Page 53 of Hard to Love
Of course, when she stopped at Chad Holcombe’s booth, he looked over the revised paperwork as though she were asking him to sign over the rights to his designs. “This curfew thing wasn’t in here before.”
“Everyone needs rest to do their best work. If I don’tput some type of stipulation on it, people will be in here working night and day. Besides, I’m not regulating what entrants can do elsewhere. Later this week, the public will be allowed in to watch the artists work, so the barn will need to be cleaned up overnight.”
He tapped a pen against his chin, must’ve read every damn word three times, and finally bent over the table and signed. When he straightened, he said, “How about we catch a little late dinner after the place closes down for the night?”
What she wanted to say was “How about I shove your swivel knife up your ass?” but instead she just replied, “Thanks, but I need my rest too.”
In the time it took her to hit two more stalls, Chad Holcombe’s booth was surrounded by half the female entrants. To each her own. Last but not least, Greer stopped by Alex’s booth. He had a high-powered light and magnifying glass set up on the table and had pulled his barrier curtains as far around him as possible. His back was rounded as he used a tracing stylus to transfer a design to a piece of leather underneath. He picked up his own swivel knife and made sure strokes down the leather, cutting away narrow sections, until the design took shape and came to life under his hand.
Greer leaned against one of the booth’s sides and squinted, trying to make out what the subject was. “Is that a fairy?”
Alex shoved his design under another piece of leather.
“You know the point is to convince people you’re the best artist, right? Not the most standoffish.”
He glanced up at her, and by the lack of focus in his eyes, it was clear he was in his own world. He shook his head, blinked twice. “Public’s not allowed in yet.”
Ah, so he had heard her. “They will be in a couple of days.”
“Which means I don’t have to be nice until then.”
“Don’t you think you should practice a little?”
“You think I need practice being nice?” One at a time, he carefully placed his tracing tools in a canvas roll, slid the leather he’d been working into his portfolio, and clicked off the lamp. The change in light threw shadows across his face, making him look like a man convinced he didn’t belong in the sunshine. The sudden need Greer had to pull him out and make him stand in the wide open almost overwhelmed her.
“Maybe you should. Because when you’re nice to people, they like you. And when they like you, they do nice things for you, like choose you as the competition winner.”
He rose from the folding chair where he’d been sitting and headed toward Greer in what others might mistake as a stroll. She recognized it for what it was. He was stalking her. “Do you want to do nice things for me?”
“I’ve already been accused once today of not running this competition fairly.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Do you want me to do nice things for you?” She honestly had no idea what this man wanted. Yes, he wanted her physically. That was a little hard to hide while wearing a towel. But as for the rest of him—those parts were still a mystery.
He reached out, but rather than touch her, he plucked the paper from her hand. He didn’t scan it either but spent several minutes with his eyes darting back and forth across the print. “You added a rule.”
She lowered her voice, “I didn’t think about…you know…that you’re living here.”
“The exact reason you shouldn’t put restrictions on when other people can be here and have access to their tools and booths.”
“I’m not restricting when they can use their tools, just the space. So I think it’s probably best if you use the outside door to your place from now on.”
“What will people say at night when they don’t see my car pull out?”
“You can…uh…park it up at Daddy’s cabin.”
“Why haven’t you moved into your dad’s house?”
“Because I like my apartment in town.” And she did, but that wasn’t the reason she’d stayed there. It was still so hard to walk in her dad’s place and not expect him to amble into the living room and spout one of his gruff Texas sayings.
Daddy, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I’m gonna make you proud with Wild Card.
She pointed to the paper in Alex’s hand. “Can you please sign that?”
“You trust me not to sneak out here in the middle of the night and work on my competition project?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Alex. I suppose if I don’t I could babysit you every night for seven hours.”
