Page 46 of Captiva Café

Chelsea nearly fell out of her uncomfortable chair. This was better than she could have imagined. Byron Jameson, buying art for a woman? There was only one woman on the island who had recently caught his attention.

"Well," Chelsea said, struggling to keep her voice casual, "that would depend on the woman. Everyone has different tastes."

"Right, of course." Byron nodded, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "I suppose I'm wondering what Linda might—" He caught himself, eyes widening slightly. "That is, what someone like Linda might...not that I'm specifically asking about Linda St. James. Just someone similar. Hypothetically."

Chelsea bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. "Hypothetically."

"Exactly," Byron said, relief evident in his voice. "Hypothetically speaking, what might a woman who appreciates...traditional values and journalistic integrity...like in terms of wall art?"

Chelsea considered the question with all the seriousness it deserved, which was considerable given that this was the mostentertaining development to hit Captiva since the great pelican invasion of 2019.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "I find that women of a certain...traditional mindset often appreciate landscapes. Something that captures the natural beauty of a place that's special to them."

Byron's expression brightened. "That makes sense. Linda—I mean, a woman like I described—might appreciate a painting of the island."

"Perhaps of a specific place on the island," Chelsea suggested innocently. "A place that might hold particular meaning."

Byron's gaze drifted to the window, toward Powell Water Sports directly across the street.

"I see you've given this some thought," Byron said, his focus returning to Chelsea.

"I'm an artist," she replied smoothly. "Considering the emotional impact of images is what I do."

“I suppose something with water,” he said, although barely audible.

Just then, the sound of a door slamming came through the wall, followed by the distinctive click of Linda St. James's sensible heels on hardwood. Byron's head jerked toward the sound like a hunting dog catching a scent.

"That would be our neighbor going for coffee at RC Otters," Chelsea said, unable to resist. "Punctual as always."

Byron's hand tightened on the paper bag he was carrying. "Maybe I should come back later, when Jacqui's not so busy."

"Nonsense," Chelsea declared, rising from her chair. "Let me get her for you. I'm sure she'd be delighted to help you select the perfect...hypothetical gift."

Before Byron could protest, Chelsea hurried toward the back room, a smile spreading across her face that would havealarmed anyone who knew her well. This was going to be the most entertaining workday she'd had in years.

By mid-morning, the gallery had seen a steady stream of tourists and a few serious collectors examining Jacqui's carefully curated collection. Chelsea had settled into her role with surprising ease, discovering that she actually enjoyed chatting with visitors about the various artists represented in the space.

But her attention remained divided, one ear constantly attuned to the sounds coming through the shared wall with Linda's office. So far, she'd heard several phone calls (all business-related), the coffee maker gurgling twice, and what sounded like Linda rehearsing the opening paragraphs of an editorial about proper dog-walking etiquette on the beach.

Fascinating stuff, truly.

Byron had left an hour earlier, after a lengthy consultation with Jacqui that had resulted in the purchase of a small watercolor depicting the view from Andy Rosse Lane toward the bay, with The Bubble Room in the left corner of the painting. Chelsea had to admit it was a thoughtful choice—subtle enough not to overwhelm Linda's minimalist aesthetic, yet personal enough to convey genuine sentiment.

"Don't you have actual work to do?" Jacqui asked, returning to the front desk after showing a customer the finer points of a ceramic installation. "Paintings to paint? Natural settings to capture in watercolor?"

"I'm on a sabbatical," Chelsea replied airily. "Gathering life experiences to inform my next creative phase."

"Eavesdropping, you mean."

"Observing human behavior in its natural habitat."

Jacqui rolled her eyes and giggled. "Well, while you're observing, could you please update the inventory spreadsheet? We sold three pieces yesterday that haven't been logged yet."

Chelsea was about to protest when the gallery door opened again. This time, it was Linda herself who entered, wearing a pale blue dress that Chelsea had never seen before. Her hair was freshly styled, and there was definitely lipstick involved.

"Good morning, Jacqui," Linda began, then stopped short when she saw Chelsea. "Oh. I didn't realize you worked here now."

Chelsea smiled with saccharine sweetness. "Just helping out on weekends. Jacqui needs an experienced eye when she's busy with new acquisitions."

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