign up for classes, we have ones for the kids on Mondays and Thursdays.”

She waves a hand and cackles. “Oh, bless your heart. He’s thirty, but I’ll be sure to tell him about them. What days are the adult classes?”

“Oh gosh, sorry, I assumed...” I straighten a pile of handmade cards, hoping the heated flush infiltrating my neck will disappear.

Her soft, wrinkled hand rests on my wrist. “Don’t be. He’s a grown man, should have come here himself.” She winks.

The blush that crept up my neck sinks to guilty heat in my gut. I’m not interested in meeting guys. Now I fear I gave her the wrong idea entirely.

“Well, if you need anything, give me a shout.” I hurry back to the front desk and update my new phone number, if only to give myself something else to focus on. I update it on the Art Center’s website for the classes’ contact number while I’m at it.

Is that the only reason people come in here? To check out the new girl in town? I knew small towns were tight, but this is next-level. I mean, everybody knows everybody, sure. They all know I’ve been living out at the ranch with Mackinlay. And if that’s the case, shouldn’t they also know that Mack and I are together?

I make a mental note to ask him about the small-town protocols where romantic relations come into play. Raymond is no metropolis, but Lewistown is literally a speck on the map in comparison. Quaint and appealing in some ways. Outdated and intrusive in others. I mill about until after lunch, when I set up the large back room with eight easels and canvases. Eight lots of paint, palettes, and water jars.

Six o’clock rolls around and the sun has made its retreat, leaving us in the cold darkness of winter’s shadow. Don locks his office and wanders to the front doors.

“See you Monday, Grace. Don’t forget the security panel before you lock up, hon.”

“Of course, have a great weekend.”

He’s worried about me being here by myself. But I assured him that Lewistown is safe with regard to crime. I’ll be fine.

He frowns but leaves with a small smile and heads for his car.

I turn the open sign to closed and have my supper while I wait for the first of my students to arrive for my first oils landscape session. I brought my mountain landscape in a few days ago as an example to show the class.

Remembering I never sent a picture to Ruby, I slide off the stool and walk to the back room to snap a picture. As I’m rummaging in the room, the door rattles. I startle. Shit.

Maybe being here alone was not my brightest idea. I’ll be a quivering mess before the cohort even arrives. I walk into the hallway and make a beeline for the adjoining room. Flipping on the light, I look around. Nothing. Only office supplies and out-of-date technology. The sounds echo overhead again. Scurrying.

I huff a wobbly laugh. Just something in the ceiling. A squirrel or the likes. I press a hand over my thundering heartand shake my head.Grace, how on earth are you going to own this ship if you can’t be left alone in a place that’s your everyday? That’s safe?

“Stupid girl,” I mutter to myself.

Returning to the back room, I finish setting up. The alarm on my phone rings.

Showtime.

My gut flips.

No, Grace.I haven’t come this far to flake out now.

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