Page 5 of Fern's Date with Destiny
“Focus,” she muttered, planting a hand on the railing.
Halfway up, she paused.A low thud and a muffled voice drifted down the stairwell.She held her breath, tilting her head to listen.
Another thud.A string of hushed curses.Definitely familiar curses.The Irish lilt was already far too familiar.
Fern grinned despite herself.“Should’ve known.”
She pushed the door open to the second-floor studio and stepped into a warm pocket of light and cluttered genius.Brushes, open tubes of paint, empty mugs, and at the center of it all, Chance Gabrielle, perched barefoot on a stool, his shirt covered in a wild variety of green and blue paints.
He didn’t even notice her at first.He muttered something in Irish, stabbed at the canvas with a paintbrush, then sighed so hard his shoulders slumped.
“Don’t mind me,” Fern said softly.“Just your friendly neighbourhood office fairy come to shut things down before your computer runs away screaming.”
Chance turned, bleary-eyed as he blinked hard.“I thought you’d gone home hours ago.”
“I did.Came back.”She pointed at his paint brush.“Careful, that thing’s loaded.”
He swore again, tipping the brush into a plastic yogurt container.“Don’t look, okay?It’s not ready.”
Fern snorted.“Of course I won’t look, but I’m not sure why you’redesperation paintingin the middle of the night when you have only a short time to go until the gallery opening.”
“It’ll make sense,” he promised before making a face at the canvas she couldn’t see.“Gods, I hope it’ll make sense.”
“It will,” Fern assured him.“Now drink water and focus.I’ll be gone in no time.”
She gave him a playful salute and carefully avoided peeking as she slipped past him into the open office space.
The computers were all shut down properly, because of course they were.She made a mental note to get Chance to invest in an automatic backup service, then left herself a sticky note on the monitor.Take picture end of day of all systems off.
Ten minutes later, she’d made a few final notes for the upcoming opening, flicked off the lamp, and tiptoed back through the studio.She meant to ghost right out, but a familiar deep hum rumbled softly from the front corner.
Cody.
Fern froze mid-step.He leaned on the window frame, staring out at the night through the big glass windows that looked out onto Main Street.He stood like he’d been carved from moonlight.Sharp jaw, eyes bright as he hummed softly.
For a heartbeat, Fern considered backing out the way she’d come.Then he turned, catching her in the act.
She lifted her fingers in a sheepish wave.“Hey, cowboy.”
Cody pushed to vertical, a slow smile pulling at his mouth.“Hey yourself.You break in?”
“I’m on the payroll, thank you very much.Just doing an overly diligent job.What’s your excuse for the midnight stroll?”As he walked closer, Fern caught a whiff of soap and coffee and a hint of roast beef.
He pointed to a basket on the front counter that held a thermos and something wrapped in brown paper.“Making sure my brother doesn’t forget he’s human.I’ll feed him then offer to tie him to a chair if he doesn’t sleep.”
“Good plan.He’d probably fight you, though.”
“Oh, he has,” Cody said dryly.“He threatened to paint my truck pink if I nagged him again.”
Fern snickered, picturing his lovely deep blue truck in bubble-gum pink.Maybe that was why she didn’t notice she’d stepped closer, nearly toe-to-toe with him now, shadows and lamplight wrapping them in a quiet little cave.
His eyes held hers for a moment too long.Then he exhaled, voice going softer.“Broke things off.”
It was ridiculous how quickly she figured out just what the heck he was talking about.Her heart did a slow, traitorous flip.“With your East Coast sweetie?”
“Yeah.Few nights back.After Chance’s art night with the guys, I…” He trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.“It wasn’t fair to her.Or me.Or—” He didn’t finish the sentence.He didn’t need to.
Fern swallowed hard and tried for breezy.“Sounds as if you gave it some serious thought.Good for you, cowboy, for making a tough decision.To be honest, long-distance love affairs have always sounded like real killers.”
