by T. I. Lowe
“Painting with you is fun and all, but I’m going to run out of steam if we keep this up.” She pointed her pen at him before scribbling something on a slip of paper.
“I agree.” He studied her over the edge of the mug. “No more all-night paint parties, young lady. I’ve put you on artistic restriction.”
The side of her mouth hitched up. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep.”
Before August could continue the teasing reprimand, Jasper stomped out of the kitchen with an overflowing plate of biscuits and gravy. The succulent scent sent August’s stomach to growling loudly.
“Ain’t no sense in you going for that starving artist mess.” Jasper jabbed a finger toward the plate of food. “Eat up.”
“Yes, sir.” August sliced the fork into the biscuit and took an ample bite. “Hmm . . .”
“What exactly were y’all doing until the wee hours of the morning, anyway?”
August fished his phone out and pulled up the photo app, scrolling back to the colorless bus before handing it over to Jasper. “We painted a bus. That’s what it looked like yesterday morning. Flip through until you see what it looks like now.”
Jasper slid his finger over the screen and flipped through the pictures a few times while August continued eating. He let out a low whistle and glanced over at Josie, who was starting a fresh pot of coffee. “My little girl help do this?”
August pointed to the picture he’d captured of Josie working on her sunflower field. “There’s your evidence. You have one talented daughter, sir.”
“Humph.” Jasper appeared to be genuinely stunned by this fact. His brows pinched as he scrutinized the pictures. Finally he handed the phone back and blinked several times. “I’m gonna let Jo-Jo call it a day in about another hour, but you need to let her rest today.”
August nodded, sensing the man had something weighing heavy on him all of a sudden. “That’s the plan.”
Jasper reached over and clamped him on the shoulder but kept his eyes averted. “Good.” Scratching the side of his beard, he wandered into the kitchen as he mumbled something August was unable to catch.
By the time August finished polishing off the colossal portion on his plate, he could barely hold his eyes open. Somehow, he managed to settle his bill and head outside to set up an afternoon of R and R. Once that was complete, he shuffled back inside the diner just as Josie was untying her apron.
He held out his hand and asked, “You ready?”
“I thought we already decided no painting today.” Josie stared at his hand instead of taking it. The tips of his fingers still held speckles of blue sky, but he knew that wouldn’t deter her from holding it.
“No painting. Promise.” August was too tired to be patient, so he grabbed her hand and led her outside to the lounge chairs he’d set up on the beach underneath a large umbrella. Each one held a fat, fluffy pillow and a thick beach towel that looked so inviting he could hardly stand it. I’m getting too old for these all-nighters . . .
“Wh-what’s this?” Josie blinked with quite an exaggeration that August was surprised her eyelids managed to reopen.
“A time-out.” He waited until she stretched out on one of the chairs and snuggled under the beach towel before doing the same.
As his eyes drifted shut with the languid hum of the ocean coercing him right into a heavy stupor, August vaguely thought about how he had more than just the task of showing Josie an adventurous side of life. He had to show Josie, as well as her father, that he’d take good care of her in the process. He knew he had failed a little, but after a good long nap he planned to start doing a better job.
Josie’s soft snores joined the soothing melody of the beach and invited August to join in with his slightly louder snore.
13
Pop . . . crunch . . . chomp. . . . Pop . . . crunch . . . chomp. . . .
The pattern of sounds kept pulling at Josie until the sweet scent of apple joined in to finish waking her up. Blinking several times, she finally managed to keep her eyes open and found a redheaded fairy watching her.
“What are you doing?” Releasing a long yawn, she stretched like a lazy cat.
“Waiting for the two of you to come back from the land of Nod.” Opal looked at the nonexistent watch on her wrist. “I’ve been waiting a long time.” She took another noisy bite of her apple and smacked while easing her eyes over to August.
Josie did the same and noticed that the racket Opal was making hadn’t disturbed his slumber in the least. Arms slung over his head and one foot dangling off the side of the lounge chair, he was still out for the count. He looked right boyish with his distinctive features relaxed.
Tearing her eyes away from the man too handsome even in slumber, Josie glanced at the watch that was actually wrapped around her wrist and had to do a double take. “It’s four.”
“Yes. Your daddy says the two of you have been out here sawing logs for the better part of the day.”
“We worked on painting an entire bus yesterday and didn’t stop until it was time for me to go to work this morning.” Josie sat up, took a second to get her bearings, and then retied her fallen ponytail. “I think we overdid it.”
“He’s quite peaceful, isn’t he?” Opal crouched down beside August’s chair and studied him as if the man was an anomaly. Close to his ear, Opal took another loud bite from her apple. August didn’t budge. “Maybe I should pinch his nose. Think that’ll wake him?”
Josie playfully popped her friend. “Leave him alone.”
Opal glanced over her shoulder. “Now what would be the fun in that?”
The goofy woman came close to jumping out of her skin when a large hand snatched the apple from her tiny one and stole a bite as both women let out a surprised yelp.
“You’ve teased me with this apple long enough,” August said around a mouthful before taking another bite and continued munching away until only a thin core remained.
“You sure do know how to play possum,” Opal commented in awe.
“It’s a required skill when you have younger brothers.” August raked his hands through his messy hair, only making it stand up worse. “Let’s find some supper.”
“Ooh! I’ve just tried out a new soup recipe. It’s warming in the Crock-Pot. Y’all come eat with me.” Opal clapped her hands as a breeze sent her curls into a springing motion. “Lincoln is out of town to help his dad with something and the man doesn’t give me much kitchen time . . . and well, there’s plenty!”
Josie caught August’s attention and wrinkled her nose while shaking her head.
He shrugged his shoulder. “Soup sounds good to me.”
Josie shook her head one last time. You’ve been warned, big boy. “I need to head over to Dalma’s, but y’all enjoy.”
“You sure? I can bring you a bowl by later,” August asked, completely oblivious to what he was getting himself into.
“Nah, that’s okay. I’m supposed to have supper with Daddy.” She offered a pleasant smile, knowing her steak would be grilled to perfection. That soup . . . not so perfect.
With a hankering for some fresh fruit, Josie swung by the produce stand and grabbed a basket of strawberries on her way to Dalma’s. Routine had them out on the back deck with an audiobook playing while Josie worked on adding color to one of the old books. Today’s audio selection was a romantic comedy about a sassy bakery owner who hired a ruggedly handsome yet moody handyman to help fix up a small bed-and-breakfast her late great-aunt had left to her in a will that had some sort of marriage stipulation.
“Could this book hit one more romance cliché?” Josie snickered while adding a teal swirl to the pattern developing on the page.
Dalma’s response was to shush her, so she went back to adding more color to the design she viewed as intricate doodles. Dalma refused to get rid of any books, so Josie thought it was safe to use them as sketch pads. She even found quite a thrilling satisfaction in allowing herself this small creative outlet and keeping it hidden in plain si
ght.
Just as Josie was about to flip the page and begin another design, the narrator said something to catch her attention and followed it with a sultry moan. Josie whipped her head around and pinned wide eyes on her friend, who was raptly listening. “Dalma Jean Burgess! What do you have us listening to, young lady?”
Dalma shrugged her narrow shoulder. “The blurb said romantic comedy. Guess that little baker likes to add some spice . . .” She tittered.
“You’re incorrigible.” Josie scoffed, playing it up. “You’ve offended my delicate sensibilities.” They both burst into a fit of giggles, but when the narrator began describing body parts, Josie plucked the device out of Dalma’s lap and turned it off. “That’s enough of that. . . . It’s time for us to head over to Daddy’s. He’s grilling.”
“Sounds good.” Dalma held a hand up for Josie’s help in standing. Once she got to her feet, she straightened her muumuu and scooted inside. “Just let me put my teeth in and grab something I have for Jasper.”
Josie followed her into the bedroom. “What do you have for him?”
Dalma removed a bag from her closet and gave it to Josie before shuffling into the connecting bathroom.
Josie peeked inside the bag and squinted. “Why on earth would you get my daddy auburn hair dye and beard wax?”
“It was on sale.” Dalma shoved her top dentures in and wiggled her mouth around to adjust them, looking rather silly.
“So?”
“So . . . I thought that color would suit him better than the grayish blond.” She gathered her long white hair into a messy bun that any teenage girl would envy.
“And the beard wax?”
“Wouldn’t hurt him to use it.”
Josie gave up, knowing both products would go unused, and led the amusing lady out the door.
A loud knocking kept up a hasty repetition on Josie’s door the following day as she sorted laundry. She had the entire day off and was catching up on chores that needed to be done around the house. The last two weeks of running in and out the door seemed to have stirred up an interior tornado. Clothes and shoes had been strewn all over the place and the mail had scattered on the top of her dining table with a few letters somehow winding up underneath it.
Tossing a load of darks into the washer, she called out, “Be right there!” Setting the machine to do its thing, she hurried to the door and opened it.
“You couldn’t warn a guy?” August’s hands were braced on the top of the doorframe, showing off his natural casual air, but the frown on his face didn’t fit.
“About?” Josie opened the door wider and beckoned him in.
August dropped his hands and followed her to the spotless kitchen that smelled lemony fresh. “Opal made me eat frog stew.”
“Frogmore?”
“No. Frog. As in the amphibian.” August’s face puckered. “And she was so excited about it that I had no choice but to choke down an entire bowl of it.” He rubbed his stomach and shuddered.
“But I did warn you.”
“When?”
Josie wrinkled her nose and shook her head in the same style as yesterday.
“I thought that meant you didn’t want soup.” August rubbed the side of his neck.
“I’m going to give you a pass this once on your lack of perception and blame it on you being half-asleep, but keep in mind a wrinkled nose and a headshake is your warning from here on out. And FYI, never eat anything Opal cooks. She is a genius at a lot of things. Cooking ain’t one of them.”
August sighed. “Got it.”
“How about I make it up to you with a treat?” Josie batted her eyelashes playfully, causing August’s puckered face to smooth out.
“Depends on how you define treat. If it’s anything like Opal’s definition, I’ll have to pass on it.” He gave her an uncertain look, but she could tell he was just teasing her.
“Trust me, Opal and I have completely different definitions of the word.” She moved over to the fridge and pulled an artfully arranged platter of white chocolate–covered strawberries from the top rack and turned to show them off to him.
“Oh, now this is a treat I can get behind. Very creative, Jo.” August took the platter from her hands and studied the little pieces of edible art.
“Thank you. I swirled drops of food color into the white chocolate before I dipped the berries.”
August turned the platter this way and that, tilting his head as he regarded the treats. “It reminds me of stained glass. Almost a shame to eat them.” He finally selected one and bit into it; a guttural moan followed. Clearly they had the same definition of treat.
“The idea actually came to me in a dream.” Josie took a seat and reveled in the fact of August Bradford being in her kitchen.
August settled at the table and began munching his way through her artful treats. Her plan was to present the platter to Dalma, but he was enjoying them so much, she decided not to mention it. Plus, it gave her a perfect excuse to create some more.
“I like the way you dream, Miss Slater. You dream in color.” He took another bite and winked at her.
To stop grinning like a fool, Josie grabbed up a strawberry and took a bite while keeping her head cast down. Her teeth popped through the chocolate shell before sinking into the juicy fruit. The mix of creamy sweet with the crisp tartness was such an indulgence for the palate that she wondered why she had never made them before now.
As August sat there munching away, he took in the cozy kitchen and seemed to appreciate its beachy vibe. It was designed with lots of subtle blues and beiges with coastal accents. “I’m digging your house.”
“Thanks . . . I inherited it from my mom.” It had been Jolene’s family’s beach cottage. Her parents left it to her and it was passed on down to Josie after she died. “She decorated it and I just can’t bring myself to change any of it.” It was slightly outdated and probably seemed kitschy to guests, but she didn’t have the heart to change what her mom had fashioned for the space.
“It’s perfect just the way it is, so no worries.” August offered her a sympathetic smile as his silvery-blue eyes held her watery blue ones. “I like the name, too. Driftwood Dreams suits it.”
“Thank you.” A mental picture of the name plaque popped in her head. Another project with her mom. They’d fashioned it out of actual pieces of driftwood they found on beach scavenger hunts. She let out a deep sigh, missing those hunts as much as her momma.
“Did you name it after the diner?” August asked.
She blinked the memories away as best she could and focused on August’s handsome face. “No. Actually it was the other way around. My parents named the diner after the beach house.”
August nodded, seemingly impressed. He finished off another strawberry and asked, “Would you like to go see the camp?”
Josie tamped down the heaviness of missing her mother and pulled on a smile. “Yes, please. I’ve driven by, but all you can see from the road is the rooftops of the buildings.” The community had been abuzz about the camp ever since the plans for it hit the local papers. It had been featured on the news several times.
August pulled an envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to her before swiping one last berry. “I almost forgot. Here’s your cut for the pop art job.”
She placed it on top of the now-neatly stacked mail and began following him to the door. “It almost feels wrong to get paid to have fun, but I feel like a real artist now.”
August halted and turned around, revealing a deep scowl poised on his handsome face as he finished eating the strawberry. There was a smudge of white chocolate at the corner of his lips, but before she could point it out, his tongue slipped out and licked it away. “Let’s go ahead and get you straight on something right now.” His hands went to his hips, and then he leaned close enough to her that she could smell the sweetness of his breath. “You’re an artist. Period. No paycheck and no one’s opinion weighs in on that truth. Got it?”
Josie fidgeted under h
is scrutiny, but she nodded her head and muttered, “Okay.”
“But you should be paid for your work. I’ll have your check for the bus job by tomorrow.”
“No.” Now it was Josie’s turn to scowl at him. Even though his nearness was doing crazy things to her heart, she held her ground.
“No?” One of his dark eyebrows arched way up.
Josie felt like a doofus when she tried to mimic his overly dramatic eyebrow arch. Clearly, by the smirk twitching at August’s lips, she failed. Shaking off the silliness, she straightened her shoulders and declared, “I don’t want to be paid for the bus. It’s my contribution to the camp.”
“But—”
Josie held her palm up. “That wasn’t work. In fact, I recall it was a night of thievery, so don’t even think about stealing my gift to the camp.”
August’s grin matched hers as he tipped his head. “Okay. Thank you for your gift, ma’am.”
“You are quite welcome.”
“Even though I think you just got that thievery example mixed up.” There went that eyebrow arch again, but this time August also bit the corner of his lip.
Josie huffed, trying not to let his tease and handsomeness fluster her. “You know the delivery of it sounded kinda cool even if it didn’t make any sense.”
Laughing, he said, “True. Now. How about we go check it out.”
Josie needed to put some space between them before she did something silly—like hug him or kiss the fool out of him—so she scooted around August and headed for the door to slide on the flip-flops she kept on the porch.
August walked her to his truck, where he opened the passenger door for her. After she was settled and strapped in with the seat belt, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. Minutes later they were leaving the seashore behind and entering into woodland and plats of farmland.
“I absolutely love the idea of a camp solely focused on children’s creativity and giving them the needed tools and freedom to explore it.” Josie knew she was rambling but just couldn’t help herself.
