Maia touched her arm. “Juli is the artist who painted the beachscapes your uncle commissioned.”
“Really?” She extended her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
A man walked past and up the steps. Maia said. “A customer.” She turned to Frannie. “I’m freezing anyway. Come on in when you’re done chatting. Juli, I’ll see you soon.”
Maia dashed up the steps and into the gallery.
Frannie tried to refocus. “I don’t want to keep you, but I’m glad to have the opportunity to tell you the paintings are beautiful, and I know exactly where I’m going to hang them, that is, as soon as Brian paints the dining area.”
Juli appeared to be listening politely, but when Frannie expected her to say, ‘I’m glad you like them,” instead, she said, “Brian is painting? Brian Donovan?”
“Yes.” What did Juli have against Brian? “He’s doing a beautiful job. Very…reliable.”
After a pause, Juli answered, “I’m sure he is very reliable.” She shrugged, laughing a bit, and added, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your uncle is a very nice man. I met him a few times. He makes an impression. I suppose being career Navy doesn’t go away with retirement.” The baby whimpered. “My alarm clock is going off. Danny never lets me down.”
Juli headed toward the parking lot and Frannie went into the gallery. The man passed her on his way out.
Frannie said, “I’m sorry I interrupted you and your friend.”
“Nonsense.” Her voice was stern. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t interrupt.”
She stutter-stepped, then caught sight of Maia’s face. It was mock anger. Teasing. She drew in a deep breath and tried to reset her expression.
Maia gave her a funny look. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I have hot chocolate, too.”
She shook her head. “No thanks. I’m fine.”
“Seriously. Do you have to be anywhere? Can’t you stay for a bit? It can be so lonely around here this time of year.”
“I guess so.”
“Good. Then take off your coat and let’s take a break. What’s your preference? Coffee or hot cocoa?”
Maia was so brisk and business-like that Frannie found herself obeying. Between the bell over the front door and a clear view of the sales floor from the break room door, there was no risk of missing a customer arriving. Inside the break room was a sink and counter and a narrow stove.
“You can hang your coat on the hook over there. Cocoa?” Maia turned on the fire under a shiny kettle.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Frannie shoved her hands in her coat pockets and pulled it closer. “I’m fine.”
“You won’t be for long, and you won’t feel it when you leave if you don’t take it off while you’re inside. That’s what my mother says.” She pointed to hooks on the wall. “Hang it over there and have a seat.” Maia she pulled a couple of ceramic mugs from the cupboard.
Frannie did as she was instructed. She watched Maia rip open the envelopes and shake them into the cups. As the water heated, Maia removed her sweater and draped it over the back of a chair.
The kettle wailed and Maia poured the hot water into a cup. She stirred it briskly as she set it on the table.
“Here you go.”
She went back to the counter and did the same with her own. Frannie swirled the spoon, enjoying the steam rich with the aroma of cocoa.
“It has little marshmallows.”
Maia laughed and her dimples deepened. “Is there any other kind?” She sat opposite Frannie and the metal chair squeaked on the floor as she moved closer to the table.
“Tell me what you had in mind.”
Guilt bloomed. For what? Because she’d been jealous of the easy friendship she witnessed between the two women? But Maia wouldn’t know that. For heaven’s sake, Maia was a store clerk. They barely knew each other.
She asked carefully, “What do you mean?”
“The painting? You said you wanted to ask about a painting.” She reached across and patted her hand. “Is the cocoa too hot? Did you burn yourself?”
“No,” she sputtered.
“Then what? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Really.” She shook her head.
“I can tell you’re a thinker. A deep thinker. I can be pushy. I hope you aren’t offended.”
“No.” She pressed her fingers against the mug. She was a bit off-kilter. She wasn’t used to shopkeepers inviting her in for hot chocolate. If this was a new sales technique, she thought it might prove effective.
“Good. You look more comfortable now.” Maia sipped her cocoa. “So, tell me, what sort of paintings are you interested in?”
“I want to dress up my uncle’s house. A little extra color, you know? I want a local feel.”
“You’re at the right place.”
“I liked some of the paintings I saw when I came before. One, in particular.”
“What caught your attention? I’m a great believer in first impressions.” Maia had an extra twinkle in her eye.
“Those sunrises and sunsets by Anna Barbour were very nice, but since Uncle Will bought that other set, we have enough of that.” She smiled. “There was one other I particularly liked. It’s hanging next to those sunrise-sunset paintings. Sand and dune grass. With sand and grass actually mixed in?”
Maia leaned forward, grasping her cup as if she might upset it in her joy. “Small world, right? Not only did Juli paint the set your uncle bought, but that’s her painting, too.”
“Really?” Something about that unsettled her again.
“Funny, too, because you two remind me of each other.”
“How so? We don’t look alike or anything.”
“Well, not to argue the point, but you both have brown hair and blue eyes.”
Frannie laughed. “True, but it looks different on her. It looks good on her.”
“Listen to you. All I know is that you’re both slender, and I have more than my share of curves.”
She knew Maia was teasing. She didn’t mean any harm. Frannie changed the subject.
“That was a precious little boy. His name is Danny?”
Maia’s eyes lit up. “He is. Such a sweetie. I babysit for him whenever they let me.”
“Do you have children?”
“Me?” She shook her head. “No. You?”
“No.”
Maia looked a little wistful. “I’m good on my own.” She sighed. “I’m tired of hoping to meet the right guy and being disappointed. And of enjoying only other people’s children.” She gave a mock shiver. “Ouch. That sounds awful, doesn’t it?”
Frannie’s heart did a little crunch. She understood. “I know what you mean. I guess I’ve stopped looking.”
Maia nodded. “I’m too picky. I bet you are, too.”
It wasn’t a bad thing to be picky, right? It could be a lonely thing. She said, “Better to be alone than chained to the wrong guy.”
Suddenly, Maia’s mood picked up again. She giggled. “I’ve heard that said before, but not with the word, chained. Gives it a little more resonance.” She shook her head. “I know what you mean. I’ve been friends with some truly excellent men, but love? Their hearts went to other women. Is that good or bad? I don’t know. If they’d fallen for me, maybe our friendship wouldn’t have survived a closer relationship.” She shrugged. “Who knows?”
Maia stared through the door, into the empty gallery, then said, “Do you think he’ll be able to come back home?”
“Uncle Will?”
“Yes. You said you’re fixing the house up, right? Brian said he fixed some loose lattice the other day.” She trailed off, again looking sad.
“Brian? You’ve been talking to Brian?” She hadn’t thought about being the subject of a human information pipeline.
“Oh, goodness yes. Didn’t he tell you? He’s my brother.”
“No.”
“Well, not much to mention these days, I’m sorry to say.”
Frannie refused to ask what th
at meant. She had enough of her own trouble. And, unreasonable though it might be, she felt deceived. Brother and sister? No wonder Maia thought she knew Frannie so well, but she was only getting the slice of Frannie that Brian saw and that was probably a good thing.
Maia stood and placed her cup in the sink. “Why don’t we go take a look at that painting?”
Frannie set her mug next to Maia’s. She took her coat from the hook and her purse, too, and followed Maia out to the sales floor. She went directly to the painting.
“This is the one. It’s structured, yet unstructured at the same time. I like the texture, too, and the color should go well with the paint Brian chose.”
Maia was staring at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Brian chose a color?”
“Yes. For the living room.”
Maia continued to stare.
Floundering a bit, Frannie added, “I chose the color for the bedroom, although Brian hasn’t seen it yet, so I don’t know if he’ll like it.” She meant that as a joke, but Maia’s expression stayed grave.
Maia reached out and touched her arm. “I’m sorry. Truly. Brian doesn’t tell me much these days. He’s painting your living room?”
“No, he finished the living room. He’s painting one of the bedrooms now. You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Frannie saw something changing in Maia’s expression as it morphed from sad to speculative. She said abruptly, “I’ll take the painting.”
Maia smiled. “I’ll wrap it up.” She lifted it from the hooks and carried it over to the counter.
“Juli’s going to be over the moon that her painting sold. You wouldn’t believe how hard I worked to convince her to offer it for sale in the first place. She’s got a couple of others I’m trying to get my hands on.” Maia drew the brown paper around it and secured it with a piece of sealing tape. “It made all the difference in the world to her when Will commissioned those little beach paintings. And now you’ll have this one to go with it. I’ll admit, this is a particular favorite of mine. We don’t have anything else like it in the gallery.” She picked up the wrapped canvas. “This should do it. It’s not going far, right?”
“Right.”
“She hasn’t had a lot of time to paint, what with Danny, plus her husband’s been traveling a lot lately. Maybe this will encourage her to get back to her easel.”
****
When Frannie returned to Captain’s Walk, she carried the groceries up the stairs, a bag in each arm, and over one forearm hung the handles of a fancier bag from a department store that contained sheets with a much better thread count, along with a few other creature comforts. She put the bags on the counter and then headed back down again for the painting. Brian’s bike was parked to the side. She could’ve asked him to help with carrying the purchases, but he’d signed on to paint the house. Anything else would be a favor, and she didn’t like to ask for those.
She propped the painting against the dining room wall. Still no sight or sound of Brian.
He was in the smallest bedroom. Will had used it for storage. Brian stood on the stepladder removing a ceiling fixture.
“Hello, how’s it going?”
He gave her a brief glance and grunted something that sounded like ‘okay’.
“I didn’t realize Maia was your sister.” She said the words in a level voice. Non-judgmental, non-committal.
Brian didn’t turn around. “Yeah.”
She walked closer to where he was perched and accepted the screwdriver he handed her. “I mean, it would seem a natural thing for you to have mentioned.”
“Why?” He removed the last bolt and then eased the glass fixture down. “It’s dusty.”
He said it like an indictment—it’s dusty—as he handed it to her. He stepped down, but then paused on the last rung.
“Is something bothering you?”
“Well, no. It’s just that there’s no reason to hide the relationship.” She kept her eyes fixed on the dirty glass and held it away from her clothing. “Is there?”
Brian came close. She didn’t think to move. She did stop breathing.
He paused a couple of feet away. Softly, he said, “Did Maia say something to upset you?”
“No.” She shook her head briskly. “I thought she looked a little sad at times.”
“Sad? Maybe. I can’t help that.” Without moving, still looking at her, he added, “If you’re worried about me talking about your business, you can forget it. I wouldn’t anyway, but the truth is, Maia and I don’t talk much anymore.”
He folded the ladder and carried it out of the room.
Frannie followed. “I met a friend of Maia’s. I bought her painting.” She was still holding the fixture and looking for a safe place to set it down.
Brian took it from her hands and laid it in the kitchen sink.
She continued, “I bought it, but not because I met her. I was already intending to purchase the painting.”
“Is that it? Propped against the wall?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Tell me where and I’ll hang it.”
“Brian.” Funny, she felt a little tingly saying his name out loud. “I want to thank you for all that you’re doing here.”
“Not a big deal.” He gave her a look. “Anyway, it’s a job. A paying job,” he added.
“Please send the bill whenever it’s ready.”
“Sure.” He continued to look at her, as if waiting.
“I know you have obligations in the afternoon. I hope this job hasn’t interfered.”
“Personal obligations.” He smiled as he said it, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He walked away.
She followed him back to the small bedroom. She hadn’t meant to pry. Or maybe she had. But she knew when to back off, so she dropped the subject.
He turned abruptly. “Did you choose the color for the room?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Do you have the paint chip?”
A few boxes were stored in this room. The vacuum and unused curtain rods were against the far wall. Brian picked up a box testing the weight.
“I’ll move these out of here.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” She picked up a box. No. She tried again. The box was too heavy. She couldn’t budge it. “Books. Maybe I’ll leave these for you to move.”
The difference in their biceps was obvious. His look made her feel foolish.
“I’ll move them tomorrow.” He held out his hand. “The paint chip?”
“Oh, sure.” She went up the short hall to the kitchen. She pushed through her bag. “Here it is.” She spun back around, intending to return to the bedroom, and nearly crashed into him. At a loss, she pushed the paint chip into his hand.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you have picture hanging hardware?”
“You mean a hammer and a nail?”
“This painting needs stronger hardware. I’ll pick it up when I get the paint.”
“Make sure you include that along with the cost of the paint in the invoice.”
He hadn’t moved away. He stood so close she could see a pulse beating in a vein in his neck. Her eyes fastened upon it. For a long, strained moment, they were silent.
“Fran. Can I ask you a question?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to correct him, the automatic It’s Frannie, not Frances. Not Fran. But she didn’t. Frannie would sound odd somehow coming from his lips. His lips. Now her eyes were trapped again. She closed them.
“Fran?”
When Brian called her ‘Fran,’ it sounded right.
“Okay, what?”
“Where do you want me to hang the painting?”
Her eyes flew open. The words didn’t match his posture, his position.
“Where do you think would be best?” Breathless.
Still, he didn’t move. There was this unnatural suspension, this narrow vortex they occupied, with the tension torqueing. He should leave.
He must not leave.
“Why don’t you let me know when I come back tomorrow?”
She nodded, unable to find words, overwhelmed by the charged air surrounding them, grateful that she appeared to be the only one aware of it.
She was scared to realize she wasn’t afraid. Not even of that potential third strike.
Chapter Seven
What was he thinking? He couldn’t resist teasing her, testing her, but something had changed. He stepped back. What was this in his hand? A piece of trash? No, the color chip.
“What color is this?”
“It’s called Misty Celery. It’s a lovely soft shade of green. I think it complements the green you chose for the living room.”
“Soft shade? It’s white.”
“No, see the name at the bottom?” She pointed at the chip. “See? It says Misty Celery.”
“It’s white.” He waved his hand. “Well, if you want white, then white it is.”
“It is what I want. Exactly what I want. And it’s not white.”
“Fine. I aim to please.”
She crossed her arms. “No need to be sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
He opened his mouth to retort back and then remembered he wasn’t five. Not even fifteen. A little more than twice that, in fact. Too old for games like this. He waved the chip. “I’ll get the paint.”
He could see it churning in her expression. She was all set to contradict him again. Brian looked at her more closely, then quickly away. That’s exactly what she was doing. She was gearing up for the next strike. Deliberately contradicting him to start a fight. He tried not to grin. Hard not to like a woman with spirit and gumption and who carried herself with a certain kind of flair.
“Whatever you want.” He kept his back turned, certain his amused expression would give away that he was on to her game. “Want me to hang up those drapes?”
“What?”
He pointed to the windows and the sliding door. “Need help hanging those back up?”
“No. I like the windows uncovered.”
He agreed with her, but he hated to spoil the fun by saying that, so he grunted.
“Well, if you disagree, please tell me.”
Brian shrugged to hide his smile. She could find an argument in a turnip.
Beach Winds Page 6
