Page 24 of Fast Currents
“Perfect for walking to the taco truck. Shall we?” He extended an elbow, and I linked my arm with his, pausing to lock my door before we set off for the tiny eatery near the ferry dock.
The crisp fall night blessed us with gentle winds. Leaves crackled beneath our feet. Clay nodded to everyone who passed us, offering a friendly smile.
“Do you want to eat in town or carry it back to your place?” Clay asked after we ordered at the food truck window.
I eyed his long hair. “Let’s take it home. I was thinking I’d give you a haircut after dinner.”
His eyes flashed with something I couldn’t name. Hopefully not fear.
“I’d appreciate that.” He ruffled the ends that stuck from beneath his hat. “It’s that or a hair band. I keep hoping I’ll get a day off and catch the ferry to a barber in Anacortes, but it hasn’t happened.”
I lifted my shoulder like it would be nothing to touch him. Run my fingers through his hair. “The role of hippie artist is already taken: by me.”
“Honey, I promise I’m not in the running. I’ve seen your work. It’s amazing.”
“You have? When?”
“I caught a show at Chaz’s gallery when I first moved to the island last year. He had a few pieces from you. Each one was more beautiful than the last.”
The compliment made me shift from foot to foot, avoiding his gaze. But that was the old Lucy. I dragged my eyes to his, getting caught up in the gentle sincerity there.
“Thanks. Speaking of the gallery, we need to drop off our canvases with Chaz for framing and placement. He’s going to need a few weeks before the show to finish them.”
“We can use my truck and transfer everything tomorrow if that works for you.”
“Sure.”
Mario called out our order, and we thanked him. Clay tucked our bag under one arm and extended a hand for me. “Ready?”
Slowly, I offered my palm. His hand was rough and warm, tightening around mine as we walked back to my place. I hadn’t expected to feel so at ease in Clay’s company. But cutting his hair? That wasn’t just a favor. That was trust. And I wasn’t sure which one of us it’d unravel first.
Chapter 12 – Clay
We ate on the couch in Lucy’s living room. On my last visit, I’d been more concerned with picking up the art supplies and helping wash out her hair dye. Now, I could take in all the tiny touches that marked the space as Lucy’s. Her home was cozy and comfortable, done in basic furniture and neutral colors. Surprisingly, there was hardly a speck of black, yet it was still somehow all her.
The walls were where Lucy’s love of art shone. From floor to ceiling, every inch was covered in canvases, prints, and even a sprinkling of needlework. It was theDue to Personal Reasons, I Am Now Evildone in with a pretty pink border of flowers that made me laugh.
“Did you stitch that before or after I started calling you Lucifer?”
The faint flush beneath her cheeks was adorable. She chewed slowly, taking her time swallowing. “It’s not always about you, Robertson.”
“But maybe this time it is?”
She huffed, rolling her eyes. Her lack of answer was answer enough.
“Next time, we’ll eat at my place, so you can make fun of my décor.”
“Let me guess: subpar parks posters as far as the eye can see?”
“Oh, no. It’s much worse than that.” I grinned. “And that’s just the outside.”
“I don’t know if I should be curious or afraid.”
I wiped my hands on my napkin, offering her an innocent grin. “Then my work here is done.”
It might’ve been childish, but I wanted her to see my house. If I dangled enough hints, maybe she’d come visit to solve the puzzle for herself.
Lucy finished the last of her tacos while we chatted about island life, my work and hers. Her wry comments about her customers and the inherent challenges of running a glass studio that was both sales space and workspace kept me cracking up.
