Drew extended his arms, too. “Well, I missed you this much.”
She hopped up to tap his hands. “You only win ’cause your arms are longer than mine.”
Not long enough. He wrapped them around her and pretended he could fend off the day when she wouldn’t need them anymore.
“Hey, Freckles. Ready for some fun in the sun with Uncle Coop?” Cooper ruffled her bangs.
Maddie’s face lit up. “Always.”
Cooper might’ve made bad choices regarding women, among other things, but Drew couldn’t deny he knew how to take care of his niece.
The teakettle’s whistle cleared a second knot in Drew’s throat. What was his deal today? He dropped a green tea bag into his largest travel mug. After hesitating half a second, he plunked a second tea bag in and filled the cup to the brim. He needed all the help he could get.
A yellow sticky note with a message from Mr. Parsons at the bank glared up at him from the counter.
And there went any chance of de-stressing.
Drew set a bowl on top of it. He’d deal with that later. “Ready for some breakfast, Sea Monkey?”
A flash of color outside on the patio separating the house from Cooper’s trailer caught Drew’s eye. In bright pink rain boots, cutoff jeans, and a frilly cream sweater over a black tank top, Ti ferociously whipped a paintbrush across a canvas. What in the world?
“On second thought.” Drew caught Maddie by the shoulders, steered her around, and funneled her to the stairs. “Why don’t you run up and take a shower first?”
Once she disappeared up the steps, Drew cast a sidelong glance at Cooper. “Can you get her oatmeal ready?”
Cooper nodded as Drew eased out the back door.
Scratching his jaw, Drew trotted down the steps toward Ti and the sound of singing. He looked around. No speakers. No music. Just a melodic voice—the same one he’d heard last night when he’d first arrived at the party.
Did she always sing to herself? And who randomly started painting in someone’s backyard first thing in the morning . . . in rain boots? Pink ones, no less.
Not good. Maddie would latch on to her in seconds. He knew his extroverted daughter. Knew how eager she was to have a female presence in her life. Which meant Drew had to guard who got too close.
One of Ti’s back-and-forth glances between the sky and the canvas intersected with him. Sunlight glimmered over a pair of silver studs in her ears. “Did the seagulls wake you up, too?”
He blinked. “Uh, no. I’m always up early.”
“Right.” She swiped a rogue strand of hair caught in her lashes and curved it behind her ear. “The whole responsibility thing.”
“Yeah, about that.” Drew stuffed his hands in his shorts’ pockets. “Listen, I’m sorry for being curt last night. I appreciate your offer to help out around here. And I trust Livy, but—”
“You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.
He gave a small shrug.
Her smile faltered only for a moment. Going back to her painting, Ti dabbed the brush against a small palette. “I promise I don’t sniff the paints.”
It shouldn’t be this hot out at seven in the morning. Ignoring logic, heat scaled his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“No, I’m pretty sure you did.”
Okay, this wasn’t exactly going as planned. Drew tugged his ear. “My daughter . . .”
“I get it.” Ti kept her attention on the canvas. “You think I fit the stereotype. A reckless model-slash-artist who’s into the party scene.” With a flick of her lashes, her gaze met his. “You might be wrong, you know.”
“Or I might not be.”
“Only one way to find out.” Another flutter returned her focus to the painting. And once again, Drew simply stared.
Not solely at her beauty, but at her boldness and drive. Her intense connection with the painting. The way she swayed in unison with the brush as if it were an extension of something inside her, needing to come out.
His chest constricted. But instead of following the voice in his head, shouting for him to walk away, he angled around the easel. One look at the canvas caught him in the gut.
The sunrise, captured from the vantage point of his own backyard. No embellishments. No abstract interpretations. Just unfiltered wonder inspired by the one thing that centered him day after day. He hadn’t been moved by art like this since . . .
Longings he’d banned himself from ever feeling again clawed in from two directions.
Swallowing was enough of a feat. Speaking was off the table. Complicated? Cooper didn’t know the half of it.
Drew backed up and turned toward the house.
“Where you going?” Ti called.
“To the shop.” At the stairs, he peered over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Her smile rivaled the sun. “You won’t regret this.”
Drew plodded up the steps without looking back. Already do.
Inside, Cooper handed him his travel mug and a smirk.
“What?”
Cooper splayed his hands to his sides. “You tell me, hoss.”
Drew shouldered past him. “Why don’t you just worry about keeping an eye on Maddie today.”
“I’m not the one who needs to worry about what his eyes are on.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Oh, yeah? Then tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”
“Other than how to end this conversation?” Drew trekked toward the staircase.
“Fine, but hey,” Cooper called. “You’re coming to the bonfire tonight, right? Nine o’clock on the north end.”
“Do you have a party every night?”
“Only when I can help it.” Cooper lounged against the counter, a grin sliding around his coffee cup. “You should bring a date. It’ll be good for you.”
More like the death of him. This whole thing was a very bad idea.
Chapter Three
Puzzle
Painting earlier had been exactly what Ti needed to clear her head. As long as she stayed busy with a project the rest of the day, she’d be fine.
She traded her rain boots for her black heeled sandals and shorts for a pair of dark-washed capris. Surely, even Mr. Uptight had a relaxed dress code for work. He lived on an island, for Pete’s sake.
Sure enough, when Ti rounded the corner of the house, Drew stood by the curb in khaki cargo shorts and a green button-down that should have been outlawed for matching his eyes so well. Too bad those beauties came with a bite.
She was used to gruff exteriors. Used to the layers people kept themselves buried underneath. But something told her the hurts Drew guarded ran deeper than most.
Still trying to make sense of him, Ti studied her temporary business comrade. Tall and defined, he had a body any other guy would strut. Yet he didn’t seem interested in pursuing or being pursued. A family man with a past. A business owner with a story. One thing was for sure. Drew Anderson was more than intriguing.
The same patch of messy hair drew her focus again as confident strides led her toward him. Maybe it was more than bed head.
His gaze lingered over her when she approached.
Ti circled a finger along one of the hoop earrings she’d swapped with her studs. “I can give you some tips if you want.”
Drew blinked. “What?”
“Style. You’re checking out my outfit like you’re looking for pointers.” She waved a hand over his clothes. “I assume this combination was a happy accident.”
Really? Not even a smile? Jeez, this guy was stiff.
Head down, Drew fiddled with a travel mug. “No, you, um . . . aren’t wearing glasses today. It threw me for a minute.”
All right, he might not know how to loosen up, but that adorable flustered look made up for it tenfold. “They were just a cute accessory.”
His mouth pulled sideways. “Of course they were. As is the camera, I assume.” He nodded at the bag slung over her shoulder.
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“Nope. That’s for business. I like to study my projects before diving in. You’d be surprised how much more you see from behind a lens. Things you’d miss otherwise.”
A swarm of thoughts colored those gorgeous eyes of his. What she’d give to hear just one of them when he looked at her like that.
Breaking contact, he lifted the lid from his travel mug and blew inside it.
Now he was speaking her language. “I’ll tell you what. If you give me that cup of coffee, I won’t give you a hard time about the cowlick you’ve got going on.”
Drew patted his hair while following her fixation on his mug. “Sorry, I don’t drink cauffee.” He exaggerated her New York City accent. “How about green tea instead?”
Um, how about no. Ti peeked in his mug and scrunched her nose. “Thanks, but I actually already choked down a handful of grass on my way over, so I’m all set for the day. And you really don’t want to start joking on accents, buddy.”
He cocked his chin. “I don’t have an accent.”
“You kidding me?” Ti drew herself up to his stature, cupped a hand over her eyes, and peered out to the water. “It looks like hoi toid’s coming in.” She couldn’t even get out his version of “high tide” without cracking up. “I mean, seriously, what is that? Some kind of Irish-English brogue?”
This time, real laughter tumbled out. “I don’t sound like that.”
Ti perched her hands on her hips. “First of all, congratulations on laughing. It sounds good on you. And—”
“Hey, Anderson.” An older guy with a red bandana tied around his head and a scraggly beard down to his chest hobbled across the street like a pirate who’d shipwrecked at Woodstock. “You ready to sell your boat to me today? A hundred dollars more on the table. C’mon, kid. Help an old man live out his glory days before it’s too late.”
Ti spun toward Drew. A boat owner, too. Impressive.
He shook his head. “The skiff’s not for sale, Lenny. Same as the last five hundred days you’ve asked me.”
A wiry laugh echoed across the street. “I’ll wear you down someday, kid.”
Drew waved him off and looked at Ti. “Accent or not, at least I don’t sound like an old haggler.”
“Hey, as long as you tell me there’s an actual coffee joint somewhere on this island, you can talk however you want.”
Nodding in concession, Drew motioned behind her. “Off Sunset Drive.”
Hallelujah, somebody had mercy on her. She started for the street. “I’ll meet you at the shop.”
“You don’t even know where it is.”
Ti turned but kept shuffling backward. “I’ll find my way.”
Drew stared at her like a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. “You swipe a tourist map when you first got here?”
She returned his grin. “The village is, what, a whole four miles long? If I can manage navigating Manhattan, I think I’ll be fine tackling this small town.”
His face dropped. He screwed the lid back on his mug, his jaw just as tight.
Jeez, this guy’s mood swings were giving her whiplash.
Ti adjusted her camera bag. “Sorry, am I mis—?”
An unknown ringtone chimed from her pocket. She’d almost left her cell in the trailer. Probably should have. The nameless number on the screen gripped her muscles. Without warning, the raspy voice from her messages replayed in her head. If he’d gotten a hold of her cell number . . .
Shoving the phone back down, Ti ignored the call and the thought. She couldn’t go there right now. Especially with Drew’s shrewd gaze boring through her walls. The last thing she needed was Andy Hardy prying into her broken past.
Ti hooked a thumb over her shoulder and backed up. “I’m gonna go grab that coffee.” And pull herself together before Drew figured out how to pull her apart. They all had layers, but hers weren’t the kind he’d want to uncover. Not if he knew what lay beneath.
Twenty minutes later, and one iced coffee down, Ti strolled past another lodge with a no vacancy notice in the window and a store with a rusted tin sign that read, Open from 9:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m., or so. Or so? Classic island lifestyle, right there. Shame it hadn’t rubbed off on Drew.
A right-hand turn led her along a street with a series of picket-fenced yards landscaped with old skiffs, net floats, and driftwood. A far cry from Queens, but the village couldn’t get any more charming. Well, other than the washed-out shop in front of her, screaming for a makeover.
Ti shielded her eyes from the sun to read the overhead sign. Anderson’s Soundside Treasures. The woman in the café was right. If Ti looked for the building with faded shutters and zero curb appeal, she’d find Drew’s shop.
Chuckling, she shot a handful of takes with her camera and scrolled through the drab images. And Drew didn’t need her help? Please. Wait till I’m done with this place.
She withdrew her cell right as Drew strode through the door.
“Thought you were getting coffee.”
“Already finished it.”
“And found the place without any problems.” He tipped his head as if praising an accomplishment.
“Well, I managed to dodge the nonstop stream of beach cruisers and golf carts just fine. The brazen crab scurrying across the road, on the other hand, just about got me. Close call.”
Winking, she opened the voice recorder app on her phone and surveyed the property. “Storefront makeover. I’m thinking Grecian Isle colored shutters, decorative walkway, some kind of centerpiece.” She tapped the phone to her chin and studied a picture on her camera. “Ooh, a swi—”
“Sorry, what are you doing?”
She gave him a no-brainer look. “Taking notes. I told you, I study my projects before tackling them.”
Drew kneaded his shoulder blade like he was wrestling over what to say. “You really don’t have to go to a lot of trouble.”
Was he still worried about paying her? Ti set a reassuring hand to his sleeve. “I want to.”
His gaze gravitated to her fingers above his taut arm.
Can someone say tense? She brought her cell to her mouth while trying not to laugh at his awkward expression. “Owner’s uncomfortable with personal touch.”
That jaw-half-opened expression got her every time.
She raised a shoulder. “I take notes on my clients, too. Helps me know how to cater art pieces better.”
Drew’s voice caught up three blinks later. “I’m not a project.”
“You’re tied to one.” Ti jutted her chin at the pitiful looking storefront. “Trust me. You both could use some TLC.”
Drew followed her to the porch. “You haven’t even been inside yet.”
“Doesn’t matter what’s inside if you can’t draw anyone in to check it out. As if living on Back Street isn’t bad enough, you’re tucked away at the very end. Believe me, the outside’s your first problem to deal with.”
He stopped her at the door with another whirlwind of thoughts streaming past his eyes.
Unable to help herself, she raised her cell again. “Owner likes to brood.”
Drew chased her through the door on the heels of her laughter. He bumped into her three steps inside, where one look around the store jerked her to a halt.
She lowered the phone. “Uh, you got any legal pads instead?”
“What’s wrong with the inside?”
“You mean, besides feeling like someone just dumped me into a shipment from China?”
He grabbed a piece of taffy from a container by the register. “There’s nothing wrong with my inventory.”
“Yeah, if you want to offer the same dollar-store trinkets every other beach souvenir shop in America offers.” She lifted a shell nightlight and gawked at the overpriced tag. No wonder he was struggling.
His jaw twitched. “Not artsy enough for you?”
“You’ve really got something against art, don’t you?”
Evading, Drew rearranged a row of starfish on a shelf until they fit perfectly.
&n
bsp; She had to admit, his OCD quirks were kind of cute.
A horsefly that must’ve snuck in with them buzzed past her ear.
Ti sidled alongside Drew and picked up a shot glass from the next shelf down. “You know, lemon eucalyptus oil is as effective as DEET. You should put a diffuser in here. Not that your cologne doesn’t smell amazing, but that’s not going to relax anyone. Especially the ladies coming through here. Believe me. By the way, you mind if I buy you some new shirts? We should go to J. Crew tonight. Tell me you know what J. Crew is.”
He peered up from the display. “How do those thoughts even coincide?”
“You’d have to be in my head to understand.”
“I’m not that brave.” Drew returned the glass she was fidgeting with and strode for the register.
“At least get a diffuser.”
“Hard pass.”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s a great way to unwind.” She flitted into his path. “You’re telling me this shop doesn’t stress you out?”
“At this exact moment?” he deadpanned. “You have no idea.”
She swept a glance over his lumberjack size and brusque exterior. “I gotta tell ya, Drew. The Luke Danes vibe really works for you. We should pick up some flannel shirts tonight. Ooh, and a backward hat would totally hide that cowlick of yours.”
He brushed her hand away from his hair. “What is it with you and Gilmore Girls?”
“Ha. I knew you’d be into chick shows. The hot yoga thing tipped me off.”
“I’m not into chick shows. And I’m not shopping for flannels tonight. Or ever.”
“All right, forget the flannels.” Ti caught his hand as he turned. “But I just want you to know, where you go . . .” She flung her arms in the air and belted out the Gilmore Girls theme song in all its cheesy glory.
With the perfect Luke-grunt, Drew trucked toward the counter. He made this way too fun.
“Aw, c’mon. Where you going?”
“I have real work to do.”
“Tell me about it,” she mumbled. Her laughter petered out a little more with each glimpse around the shop. All joking aside, the place truly needed a major overhaul. And a diffuser.
One battle at a time.
Ti set her camera on the counter and meandered around the room, recording voice notes while passing displays. Working hard wasn’t his problem. Drew exuded drive and commitment. Getting him to see how to work as an artist was the real challenge.
Begin Again (Home In You Book 2) Page 3
