A Small-Town Reunion (9 page)

Which explained all the boundaries Lena and Geneva had erected to keep him away from her.

And now, just when Geneva had given him the green light, Tess had issued her own warning to stay away from her friend.

Friendship.
What a bunch of bullshit. What an idiotic tactic he’d tried the day before. Tess’s fault—that’s what that had been. Trying to get around his cousin’s embargo by promising to play nice with Addie all summer.

He and Addie were already as friendly as they were ever going to get. Their problem was all that history
getting in their way. All those family expectations and mixed signals to sort through. All that seventeen-year-old hormonal crap, warping the here and now.

And he was back to square one. Damn.

So what did he want—besides getting her in bed? And why did it have to be Addie between the sheets, anyway? There were plenty of other attractive, willing women. Courtney Whitfield, for one.

He winced.

Okay, back to Addie. He always seemed to circle back to her, even when he thought he was heading in a straight line to somewhere else. That had to mean something—although what that something was, he’d never been able to figure out. But he sure was getting tired of feeling like some rodent running on a squeaky wheel.

He rubbed a hand over his chest. There they were again—those gnawing, rodentlike doubts. It was time—well past time—to quit acting like a confused seventeen-year-old and take a man’s chances. He turned down Cove Street and headed toward A Slice of Light.

No need to blow it, though, he thought as he passed her shop and made the first turn in a trip around the block. He needed a strategy. Slow and steady would probably work in this situation. Let her know he was interested, gauge her reaction, build her trust, take some easy steps before the first move.

Okay, then.

He pulled to the curb near her shop, exited his car and stepped off the squeaky wheel.

A
DDIE SLID HER GUIDE
into place at the long edge of a large rectangle of glass and ran her cutter up the center. A quick pinch with the running pliers at the base of the pale, hair-thin score neatly separated the piece into two squares. She carefully added the new pieces to the stack on her right, brushed her work surface to remove any tiny chips of glass—like the one that had nicked her left palm earlier that morning—and then lifted the next piece into position.

And then she paused, as she’d done a dozen times this morning, to relive the ridiculously giddy, chest-tightening, heart-racing, thought-scrambling thrill of Dev’s almost-a-kiss on the stairs in Chandler House.

He’d nearly kissed her. Almost. She was sure of it. And because it had only been almost-a-kiss, she’d been free to complete the details in one fantasy after another.

And to stash those details beside the details of all the other Dev-related fantasies she’d indulged in over the past twenty-five years.

Her shop door opened, and the object of those fantasies walked through it. “Hi, Dev.”

“Hi, Addie.” He paused by the door and slid his hands into his pockets. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”

“I wouldn’t want to be predictable.”

She repositioned the guide and pressed the cutter against the edge of the glass with trembling fingers. It slipped off and smacked down against the table, taking with it a tiny pile of glass shards. Frowning, she made a second try to catch the edge, and this time the cutter began a smooth glide up the glass with that paper-ripping sound that told her the score was deep and even. “So, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Just dropped by to see how you’re doing.”

Of course. That’s the kind of things friends—or people pretending to be friends—did. She could handle that. No reason at all for her pulse to race and her breath to catch as he moved closer. “I’m fine,” she said. “And you?”

“Fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement—probably at their oddly formal exchange—and her face warmed. It was going to take a while to get used to this friendship thing.

And maybe she couldn’t handle a friendship with Dev Chandler after all.

Too bad she couldn’t afford to take a vacation. With Dev in Carnelian Cove for the next several weeks, this would be a good time to get out of town.

He watched her turn the long rectangle of glass and straighten it for another cut. “I just dropped Geneva at the airport.”

“Tess said she’s going on a cruise.”

“That’s right.”

Addie made another cut, split the halves and stacked the two new squares on the others.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“A glass shipment arrived.” She lifted another large piece, and he grabbed one side to help her lower it to the table. “These pieces are too large to sell to crafters,” she told him, “so unless someone asks for a piece of this size, I cut them down to make them more portable.”

He watched as she scored another line. “You’re not cutting it all the way through.”

“No.” She set the cutter aside and picked up her pliers. “It’s that molecules thing again.”

“Ah, yes. The molecular mysteries of lead. And glass.” His mouth curved in a wry smile. “All to be revealed at some other time.”

“I’d say I’m sorry for the way I behaved when you came in last week,” she said, “but someone told me I’m not supposed to do that anymore.”

“Not supposed to do what—behave obnoxiously?”

“Apologize. And I wasn’t obnoxious.”

“You were horrible. Disgusting.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m considering therapy to help me recover from the trauma.”

She smiled at his teasing, and then she realized she’d been teasing, too. They’d been flirting. Sort of.

But Dev didn’t flirt. Not with her, especially. Whatever this was, though, it felt comfortable. Pleasant.

Friendly.

“You were saying?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“About those molecules…”

“Oh.” She glanced at the pliers in her hand, searching for her place in the conversation. “Yes. Well. Glass isn’t a crystal—its molecules don’t line up in a pattern.
That’s why you can cut it in curves. All you need to do to break glass is to decrease its strength along the line of a score, and the molecules beneath that line will separate when you apply a bit of pressure. Here,” she said as she handed him the pliers. “You give it a try.”

She helped him place the curved end of the running pliers over one edge of the score she’d made and told him to squeeze gently. The glass separated into two neat halves with a whisper of a snap.

“Cool,” he said.

“I think so.”

He glanced at the pieces displayed in her window. “You cut all those pieces just like that?”

“Not exactly like that, but yeah, it’s the same basic idea.”

He watched her make another couple of breaks and then wandered off to stroll slowly through one of her narrow shop aisles, studying the tools hanging from hooks and spread over various shelves. “Farrier nails?” He lifted a packet of a dozen enclosed in a small, clear plastic bag. “Aren’t farriers the people who shoe horses?”

“Yes. But I use the nails to hold the caming—the lead—in place while I’m assembling a design.”

He replaced the little bag. “Geneva’s going to visit with Tess’s mother for a couple of days in the city before heading down to the Caribbean.”

“Sounds nice.” Addie couldn’t picture his grandmother lounging on a deck chair. Geneva never seemed to lounge anywhere. “Where is the ship stopping?”

“A couple of ports in the Caribbean. What the hell is this for?” Dev lifted a curved and pointed piece of plastic.

Addie set aside the last of her glass squares and
wandered over to join him. “That’s called a fid. A handy tool, really. It can do all sorts of things. Press foil over the edges of glass pieces, widen caming…”

He dropped the fid back into its box and continued down the aisle. “Cutters…groziers…pliers…putty…” He stopped and stared at an assortment of fine, sharp metal picks. “And here we have the handy instruments of torture.”

Her shop door’s bell jingled as a young couple entered. “Excuse me,” she said, moving past Dev.

“No problem. I’m not going anywhere.”

She greeted her customers—please, let them be customers—and felt Dev’s gaze like a brand along her spine.

I’m not going anywhere
. She couldn’t decide whether his words were a promise or a threat.

If only they were true.

D
EV STROLLED TOWARD
the front of Addie’s shop, closer to the large windows fronting Cove Street, where her stained-glass art was hung to tempt passersby. Nearby, a case displayed several glossy, oversize how-to-do-it paperbacks. He picked up a book with a simple mosaic on the cover and flipped through the pages, eavesdropping without appearing to do so.

“Is this locally made?” asked the woman, pointing to the stained-glass shop address hanging over the door.

Addie nodded. “All the pieces you see have been made here, in this shop.”

“Are they all for sale?” asked the man. “I like this one.”

Dev looked up to see him gesture toward a large
panel featuring a peacock perched on a stylized branch, its tail cascading in rich blues and greens. The clear glass surrounding the bird was broken by twiglike streaks of lead, making the structure of the glasswork part of the design. “Where did you get the idea for this?” the customer asked. “Did it come from a picture?”

“Not that one,” Addie told him. “It’s my own design.”

And it was beautiful, Dev had to admit, now that he’d begun to notice things in Addie’s shop other than its owner. Clever, imaginative. Much more interesting than the designs he saw in the pages of the book he was holding. Addie had always had a talent for drawing.

And she’d used her creative talents to develop her own business, something most people never accomplished.

“These lilies are beautiful.” The woman bent to admire a large, square window with milky, pink glass flowers arching over neat squares of clear leaded glass. “Did you design this, too?”

“Yes.” Addie explained the different kinds of glass she’d chosen to create the flowers and how some of the pieces had been reversed to add texture. She led the way to the storage bins on one wall and pulled out several pieces of the same milky glass—opalescent, she called it—and invited her customers to hold the pieces up to the light pouring through her shop windows so they could admire the effects.

“We’ve been thinking of having a window made for our place,” the woman said. “But I wanted something with clearer glass than this.”

Addie slid a piece of the opalescent glass back into its slot. “What’s the style of your house?”

Dev listened as Addie discussed some interesting bits of glass history, helping the couple make a decision about a design that would satisfy their personal preferences while working with the design of their home.

Smart lady.

Next she pulled several squares of clear glass from her bins, explaining the manufacturing process that created different textures. The man seemed fascinated by the details and choices; the woman lifted each piece and looked through it, toward the light from the street. It was obvious they were enjoying their shopping experience.

Addie was a smooth saleswoman. While she shared her enthusiasm for her craft, she learned the man’s grandmother had lived in a house with a stained-glass window and that the woman had a fondness for the same flowers she grew in her garden. Before fifteen minutes had passed, Addie had sold them the lilies and taken an order—and accepted a down payment—for two similar panels.

After making delivery plans, she walked the couple to the door, where she chatted with them for several more minutes, telling them how to get to one of the locals’ favorite off-the-beaten-path beaches.

“You’re good at this,” Dev said once she’d closed the door behind her customers.

“Yes. I am.” Her dimpled smile spread, wide and delighted, beneath the calculating gleam in her eyes. “And I just made a deal for a project that’s going to keep me busy until I start on Tess’s windows for Tidewaters.”

“I never figured you for a businesswoman. I didn’t mean that as an insult,” he added when her smile dimmed. “I meant, I never pictured you running a shop.”

“I doubt you thought of me at all.”

He wanted to deny it, but he wouldn’t lie to her. “That might explain it.”

She moved past him and began sliding her glass samples back into their proper slots.

He stepped beside her and leaned in close. “Want to try to sell me something?” he asked.

She stiffened. “You didn’t come in here to shop.”

“No. I didn’t.” He fingered a strand of her hair and toyed with the ends that curled around his knuckle. “But I could be persuaded to change my mind.”

When he heard the tiny catch in her breath, he held his, too. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze lowered to his hand. He let her silky hair slip over his fingers and then dropped his hand to his side, his pulse pounding through his body. This slow-and-steady routine was rough on a guy’s blood pressure.

“Are you thinking of taking up mosaics as a hobby?” She turned, shifting a few inches away, and pointed to the book he still held. “It can be an easy one.”

“Easy enough for a ten-year-old?”

“Easy enough for Rosie.” Addie folded her arms and leaned against her sample display table, out of reach. “Is she still driving Tess nuts?”

Dev tossed the book on the table beside Addie. “She did this past week. Next week she’ll be driving me nuts.”

“You could get her set up with a mosaics project.” Addie crossed the floor to select another book from her
collection and thumbed through the pages. “A paving stone would be a nice gift. Personal. Handmade. Unique.”

“How long does it take to make?” Dev followed her to examine the picture Addie showed him. “Okay, yeah, you’re right—nice. Would that one take a week to make?”

Addie’s husky laugh scraped along his skin, pricking hot-blooded goose bumps. He cleared his throat. “How about an afternoon?”

“That’s more likely.” She flipped to another page and showed him a picture of a butterfly done in a rainbow of colors. “You don’t want to give her something too difficult at first. If she enjoys the activity, she’ll want to do another one.”

And buy more supplies to do it with. Sensible with her customers, smart with her business. Hard to say no to Addie Sutton.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dev said as he took the book from her. “Okay, start selling me stuff.”

“Don’t you want to bring Rosie in and let her choose her supplies for herself?”

“Would that take an afternoon?”

There was that laugh again, coasting along his nerve endings like a drug. “Part of one, anyway.” Addie tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. “You could fill the rest with a stop for an ice cream sundae and a walk along Shipwreck Beach to see if any of the surfers get bitten by a shark.”

“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

“This is Rosie we’re talking about.”

“Yeah. Right.” Dev grinned. “She’d love the shark angle.”

“She’ll love the mosaic idea, too.” Addie gently pried the book from hands. “Tell you what. I’ll sell you this book today, and you can discuss things with Rosie. If she thinks she’d like to give it a try, bring her by, and I’ll set her up.”

“Deal.”

He followed Addie to her counter. While she wrote up the sale, he grabbed one of the flyers on the counter beside her. It was an advertisement for a stained-glass course. Four classes—the first starting this week.

Four chances to watch Addie in action. Four opportunities to move in closer, closer…

He held up the flyer. “I’m thinking this might be an interesting way to spend part of my summer vacation.”

Addie looked at the paper in his hand and froze, as a series of emotions—dismay, annoyance, resignation, anticipation—dashed across her features.

Anticipation—yes, he’d definitely caught that.

“Well,” she said at last.

“Well?”

“Well…yes.” She slipped his book and receipt into a pretty paper bag. “It is interesting. I think so, anyway.”