Love in the Air: Lopez Island Series #2

by Jamie E. Matthews

  “If you’re sure,” he said instead.

  “Oh.” Nell tried to hide her surprise. “I’m sure. I’ll walk off the pizza, and the wine. Thanks for both, by the way.”

  “Of course.”

  And then, he moved in close, and Nell told herself it wasn’t relief she felt, it wasn’t eager anticipation as his lips skimmed over hers. He kept the kiss light, teasing, before slowly deepening it, until she wound her arms around his neck and relaxed against him, letting herself drown in the sensations. As she imagined, he tasted like wine, and she drank him in, sliding her hands through his hair, the strands silky under her fingers. Even as she told herself it was just a kiss, that she wasn’t going to fuck him again, she arched against the hard length of him and shuddered out a moan.

  When he pulled away, they were both breathless. But then, Adrian ran a hand down her cheek, smiled, and brushed her lips one more time.

  “I’m so glad I ran into you today. Good night, Nell.”

  With that, he got into his car. Nell watched, open mouthed, as he drove away and waved his hand out the window before turning down the road that led to the bay.

  “Fuck me sideways,” she muttered as she slowly started walking back home. There she was, ready to melt into a puddle of lust at his feet, and the man just walked away leaving her all hot and bothered. Which, she realized, had probably been his plan from the beginning.

  “Sneaky bastard,” she muttered again, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Smart, sneaky bastard.”

  Chapter 8

  Adrian switched off his welding machine and put the torch away. He flipped up the visor on his welding helmet and studied the sculpture sitting on the table in the barn he’d converted into his studio. Light streamed in from the floor to ceiling windows that he’d added to the back wall, and a soft breeze wafted through so that air circulated and he could look out at the sea. The steel would be hot to the touch for another several minutes, and he was about to head over to the stalls that he now used to store his scrap metal when Paul stepped in through the open barn doors.

  With the ease of years of friendship, he didn’t bother with a greeting and said instead, “My table saw crapped out. Can I borrow yours?”

  “That’s shitty.” Adrian shrugged out of his leather apron, hung it on a peg on the wall, and slipped off his protective helmet and gloves.

  “You don’t need to stop. I’ll grab it.” Paul made to head out, but Adrian shook his head.

  “Nah. I’ve been holed up for the last few weeks nonstop. Time to get out into the real world for a bit.”

  Paul peered around the studio, then eyed him. “Getting ready for the next exhibit?”

  “Yeah.” Adrian tidied up the tools on the welding table. “Take a look if you want.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets, leaned against the table, nerves fluttering in his stomach. Years ago, he’d gifted Paul with a steel sculpture of an evergreen, which he knew Paul displayed proudly in his backyard. Other pieces were scattered around his friend’s house—some Paul had insisted on paying for when Adrian was fresh out of art school, before his career had taken off. Paul knew his work, and knew it well. And now, he was the first one to see the very different turn he’d taken.

  Paul examined the first piece, one of the few similar in style to Adrian’s usual work. A wave crested up, the steel highly polished, gleaming and solid at the apex, then thinning more and more, pooling into a paper-thin layer of steel he’d roughened and treated so it looked almost lacy, like sea foam. The next, however, was a pair of hands, gripped together in solidarity and raised, ready to triumph. At least, that’s how Adrian hoped it looked. His mom’s hand was one, and he’d forged it in steel, every detail precise down to the slight scar on her thumb. The other hand, sculpted in bronze, was clearly a workingman’s hand with jagged nails and smudges. “Un Refugio,’ he’d titled it in honor of his mom’s nonprofit and her passionate advocacy work to secure refugees and immigrants their rights.

  “Fucking awesome,” Paul said after staring at it for what felt like forever. Adrian breathed a sigh of relief.

  Paul’s eyes sharpened as he moved along, taking in the softly hued copper wall hanging, Zoe’s tousled head and cheek resting against her father’s shoulder, a life-size sculpture of then-eight-month old Lila sitting up, chubby cheeks creased, hands clapping, mouth open with a joyful laugh. His aunt Agata in profile, camera to her eye. And, one of MacKaye Harbor, but instead of the usual abstract portrayal, the boats were sculpted in clear detail, seeming as if they might start bobbing up and down on the curved steel waves.

  Long minutes passed while Paul studied the works of art. Finally, he turned to Adrian, grinned.

  “What’s my cut? I mean, if you’re going to do the best work of your life here, and you wouldn’t have even known about this place if it wasn’t for me, I figure I should be compensated.”

  “Yeah, if only I could pay you back somehow.” Adrian pretended to think. “Too bad it’s only a few weeks until the farmers’ market opens that you’ve been pouring your blood, sweat and tears into. If only there was a public piece of art to unveil…”

  “Yes.” Paul pointed at him. “You need to do that. Come on. You’ve got two weeks. You don’t need to sleep or eat. Seriously.”

  Adrian just smiled, and Paul narrowed his eyes. “You’re already working on something, aren’t you?”

  “I may have mentioned the idea to the mayor. Who, by the way, is going to retire after the next election.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Paul sighed. “He mentions it every time he sees me.”

  “Real estate baron, business owner, farmers’ market manager, Chamber of Commerce president…you’ve got it all, Mayor Timble.”

  “Shut up,” Paul said but without any heat.

  “I’ll vote for you.” Adrian grinned. “Want a beer before you go?”

  “Wouldn’t say no.”

  They walked across the lawn to the freshly painted two-story slate-gray house, the white trim gleaming. Adrian headed to the huge back deck, where steps led down to the path to the beach that ringed the bay.

  “Finally got a ‘que,” Paul noted as they passed the shiny gas grill. “Now you’re a real man. The pots of flowers are kind of girly though.”

  “Shut up,” Adrian elbowed him. “I’m an artist. I need color.”

  Paul stepped inside, surveyed the kitchen with its butcher block counters, deep orange walls and dark wood cabinets. “Nice. There weren’t any cabinets in here last time I stopped by. Why the hell do you have two ovens?”

  “My mother,” Adrian said as he tossed Paul a can of beer. “She’ll bitch about it every time she visits if she has to resort to a single oven like a normal person.”

  “So the child locks are for the twins?” Paul grinned, sipped his beer. “Or is that so the women you bring home will say, ‘Oh, you’re such a sweet and thoughtful uncle?’”

  “Hadn’t thought of that,” Adrian said. “Although I don’t think Nell—”

  He stopped. Paul sighed, and they sat in silence for a minute.

  “This is awkward, man.” Adrian met Paul’s eyes. “Have you two made up yet?”

  Paul shrugged. “She’s avoiding me like the plague. I miss her. There hasn’t been a week that’s gone by since I was 12 that we haven’t either hung out or talked on the phone, email, whatever.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?” Adrian asked, pretty sure he knew the answer but wanting to be certain.

  “No.” Paul eyed him with a slight smile. “Your way is clear there. I’m still betting on Nell though.”

  Adrian laughed. “Please. I’m no amateur.” He described their date at the wine bar—because it was a date, even if Nell didn’t realize it yet. “I kissed her brainless, and she figured I’d take her to bed—”

  He stopped, considered his friend. “Is this too weird?”

  “Moderately. I’ll get over it. Just keep the details to yourself, okay?”

&
nbsp; “No details to share,” Adrian said, smug at the memory. “I told her good night and drove away. She practically had to scrape her jaw off the sidewalk, she was so surprised.”

  Paul laughed. “Nell’s used to being pretty irresistible. That’s not bad, dude.” He tossed back the rest of his beer. “Still going to win the bet, though.”

  “You suck.” Adrian finished his beer. “You want the saw?”

  “Yep. Thanks for the drink. Can’t wait to see the exhibit when it opens up. Hey.” Paul stopped in the doorway, turned back. “You should have your opening here.”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah. Make it an exclusive preview—some of your VIP clients, critics, but mainly family and friends. They’re who inspired you, so they should get first pick. And, it’d be great for local businesses,” Paul said.

  “Already thinking like a politician,” Adrian said with a grin.

  “More like a business owner,” Paul pointed out, then headed outside towards the garage.

  “I like it, though,” Adrian said after a moment. “I like it a lot. I’d have to find a place big enough.”

  “The theater on San Juan could work,” Paul noted. “I’m sure Ben would donate it if you were going to use it as a charity function.”

  Adrian unlocked the garage, handed over the saw to Paul.

  “My turn for the advice. Make up with Nell. I think she’s calmed down enough by now.”

  “Thanks to you?” asked Paul wryly. “Man, I feel like she’d just shut the door in my face if I went over there. She’s so damn stubborn.”

  “True. Like how she asked for everyone’s advice on expanding her business when it was obvious she’d already made up her mind.”

  “What?” Paul set the heavy saw down, leaned against the doorway. Hurt radiated from his eyes. “I don’t know anything about this.”

  Shit. Adrian frowned. “Sorry. I thought you would have heard through the Island grapevine. She’s considering buying out Tim’s charter business when he retires. Actually, Hannah mentioned the other day when I stopped by the bakery that she signed the papers, so I think it’s a done deal.”

  “That’s a huge deal,” said Paul, raising his eyebrows. “She’s basically doubling her operations. Does she have a business plan? Shit, no, it’s all still in her head. Dammit. She needs help. Why didn’t she come to me for advice? I own two businesses, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Stubborn,” Adrian pointed out with a shrug, and Paul blew out a breath, shrugged it off.

  He hefted up the table saw, nodded. “Well, shit. Maybe you could tell her next time you see her…” He sighed. “I don’t know what. Something, though.”

  “I’m on it.” Adrian clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep the saw as long as you need it. I don’t have any big projects on deck right now.”

  After Paul left, Adrian looked back at the studio, then rubbed his hand over the scruff on his face. When was the last time he’d left the house? Not since the night of his date with Nell at the wine bar, he realized. He knew from past experience if he kept going without taking a break, he’d end up creating pieces that were shit. Better to recharge.

  He texted Marcelo, the gallery owner who first took a chance on him and now served as his agent. At the young age of 30, Marcelo already owned four galleries—the one in the city of Salvador in Brazil where he first showed Adrian’s work, one in San Francisco, where Adrian’s career really took off, one in London and one in Spain. His small, intimate galleries showcased art not in formal displays, but rather incorporated as part of a community gathering space. Adrian’s favorite remained the original Salvador gallery—a small house where Marcelo had knocked out all the walls. The kitchen remained, and an enormous wooden dining table took up much of the rest of the space, a few other tables scattered here and there. The community gathered to eat meals and hold family parties while surrounded by sculptures and art, some decorative, and some, like the platters on the table, functional.

  At this point in his career, Adrian could have signed with his pick of the big-shot agents in the art world, but he’d stuck with Marcelo, who gave all his passion and heart to his own galleries and the handful of artists that he represented.

  Unsurprisingly, Marcelo called seconds later as Adrian headed back into the house to change out of his tattered working clothes.

  “You better be done with the exhibit by fall,” he started out straight away, his Peruvian accent intensifying.

  “I will be,” Adrian assured him, taking the stairs up to his bedroom at a jog. “I always do, right?”

  “I want to see your work,” Marcelo said. “I’m coming up to see you. To this tiny godforsaken island where you’ve decided to isolate yourself.”

  Adrian laughed. “Your confidence is inspiring.”

  “And what does this mean, your text? You don’t want to show in my gallery?”

  “No, no,” assured Adrian, touched by the note of hurt in Marcelo’s tone. “I’d like to do a preview. For family and close friends. Maybe invite some of the VIP critics, make it exclusive. Build up the buzz. Then we ship it to the San Francisco gallery, have the traditional opening there.”

  “Why?” Marcelo sighed. “I do not understand this idea.”

  “You’ll understand when you see the pieces,” Adrian said. “The work is different this time.”

  “Is it good?”

  Adrian paused.

  “Ah. You are not sure?”

  “It’s…personal. I think it might be the best work I’ve done. Maybe ever.” Adrian paused. “That’s during the good moments. The other moments I think it’s shit. But, in my gut? I know it’s…important work.”

  A long silence stretched between them, and finally Marcelo said, “You’ve never talked about your work that way before. Are you nervous?”

  “Scared shitless to show it, yeah. But, excited, too.

  “Fucking A, brother. I’ll fly up in a few days. Can’t wait.”

  After they signed off, Adrian blew out a breath. He couldn’t remember the last time the thought of Marcelo seeing his work had given him the butterfly-tingle of nerves in his stomach. It was a good thing, he decided, as he locked up the house. Time to shake it up.

  He drove to the ferry and parked rather than pay to take his car across. Ben usually worked in the community theater on San Juan Island on Wednesdays. After restoring the tiny decrepit building and putting the former volunteer teachers on salary, he’d expanded the theater to include classes and performances for adults as well as children. Adrian knew he was considering adding a second story to the building for classrooms and finishing the basement for storage now that the theater had taken off. And, after volunteering off and on the last few months to help build sets, Adrian had a piece of art in mind for the small patch of grass next to the building—a bronze sculpture depicting a row of audience members, faces blurred, hands raised in applause, as well as a sign with the theater name. While he was on San Juan, he could swing by the charter business Nell was taking over and take a look for himself.

  To his delight, as he made his way to the deck of the ferry, he spotted Nell, her phone to her ear, scribbling in a tiny notebook as the wind flipped pages back up.

  “Got it. Saturday at 10. Mmm hmm.” She lifted her head when he leaned on the railing next to her, mouthed a hello. He deliberately brushed her arm with his, then stayed, not touching her but in her space for sure. She shifted the tiniest bit away, which he found amusing.

  “I’ll be back in an hour. Maybe two.”

  Nell disconnected, fired off a quick text, then put her phone away.

  “I was just thinking about you,” Adrian said, turning so his body angled towards hers.

  “Really?” Nell regarded him, wary.

  “I’m on my way to help Ben out at the theater, and I thought I’d check out your new operation. I heard you made it official?”

  “Yep.” Nell nodded, her expression faintly terrified. “Tim moved his stuff out of his office over the weekend. Fare
well party was Friday. He and his wife hightailed it out of here so fast they left skid marks. She was so happy to have him home more, but I think also afraid he’d change his mind at the last minute.”

  “And, here you are. Gonna give me a tour?”

  “I guess,” she said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

  Adrian laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

  She rolled her eyes, elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey, where’s all those rich art collectors of yours? Some tourist draw you’ve been.”

  “Now that you mention it, I am going to have a preview of my new exhibit here in the fall,” Adrian told her. “Not sure if there’s a space for it on Lopez. Maybe San Juan.”

  “Oh, really?” Nell rested her forearms on the railing, peered up at him from under the brim of her baseball cap.

  “It’ll be small though, just family and friends. Maybe a few VIPs.”

  Nell heaved a deep sigh. “See? Useless.”

  Adrian smiled. “I’ll have to make it up to you.”

  She sat up suddenly, turned to face him fully and poked him hard in the chest. “Hey. That reminds me.”

  “Ow.” Adrian rubbed his chest.

  “I was doing the books for last month, and Anna Sue had input a payment from you, for the trip to Seattle to check on your mom. There’s no charge for that. Family emergency,” she said, drawing her brows together, insult ringing in her voice.

  “I still took up your time,” he countered. “And, it wasn’t an emergency on the way back.”

  Nell folded her arms, shook her head. “Nope. Doesn’t work that way. I told Anna Sue to refund your card.”

  Touched, Adrian ran his hand down her arm in a casual caress. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “Well, any friend of Paul’s is a friend of mine, and all that.”

  “Speaking of Paul…”

  Nell sighed. “Let’s not.”