Friends Like These

by Carina Taylor

  Lottie wasn’t the most organized business owner, which might be why we got along great. When she wasn’t out searching for priceless art, she was busy supporting local artists and talking fashion with me.

  I just hoped she remembered the wine. She supposedly had a connection with a winery in California who would ship her some of their top-tier wine. We hadn’t received it yet.

  Maybe it would be a boxed-wine and art day.

  A creaking drew my attention to the front of the shop. The oak door swung inward slowly, and a man’s silhouette filled the doorway, the streetlights bright behind him. I hurried and flipped on the front bank of lights again.

  Noah.

  He stepped inside and shut the door. “Your sign said you were still open. If not, I can come back another time.”

  I shook my head and walked closer. “No, we’re open. It’s been a slow night, so I was thinking about closing early. But I’m glad you’re here. How can I help you? Are you looking for a piece for your office?”

  He smiled, and I bit my lip to keep from grinning like a fool. His voice echoed in the empty room, “No, I’m not looking for anything yet. Besides, I know someone who paints Picasso imitations, and I’d like to see those before I buy anything else.”

  He’d remembered that I liked to paint. And he wanted one of my imitations for his office. I could die a happy woman at the thought.

  I cleared my throat. “Would you like to look through the gallery?”

  He nodded and stepped farther into the room. “I mainly came to see you, but why don’t you show me the gallery while I’m here?”

  He came to see me. Maybe all was forgiven for the Lucifer incident. Hopefully, Edwina was a problem solver for him.

  Hoping to hide my nervousness, I turned to head to the back room, and he followed behind. “How is everything at The Garden?”

  “Interesting that you should ask...”

  I stopped in front of the minute paintings, and he stepped next to me. His suit jacket hung open, and he wasn’t wearing a tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, and he had his hands in his pants pockets. I had an overwhelming urge to draw him. He’d be the perfect model. Strong jaw, piercing eyes, and a posture that made you think the world was his for the taking.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Kent told me we had a visitor earlier today. I would have liked to see her myself.”

  I nodded and played along. “That’s interesting; who was this visitor?”

  “From what I’ve heard, it was the beautiful woman who killed my snake and brought me a one-legged chicken.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “So, what do you think of Edwina?”

  He pulled his hands from his pockets, and I studied them. Long, lean, but they looked strong. The veins stood out on the backs of his hands, and I had to cross my arms to keep from reaching out to trace them. It should be against the law for a man to show his hands if they looked like that. Maybe I could convince him to sit for me someday, and I’d sketch them.

  “Who is Edwina?”

  “The chicken.”

  He scowled, but his eyes sparkled with laughter. “That thing had a name?”

  “It has a name—every animal needs a name. Didn’t you read my note? Your snake even had a name. Personally, I would have gone with Beelzebub for him—Lucifer is a little overdone.”

  Noah shook his head and ran a hand over his face. “Why did you bring me a chicken?”

  I studied my peach painted toenails that peeked out from my wedge sandals. “You were so upset over losing your snake. I knew I had to make it right. When I found Edwina, I figured she would be perfect. She’s a novelty, just like your snake was. She can attract new members, but now you won’t have to worry about her attacking anyone since she’s not poisonous.” I smiled my most winning smile, hoping that would convince him I had solved all his problems.

  “Actually, she attacked Kent when he came into the office today.”

  “That just shows she’s a good judge of character.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  I shook my head—not sure I should tell him about Kent hitting on me. “Keep the chicken; you can trust her.”

  “Page, as lovely as Edwina is, I don’t want a chicken on the golf course. It crapped on Kent’s keyboard and chased my chef out of the office this afternoon. It’s in my car right now because I didn’t know what to do with it. You killed the only mascot The Garden will ever have.”

  He sighed, and I couldn’t resist reaching out to grab his arm.

  “I really can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Because I wasn’t sorry—it was me or the snake, and I would pick me every day.

  He gazed down at me, “You don’t have to keep apologizing. Really.”

  “You know, I was doing some reading when I got home that night, and I learned that only stressed snakes bite. They rarely bite because of the current situation they are in. They only bite if they’ve been under prolonged stress. So being attacked by Lucifer was not my fault. It was probably because of all the stress that had been in his life before. I mean, really, the guy should have been seeing a snake charmer to help him calm down.”

  Noah stared at me with a blank look in his eye. “You did the only thing you could. What should I do with the chicken?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know; Aunt Tricia had a friend with a little farm. They were planning to eat that chicken, so I bought it from them. Besides, how could anyone eat a one-legged chicken? It’s so heartless.”

  “Are you a vegetarian?”

  “Nope. I like my grilled chicken as much as the next person, but I don’t like to look at my food when it’s still alive.”

  Noah shook his head and chuckled. “So, I’m stuck with Edwina?”

  “You can’t give back a gift. Besides, I’m sure I’ll be able to find you the perfect mascot if I have enough time.”

  He mumbled something under his breath that I didn’t quite catch; I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  He gestured to the paintings in front of us. “Do you enjoy working in an art gallery?”

  “It’s an interesting way to pass the time, and it helps keep me inspired for my art. It can be a little dull sometimes. Tonight, was boring until you got here.”

  He nodded. “You’d rather be out painting it yourself.”

  “Exactly.”

  He turned to face me fully, “Why don’t you?”

  “Why don’t I what?”

  “Why don’t you paint full time?”

  I pivoted to face him. “Have you ever heard the term ‘starving artist?’”

  He threw his head back and laughed. It was a nice laugh that filled the gallery. “I take it you’re not making a living with your art.”

  I fake laughed with him. “No, no, I’m not. I work other jobs so I can afford to eat and buy painting supplies.”

  “Why don’t you sell your Picasso paintings?”

  “Do you know how many imitation artists there are out there? There’s probably only about a million artists out there who do imitation paintings, and I can promise you they do a better job than I do.”

  I sat down on the steel bench in the center of the sparse room.

  Noah sat down on the opposite end of the bench. “So, your Picassos aren’t all that great. Who cares? You enjoy painting them.”

  Please marry me. Thank goodness I didn’t say that out loud. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a sweetheart?”

  I could almost swear I saw him blush, but he ducked his head so I couldn’t see.

  “Well, I’d better let you get back to closing the gallery. Are you parked out back?”

  “No, I’m parked a few streets over. I don’t start work here until four, so by then, the streets are full.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets again. “I’ll wait and walk you to your car. You shouldn’t be walking out alone.”

  “I’m used to doing things alone—it’s okay.”

  He just smiled and shook his head. I’
d have to see what I could do to keep him.

  “Let me lock the back door first.” I hurried around the gallery, locking windows and shutting off lights before I set the alarm and headed to the front. I grabbed Noah’s hand as I walked past him and pulled him along. Once we were outside on the front sidewalk, I locked the big oak door.

  “All set.”

  My fingers were still laced through his when I caught his amused smile. He said, “You’re still holding my hand.”

  “It’s a nice hand. Do you want me to let go?”

  He shook his head and rubbed the backs of my fingers with his thumb. “You have a nice hand too.”

  Now he was going to make me blush. I started swinging our hands to match our stride. “So why the golf course? You’re not stuffy enough to be a golf course owner. I mean, you’re a little stuffy, but not too bad.”

  His hand squeezed mine gently. “Page, has anyone told you that you’re incredibly blunt?”

  “I prefer to call it pragmatic honesty. Blunt sounds so rude.”

  “Pragmatic honesty. All right. I could believe that.” His thumb moved up to rub tiny circles on the back of my hand. I wondered how many times we could go around the block before he realized I was prolonging the walk to my car.

  “So, golf course?” I reminded.

  “I inherited the golf course. I didn’t want it—but now I’ve got it, and I plan on getting it back in shape before I have a manager run it for me.”

  “You seemed a little stressed the other day. At first, I thought it was because of me.”

  “Part of it was because of you.”

  “I really am sorry—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have to be sorry,” he said firmly. “We should have had that snake relocated a long time ago. He was becoming an urban legend because he was getting too comfortable with people. When I saw him strike out at you, I almost lost my mind. He’s a big snake. I thought he’d kill you.”

  “Me too. Wait—so you weren’t mad at me at all? You were worried about me?”

  He turned his head slightly and smiled at me. “I didn’t think you’d want to be coddled right after that. But you were turning as white as a ghost, so I thought it would be better to direct your attention to something else.”

  “Something else! I thought you were mad at me.” I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing Noah to stop as well since our hands were laced together. “You’re making me mad right now!”

  “You seem a little mad...”

  I poked a finger at myself before I started pointing it at him. “I don’t get mad, and I don’t need to be ‘coddled.’ I definitely don’t need to be distracted!”

  Noah stood there, quietly nodding with a placid look on his face as he watched my finger that repeatedly poke his chest. I stopped—patted his chest and smoothed his shirt. “Okay, I’m sorry. Yes, fine. I do overreact sometimes.”

  He chuckled. “That’s all right. I don’t mind.”

  I patted his firm chest once more, then turned and walked down the sidewalk again, pulling him with me. “You pretended to be mad about the snake so I wouldn’t freak out?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So, I didn’t destroy the golf course by getting rid of the snake?”

  “No.” He squeezed my hand gently.

  “Thank goodness. Business should start taking off then.”

  “Well, we will be down on business for a while—”

  What did he mean they would be down on business? Maybe Lucifer really was drawing in people. The restaurant had been full for the snake eulogy...

  I didn’t pay attention to the rest of what he was saying. I needed to figure out a way to help him. His livelihood was riding on a struggling golf course. I’d seen the guest book firsthand. He needed more members. Glancing up, I realized I couldn’t stall the walk to my car any longer. “Oh, this is my car. Thank you for walking me.”

  “You’re welcome.” His crooked smile made me want to lean up and kiss his jaw. He’d been protective of me since the moment we met. Getting me away from the crazy snake lovers. Giving me ice water. Distracting me. Making sure I got home safely. Walking me to my car. It had been a while since someone had looked out for me in that way. I had to hurry and get out of there before I couldn’t refrain from kissing him anymore.

  “Well, then.” I unlocked the car, climbed in, and started it. I rolled down the window. “Don’t worry—I’ll come up with something to help you draw in some new business!”

  His eyes widened, and he started to say something, but I was already pulling away. That man didn’t want me to feel guilty. What a sweetheart! He’d been worried about me, not his business.

  So, the chicken idea should be scratched, but I knew I would come up with something to help him draw business to the golf course. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NOAH

  Getting ready for work Friday morning, I was so busy reminiscing about my time with Page that I poured orange juice in my oatmeal bowl. I’d taken a bite before I’d realized what I’d done.

  It didn’t taste that good.

  I remembered the soft feel of Page’s hand in mine as we walked the street to her car. I’d never known handholding could be so much fun. I was glad when she grabbed my hand. It was exactly what I wanted to do, too, but I didn’t want to come across as pushy, especially since I’d shown up to her place of work unannounced. The connection between us was tangible.

  After dumping out my oatmeal, I made myself another bowl. That time, I managed to spill the milk down the front of my suit jacket. With a frustrated groan, I slipped it off and hung it up so I could take it to the dry cleaners later. I searched through my closet and found another jacket that would complement my khaki slacks. It was the jacket I’d worn the day I met Page—which only caused me to think about her more.

  Thirty minutes later, I promised myself I wouldn’t let my thoughts of Page distract me from work that day.

  I’d never been so late to a job before, and when I finally pulled into the golf course parking lot, I was determined to make some serious headway on my projects.

  That is until I walked straight into a sour smell in the hallway outside my office. I considered filing for bankruptcy right then.

  Kent stood there, pretending like nothing was wrong, acting as though there wasn’t a putrid smell filling the hall.

  “What is that horrible smell? Is the sewer backed up?”

  “Well, ah, you see, sir, ah, you see-” he coughed.

  I liked Kent. He was reliable, proficient and had many other notable qualities. He was not—in my personal experience with him—a stutterer.

  Something had to be horribly wrong. Maybe the air conditioner had stopped working, and now we would have to shut down the clubhouse for a few weeks. That could be disastrous.

  Closing the clubhouse would not look good and might get mentioned in the local paper. I believed there was such a thing as bad press, and I didn’t want any of it.

  “I didn’t want to put it there, but I couldn’t leave it loose, so I told her to put it in your office.”

  I glanced sharply at Kent. “Put what in my office? And who?”

  “You know, the girl.”

  “There’s a girl in my office.”

  He shook his head with impatience. “No, she put it in your office. I can’t even say her name right now.”

  Page—it had to be. No one else would drop something off in my office. I remembered her parting words three nights ago. My, she had been up early to have already been here and dropped something off. Sure, I was late, but not that late.

  I reached for the doorknob just as something bleated on the other side of the door. “Oh no, not that.”

  “I’m sorry Noah, we tried to stop her but-”

  I held up my hand to stop him. “No need to explain. I understand. She’s a tornado.”

  He nodded. “Best description I’ve heard all week.”

  My hand rested on t
he doorknob while I tried to decide what to do with the bleater on the other side. It was either a sheep, a goat, or a small calf. None of which should be in my office.

  I opened the door and came face to face with a small goat standing on my desk. It had horns with tennis balls on the ends, and it had a piece of paper in its mouth.

  Priority one: kiss Page then throttle her.

  The goat stepped on my laptop and licked its nose.

  Maybe I’d throttle her first, then kiss her.

  “I’m so sorry, Noah, I told her no. She wouldn’t listen.” Kent complained. “She’s a menace.”

  “You are the manager of this golf course. You could have stopped her. This is ridiculous; there’s a goat on my desk!”

  Kent rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t believe I’m defending the terror, but she thinks she’s doing you a favor. You’re the one who pretended to be upset about Lucifer.”

  I waved a hand at the goat, trying to get it off my desk. I regretted telling him about that.

  MAA.

  “I don’t think it likes me.” I reached towards it, planning on lifting it off my desk. Why were these animals obsessed with standing on our desks?

  “Don’t do it, Noah. He looks angry.”

  I half-turned to look at Kent again. “What’s it going to do? It can’t weigh over thirty pounds.”

  Just then, the goat bounded onto a chair, then took a flying leap and slammed his hard head into my side. He sent me staggering into Kent, and we stumbled back against the wall.

  The goat charged straight for my knees; I barely had time to dodge its horns.

  “Quick!” I yelled. “You grab one side, and I’ll grab the other.”

  We each grabbed a horn and a back leg.

  “Now what?” Kent asked as he struggled to hold the kicking leg.

  “Now we find old McDonald and return this thing to its farm. Did she say where it came from?”

  “I was too surprised to ask,” Kent admitted.

  I groaned and tried my best to stretch my side without releasing my hold on the horn. The ornery goat had definitely bruised my ribs.

  “Ouch!” Kent yelled. The little goat bit his leg when he leaned too close.