Page 10 of Pictures in Blue
It takes me a moment to realize she is talking to me and I have been staring at their exchange this whole time. Hell, I’ve been staring athim, my brain apparently short circuited and I forgot to look away. Still, I stand transfixed to my spot. My feet are glued. Or nailed to the floor rather. Whatever they are, they aren’t moving. I’m here for good. Call Cordie and cancel my reservation, because here I’ll stay, staring at the man in front of me. Ogling him for all eternity while Fran supplies me with an endless supply of peppermint lattes.
I swallow as my gaze drifts to his bare forearms and the veins that stretch up to his elbows like vines snaking up a tree. Who knew forearms were my kryptonite? I’m a sweet tooth and he’s one of those huge rainbow lollipops wrapped in clear plastic, tied closed with a neat little bow.
“Holy shit,” I hear Charlotte say. I forgot I still had the camera flipped in front of me. I switch it back. “Avery, you should see how deep you are blushing right now.” I glance at her, eyes wide warning her to shut up. “Don’t give me that look,” she says. “If you don’t try to jump on that, I am getting in my car and driving there right now.”
She’s laughing so loud eyes are starting to turn my way. “I’ll call you later Charlotte,” I say quickly before pressing the red button, silencing my phone once again. “Sorry, um…uh,” I glance at the display case and then back at the man who is eating his scone, no care in the world. If he noticed my stare before, it didn’t faze him in the slightest. “One of those scones, please. They look really good.” Good in the display. Definitely not talking about the one inches from the man’s mouth. Nope. Not that one.
“Because they are,” Fran says proudly, but she looks back at the man she called Hudson and gives me a knowing smile.
“Hudson, have you met Avery? She’s staying at Cordie’s during her stay.” She wraps the scone in a napkin and holds it out for me.
I mutter my thanks as Hudson takes a step forward to discard his now empty napkin into the bin. “No.” His tone is clipped. Sharp. Grumpy. He clearly doesn’t care about Fran’s introduction.
“Don’t take offense,” Fran reassures me. “He’s like that with everyone. The town grump. That’s what Sky calls him anyway.”
Hudson rolls his eyes and retreats to the back without another word or a glance in my direction. It’s difficult not to take offense considering how perfectly pleasant he was with Fran just minutes before.
“It’s okay.” It isn’t, but I’m not here to make friends. “Thanks for this.” I gesture to the coffee and scone.
“Anytime. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have that cinnamon bread. I’ll also have fresh lemon bars in the morning!” She calls before I make it all the way out the door. I smile. I have no idea how she knew, coincidence or sneaky grandma intuition (I’ll go with the latter), but lemon bars are my favorite.
CHAPTER FOUR
HUDSON
No.
That’s all I said. That’s all I cared to say. I don’t know if she noticed, but I caught her staring at my forearms while talking with Fran. The hair on my skin rose like it could sense her gaze the moment it landed on me.
And when I looked at her…damn. When I looked at her, I felt all the air leave the room and I needed her voice to breathe. I escaped to the back because I knew nothing good would come out of my mouth. If I keep it shut, I can’t stick my big foot in it.
I’m not good with words and I’m sure she didn’t come to town for someone like me. No one does. And no one stays for someone like me either.
But, dammit, I wish she had. I haven’t thought about dating for a long time. I’ve had flings here and there, but nothing long term. I don’t care to deal with relationships. Especially after what happened to my sister.
Her death became a dark rain cloud over us and I haven’t managed to escape from under it yet. Not that I have really made an effort to. After she died, my brother-in-law, Elias, and my nephew, Ethan, became my priority. They deserved some sense of normalcy when they moved back here and I was—and still am—determined to give it to them.
So, why did my heart start pounding at the sight of her? Why did my mind jump to wondering what her hair would look like if I tugged on the ribbon holding it together, slowly untying it, letting it cascade to the floor in my bedroom to join the rest of her discarded clothes?
The sound of Fran’s shuffling footsteps pull me out of my thoughts and I brace myself for what I know is coming. I feel the sting of a damp rag on my shoulder blade, leaving a wet spot behind. “Boy, what was that?”
“What was what?” I play dumb. I may know exactly what she’s talking about, but it doesn’t mean I have to give her the satisfaction of having a conversation about it.
“You know better than to treat people with disrespect. Your parents brought you up better than that,” she states. “I know you’ve been through the ringer, but we all have and that doesn’t give you the excuse to act any other way besides decent.”
I look down at my boots thinking about her late husband, Henry, and let out a long sigh.
“I’m sorry, Fran. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just wasn’t sure what to say.”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe, ‘Nice to meet you?’ You act like you’ve never had any kind of social interaction with a woman, sheesh.”
The oven timer dings, and steam escapes when Fran opens the door and pulls out the fresh cookies. A sweet, sugary smell invades the air around us and I let out a groan. “Fran, is there anything you can’t bake?”
She swats my hand away from the mint chocolate chip cookies and places them on the counter. “No,” she responds. “But my sugar cookies always need work. Henry was the best at those.” She goes quiet as she uses a spatula to move the cookies to a cooling rack. Her features soften as she remembers her husband.
Henry had a bulky frame, contrasting Fran’s small one. He was loud, boisterous and never went a day without having a conversation with everyone who came in to buy a cup of coffee or a book. He always knew the exact book you needed after one conversation too. He was magic and he took a bit of that magic with him when he died. The shop hasn’t been the same without him and neither has the town. Fran still has his recommendations featured on a display underHenry’s Picksso people who come in can remember him and maybe read some of the books he loved so much.
“I miss that man,” she says softly.
