Scaring Autumn off might be a fun challenge.
7
When Autumn walked into the Looking Glass on Friday morning, she surprised the shop’s employee. Katrina stopped sweeping the floor, broom handle loose in her hands. “I thought you weren’t coming in today.” The new high school graduate had started working for Dad almost from the time he’d opened the shop, but she only worked a couple of shifts a week, so Autumn had to be choosy when to call her in.
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Autumn gave smiles and nods to the customers who looked up at the conversation in the small shop. “I thought I’d tinker around a little bit, just for fun.” She waved at Katrina as she walked to the other side of the shop to the worktable set under the large window flanking the sidewalk. “Pretend I’m not here.”
Her dad or Angie, whoever made this design decision, had known what they were doing. Not only did the large window offer display space for various pieces, but passersby could watch the master at work from the street. Inside the shop, the table was at the right angle for customers as well, and the workspace was ample enough to teach small classes.
Snugging a stool up to the table’s edge, Autumn chose a spot where sunlight spilled over her, warming her back. Light glinted off the colored remnants, small pieces left over from Dad’s projects kept at the ready for future artwork.
“Are you going to make something?” Katrina splayed her fingers across the workspace, pressing her palms on the scarred wooden surface—a risky thing to do with the possibility of minute shards of glass everywhere.
“Careful,” Autumn warned. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
Katrina pulled her hands back as if she’d touched something hot, but her curiosity remained. “What are you going to do?”
“Something simple. I’m trying to remember some of the projects I used to make with Dad.” She waved at the stocked shelves. “Like the miniature light-catchers he sells.” Her eyes roamed over the various tools. Her father’s setup never changed. Memories of them working together came back in small pieces, a mosaic of her childhood. “Which ones has he taught you so far?”
Katrina gulped. “He was pretty busy with the wedding and stuff. But he said he’d teach me when he came back from Italy.”
Picturing her father distracted by the wedding details made Autumn grin. She could see him preoccupied with Angie, but not necessarily the wedding. “Just to warn you, Dad’s MO is to get his employees good enough to run the occasional intro glass art classes.”
“I wholeheartedly volunteer as tribute.” Katrina pushed her ebony-dyed hair over her shoulder, and Autumn caught sight of something sparkly at her earlobe.
She leaned in to get a better look. “Cute earrings.” They were amateurish and obviously homemade but showed great potential and a flair for the creative. “Did you make them?”
Blushing, Katrina sucked in her cheeks but nodded.
“Sorry, occupational hazard.” Autumn hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “But seriously, you have an artist’s eye. You’ll be great with the stained glass.”
“Can we start a project today?”
Autumn was happy to oblige.
Katrina chose a fun honeycomb pattern in a multitude of colors. They were well into a simple project with all straight lines, stopping occasionally to assist customers and drawing a crowd of curious onlookers, when a courier entered the shop. A teenage boy with a mop of unruly curls, the kid had even more personality than his awesome hair did.
“Special delivery!” He walked straight to Autumn, a loudly wrapped package proffered like he was bestowing the dearest of gifts to a queen. He bowed in front of her—holding the gift in front of him. “Don’t kill me,” he muttered, his head bowed. “He said he’d pay me extra if I did it this way.” He peeked up between his arms, his face scrunched as if expecting a blow.
Autumn rolled her eyes and chuckled, despite the fact that she was just as tempted to growl. Better to take it as humor rather than someone making fun of her. “And are you going to tell me who he is?” Autumn lifted the package—about the size of a book but much lighter.
“He said it would be obvious as soon as you open it.” The teenager hung back, apparently waiting for her to do that now. Was he planning to report on her reaction as well? She was shocked he didn’t have his phone out to record.
“Thank you.” She set it under the counter at her knee level and purposely ignored him. After a moment, he got the hint.
He shrugged and backed away. “Have a good day, Miss Molinero.”
“Thanks . . .” She trailed off as if she knew the kid’s name and had forgotten it.
Katrina jumped in. “Branton,” she whispered under her breath, her back to the courier.
“Branton,” Autumn got his attention again, “tell Kian I received it.”
Branton raised an eyebrow. The surprise in his look told her she was spot-on. Considering she knew less than a handful of people in town, it was a pretty simple guess. Feeling a little guilty that she was cheating the kid out of her reaction, she offered a too-sweet smile.
As soon as he was gone, Katrina’s eyes got large and darted toward the package. “Are you going to—”
“Way ahead of you.” Autumn had the package in hand and lifted it onto the workspace. She ripped off the kind of wrapping paper used for a five-year-old nephew and found a set of quality noise-canceling headphones. She fought a smile and lost. She was definitely right about the sender.
Katrina raised her hands in question. “Story?”
How much did Autumn want to get into it? She’d known when she’d gone down there the night before that it wasn’t going to go well, and it hadn’t. Just like when she’d asked the apartment next to her to turn down their music at three the morning before an important final, Kian had done the exact same thing—turned up the volume as soon as she left.
“Mature,” she muttered under her breath, but she couldn’t be angry with him, not when he did things like this to smooth over any rough edges between them and entertain her at the same time.
“What?” Katrina asked.
“Oh. It’s a joke from the guy downstairs.” Autumn took the headphones out of their container. It would have been fine—nice, even—except that she didn’t like listening to music, podcasts, or anything else while she worked. Her muse thrived in perfect silence.
“If it’s from Kian, of course it’s a joke.” Katrina balled the wrapping paper up, being careful not to disturb any cut glass from their project. “Eureka Springs’s resident comedian.”
Autumn gave her a quizzical look.
“He’s opening a comedy club—tonight, I think.” She twirled a lock of her jet-black hair.
“In the bike shop?” Autumn asked, and Katrina nodded. Then the laugh tracks and music clips she heard the previous night were only the beginning. “Yeah,” she muttered in response to the unvoiced commentary running in her head. She closed up the box again and put it under the worktable even while a snippet of their first conversation came back to him. Something about being the comic relief. “He might have mentioned it during the blues concert.”
“He was good, wasn’t he?” Katrina twirled a lock of hair near her shoulder quickly to match the pace of her words. “I never laughed so hard.”
Too bad Autumn had missed it. She remembered the courier, Branton, which got her thinking. “When do deliveries usually come in? Like from UPS or FedEx,” she hurried to explain. “I haven’t seen any since I got here.” She’d ordered supplies that should have been dropped off the day before.
“Usually before lunch,” Katrina said.
At nearly one in the afternoon, it was doubtful anything was coming today. This wasn’t a good thing. Though she didn’t have her jewelry designs ready yet, she needed the supplies on hand so she could start creating as soon as inspiration struck. Worry knotted in her chest. Nothing she sketched felt grand enough, not for the celebrity silent auction. She had to come up with something good—and fast—y
et the more she stressed over it, the more blocked her ideas became. She needed to get her mind off of it.
Autumn picked up the cutter she’d used and set it back in the jar with oil. “Now that we’re done cutting your pieces, I’ll show you how to use the grinder to shave off the rough bits, and then it’s time for the foil.”
Katrina’s shift was almost over when they finished the project. “I can’t wait to hang this in my bedroom window.” She held it up to the slanted sunset outside. She admired her piece for a moment before giving Autumn a quick hug. “Thank you for teaching me. It was a lot of fun.”
“My pleasure.” Autumn looked around the shop. They were doing a fair bit of business, but not so much she couldn’t handle it herself, and all she would do if she went home now was go into her newly completed home theater alone. She couldn’t think of anything more pathetic and less enticing. “I can take over if you have something you’d like to do tonight.”
“Really? A group of my friends said something about going to Spokes.” Katrina’s excitement was instantaneous. “I mean, if you don’t mind,” she said, backing down.
Autumn batted away her concern. “It’s no problem for me. We’ll work the shop together tomorrow.” Saturdays were too busy for them not to do it in tandem. “Go. Have some fun with your friends.”
“You’re the best.” Katrina gave her another hug, and Autumn felt like the cool big sister she’d always wanted to be.
After Katrina left, Autumn pulled out her computer to check delivery dates on the supplies. Unless she’d forgotten to update the address before confirming the purchase, they should have been here already. She opened internet tabs to each of the suppliers, only to find that not one or two but three packages were already marked as delivered. Delivery dates showed different days, but all were supposedly here, and yet they most certainly were not. She’d been in the shop every day, and not one delivery person had walked through the Looking Glass doors—well, except for Branton with Kian’s gift. And now she’d have to wait until Monday to follow up on her concerns.
Before closing the browser, she checked her email. The most important one was from Emily Wood. Apparently, the person in charge of all the details for the event, a woman named Veronica, would only be in town for one day in just under two weeks, and wanted to see what Autumn had so far.
“Uh, no, you don’t,” she argued with Emily’s email about this Veronica.
She pulled out her phone and texted Emily. Did Veronica give any direction on theme or the style of jewelry she’s looking for?
Emily’s reply came quickly. She wanted to leave that to the professional. Is the 9th okay for the meeting? I need to let her know.
Of course. See you then. Autumn didn’t exactly mean that, but what could she say? No sense worrying about the supplier or the appointment. The first thing she needed to do was get the ideas flowing. If she had Veronica’s last name, she would have done some research to see what kind of events she generally organized, but then that would have influenced her designs.
Maybe that was the problem. The pressure of trying to figure out what the client wanted without any direction was making it harder. When everything was this wide open, it was difficult to narrow things down. After about an hour of sketching and rejecting, Autumn still couldn’t get her mind to focus on one thing long enough to come up with a real idea, especially once Kian turned on his speakers downstairs.
Already frustrated, she snapped her computer closed and locked up for the night. She would head to her huge, lonely home in The Cove out by the lake. Someday, eventually, it would feel like home to her, wouldn’t it? A place she wanted to be? Maybe when her father and Angie returned and Autumn didn’t feel so secluded with the staff.
Somewhere around midnight, Autumn flopped over in bed and kicked off the covers in frustration. She couldn’t turn off her mind. Not only was she stressing over the jewelry designs and the now-tighter timeframe; she couldn’t get a certain neighbor out of her head. How had his comedy skit gone? A part of her wished she’d snuck in the back to listen, but she’d been nervous about him seeing her. She was willing to bet he’d killed it. Factoring in his whole person—his classic good looks, the glint of humor in his eye, and his subtle overconfidence—he would have the perfect stage presence. Their conversations proved he had a quick wit, and the stunt he’d orchestrated with Branton this afternoon had her convinced he could be funny.
She was never going to fall asleep. If only noise-canceling headphones could drown out her musings. A little white noise might help, though. She grabbed the box she’d dropped onto her nightstand before bed and pulled up the sound of a gentle ocean surf on her phone. Only then did she drift off to sleep, haunted by her irritatingly handsome downstairs neighbor who never seemed far from her thoughts—day or night.
8
Opening weekend for Spokes the club—as opposed to Spokes the bicycle shop—was more of a success than Kian had hoped. Not every seat was filled, but longtime friends and local supporters occupied many of them. With the next weekend being the Spaceberry Music Festival over the Fourth of July, he hoped to sell out completely. Being onstage in his own club was a dream come true. He’d performed before, of course—most recently at the blues festival—but this was different. What a rush to know the audience was there to see him specifically.
Even as the success of his comedy club was sinking in four days later, Kian checked his bike tour schedule. How lucky he was to be able to have his comedy and continue his bike tours as well. Today would be busy for a Tuesday. Every slot in his longest bike tour was filled—good for the books, but a lot of work. They’d even paid for the lunch special, and Kian had it packed and ready to go in a cooler in the fifteen-person van waiting in the parking lot across the street. As soon as everyone showed up for the tour, he would take them to the trailhead and unload the bikes from the trailer.
Spokes’s door opened, the heat of the last day in June swirling in alongside two teenage girls who twittered to each other, punctuating their statements with their hands. One of the girls, a blonde, looked up and saw him. She stopped talking mid-word, and immediately, her friend also fell silent.
“Welcome to Spokes. Are you part of the Anderton tour?”
The brunette flicked her long hair over her shoulder. “We are the Anderton tour.”
The action and the statement were so cliché, he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it himself. He coughed to cover his involuntary laugh and then forced a serious look. “But you scheduled a dozen riders.” All those bikes and all that food . . .
“Just us.” The blonde straightened her shoulders provocatively. Given the skintight outfit, it wasn’t too tough. He kept his eyes on her face, and she gave him a challenging look. “I’m Sierra Anderton. Do you need to see ID?”
Come to think of it, he did need to make sure they were of age to sign the waiver. “Yes, please.”
When she made a show of reaching for the sports bra area of her shirt, Kian turned away, jumping to the first rescue that came to mind. “While you get your driver’s licenses, I need to grab my assistant. I told her I’d let her know when y’all got here.” Without looking back at them, he called over his shoulder. “Just leave your ID on the counter for when I get back.”
Kian jogged up the two flights of stairs so fast, he could hardly breathe when he burst through the Looking Glass’s shop door. The door crashed open, and Autumn stared at him in shock.
“I . . .” He leaned forward, palms on his knees to take in air. Wishing he didn’t look out of shape, he blew out one long breath and caught it again with a slight hitch. That was better. At least now he wasn’t panting. He stood up straight. “Any chance Katrina is working—or could she be in the next couple of minutes?”
“She is.” Autumn stood from the worktable and untied her thick denim apron.
She glanced over her shoulder at the same time he heard the door to the storage room open. Katrina walked into the shop, her forearms draped with
the loops of probably fifty canvas tote bag handles.
Kian threw a quizzical look at Autumn. Katrina’s look wasn’t what he was expecting, but that wasn’t his real question. “I need y—” He stopped himself and edited his words. “Hey, um . . . You owe me a favor—”
The scowl on her face shut him down quickly. This wasn’t coming out right, not if he wanted to convince her.
He softened his tone. “I did save you from the creepy guy at the blues festival . . .” He raised both eyebrows in a pleading, pathetic puppy-dog look, hoping that made up for his blunder.
Defiant, Autumn put her hands on her hips. “Depends on what you want me to do.”
“Fair enough.” Because what he was about to say had to do with two girls about Katrina’s age, he mused over how to word it right. He leaned into Autumn so he could speak quietly. At her closeness and the smell of her delicate perfume, his thoughts fogged. He cleared his throat, getting a hold of himself. “I could use a second on my bike tour.” He flicked his eyes toward Katrina significantly. “You know, legally.” It took a moment, but he saw when she made the connection. “For you,” he teased, “I’ll even throw in lunch.”
Autumn hung her apron on a hook and looked up to the ceiling as if she’d to think about it, though as soon as she caught his drift, he’d known she would agree. “Okay, but then I no longer owe you.”
Kian considered the severity, the finality of her statement. Was it worth it? Why did two silly teenagers make him nervous? Too many scenarios went through his head, and none of them had to do with him not trusting himself. He needed the chaperone. “Deal.” He eyed her business attire and cringed. Not the most practical clothes for riding through the woods in this humidity. “Do you need to change?”
Her face went taut with indignation. “Are you saying I don’t look good?”
Shoot. He’d offended her. “Uh—” Kian was flabbergasted. What had made her think that?
Bargaining with the Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove) Page 5
