Page 23 of Finding New Dreams

I chuckled, pinning one of Rose’s flyers to the board. “I was going for ‘misunderstood artist.’”

Sarah hummed, narrowing her eyes at me. I could almost feel her question coming, so I headed it off.

“And I hear that you caused quite the stir with one of my old buddies. Fake dating Carter? Falling in love? Say it isn’t so,” I teased.

To my shock, rough-and-tumble Sarah blushed. “Chloe told you?”

“And Wyatt, and my mom, and the copy of the Tangled River Gazette Chloe sent me.”

She grimaced and looked around. Her customers had gone back to their business of coffee and scones, reading the newspaper, or gossiping.

“This town’s as leaky as an old faucet,” she grumbled. Then grinned impishly. “Which means your ugly mug is probably going to be splashed all over the front page of the Gazette tomorrow. I can’t wait.”

It was my turn to wince. John Smith, the editor of the newspaper, worked in mysterious ways, and I had no way of knowing what kind of information he’d be printing about me.

Headlines like “Hometown Artist Returns a Failure,” “Forever a Flirt: a Flynn Higgins Saga,” and “Groomsman, Assistant, Playboy…Whatever Happened to Flynn Higgins?” scrolled through my head.

Sarah glanced at the flyer and frowned. “Why are you putting up flyers for Rose’s paint night?”

I flapped my stack of flyers in her face. “I’m her new assistant.”

“You’re her…new…assistant…” Understanding dawned on her face, followed quickly by anger. She smacked my arm. “I can’t believe you would stoop so low to get laid. Rose is not that kind of woman!”

I quickly backed up a step, holding the flyers in front of me like a shield. I knew how hard she could hit—she’d given me a black eye once when I’d beat her in a kayak race down the river.

“Now, hold on, Sarah,” I started. “It’s not what you think.” It kind of was. “I’m not working for her to get in her pants.” Although I definitely wouldn’t say no. “She needed help, and I need this job.” That last part was truer than I cared to admit.

She scowled at me skeptically. “You, the L.A. artist whose last painting went for three hundred grand, need a job as an assistant in a small-town gallery?”

I shrugged, trying to appear blasé. “Call it a learning experience.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, a bite of sarcasm in her grunt.

A crash came from the shop’s counter. I looked over Sarah’s head to see her young coworker standing, mortified, over a pile of rainbow sprinkles scattered across the floor.

Sarah twisted her head around to look and sighed. “I gotta go hover over this kid until he cleans it up.” She pointed a finger in my face. “Be good. And…it’s good to see you, Flynn,” she added grudgingly.

I flicked her ponytail just to annoy her, like the brother she’d never had. “See you around, Stinky Sarah.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and marched off.

After leaving the Sugar Shack, I walked to the next business, River Roots Salon, but it was closed on Sundays. So I stuck a flyer in the door and moved on.

The post office wasn’t technically open either, but Old Meryl Thacker sat in his usual spot on a bench outside. He’d been delivering mail in Tangled River since before I was born. He assured me the flyers I handed him would make it into the ideal mailboxes tomorrow morning.

I dropped in to Furry Family, the new vet clinic and animal rescue, and spent a minute with Louis, the young vet and an old friend. Then spent another ten with one of his newest rescues, a Yorkshire terrier who tried to curl up inside my jacket. I barely escaped the sad looks of both Louis and the dog.

I managed to get in and out of Cheryl’s Pantry, the local grocery and convenience store, without running into the lady herself. The queen of the local gossip mill was sure to catch up with me eventually, though.

Bud Cavendish had his “Gone Fishing” sign up on his fishing store, so I stuck a flyer in his door.

It took me an hour to get through Tall Tales, Monty’s, and Baciami—a bar and grill, a diner, and an Italian restaurant, respectively. Dozens of old friends and neighbors stopped me to say hi and welcome me back and pepper me with questions about my “glamorous life in Los Angeles.”

I smiled until my cheeks were sore and fed them vague answers. But not so vague as to make them think I was anything less than a successful artist.

I felt like a fraud.

Thankfully, I’d saved the two best places for last. The police station and the bookstore.

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