Authors: Kate Vale
“
I’m sorry. I’m going to have to check on something,” he said, as he rose from his seat. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” He left the office, shutting the door behind him.
That poor man.
Gillian wondered what his wife was suffering from, why Matt had looked both sad and worried at the interruption.
She reached for
her sketch pad. Anything to keep herself calm, though her pulse was galloping along, spurred by the questions Matt had asked and the feel of his hand where he’d briefly touched her. Heck, just his presence seemed to set her stomach to clutching and playing tag with her lungs. She had just completed another sketch of his hands, and one of his face, as she sought to capture the complicated look in his eyes, when the door opened and Matt took his seat.
Gillian
slipped her sketches into her purse.
“Where were we?”
“You said we would need one more meeting.” Gillian sipped her coffee then looked up.
“That’s right. I want to study your will in depth, the better to coordinate my recommendations regarding the proposed trust.”
He rose from his desk and reached out to help her up. “Thanks for coming in again.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Indeed.
Gillian entered
Cammie’s Closet
several minutes ahead of her scheduled appointment with the owner of the gift shop. Different scents—from soaps, perhaps?—competed with one another as they wafted in the breeze created by the fans slowly moving just below the high, stamped-metal ceiling. Lauren had said she liked the shop, and Gillian was pleased when she’d checked out the website and noted that the owner carried the work of several local artists. Looking around, she saw that every corner was crammed with color designed to catch the eye. She wandered in the direction of the card rack along one wall. The selections were unusual. She clutched her carryall into which she’d tucked her samples. Would Cammie like what she planned to show her?
“Hello, there. What can I help you find?” The soft tones of the question set Gillian’s heart to pounding.
The owner.
She looked just like the picture on her website, except that her face was more lined around her eyes, and streaks of gray in her hair radiated out from her temples where her hair had been pulled away from her face.
“I’m Gillian.
Uh. Griffiths. The one who called you. With my samples.” Gillian’s mouth turned dry. As she stood there, she felt the slow dum-dum of her heart. Was it loud enough for others to hear?
“
Right. Come into my office, where we won’t be disturbed.” Cammie turned on her heel and marched toward the back of the store, halting briefly to speak quietly to a young woman wearing a scarf at her neck that displayed the logo and name of the store. “If you’ll take care of things for me, Lillian.”
The
young woman nodded and smiled at Cammie.
Gillian
chose to think the woman’s quick smile was encouraging as she followed Cammie into a small room. It was sparsely decorated, with a computer on the desk and a printer perched on a small table to one side.
Cammie
motioned for Gillian to take a seat. “Why don’t you show me what you have? You know I like to feature local artists?”
“I looked on your website.”
Am I sounding like a croaking frog?
She cleared her throat and opened the carryall. “I did these a few years ago.” She showed two pictures of Quinn when he was five. “I especially like to capture children at play,” she explained.
Cammie
nodded. “What else do you have?” Her tone gave no hint whether she liked what she was peering at so intently.
“I did these more recently.” Gillian pulled out several sketches.
She placed two of the landscapes on the desk. When she reached for the envelope holding the charcoals of the hand sketches, two of them slid away and fluttered onto the floor.
Cammie
swept them up and stared at them intently. “I like these. How many do you have?”
“Um, five or six. I could do more if you think—
”
Cammie
walked over to the window and held up the sketches. “Nice contrast of light and dark.” She chuckled. “That baby’s hand is precious.” She handed the two sketches to Gillian.
Her
heart slid into her throat. Would Cammie tell her she was crazy to think her work was good enough?
“
I’ll pass on the landscapes for now. I’ve never done well selling pencil drawings, though these are very nice. You have a great eye for detail. These charcoals would make nice note cards. Tell you what. I’d like to carry them on consignment. Two kinds. One just like you have them, and another with labels on the hands—you could name them. This one of the baby’s hand could be something like
New Life
. Or whatever you want to label it. Give people an idea how to use them. Twenty cards to a box. I see four different ones here. If you had five, four of each per box for a total of twenty, that would work. Watercolors sell well. As pictures
and
note cards. If you have any watercolors, I’d like to see them, too.” She folded her hands on the desk and looked at Gillian, waiting for a response.
Just like that?
“Oh. Okay. I think I have another one at home. A hand, I mean. How many boxes would you like?”
“Let’s start small. How about five of each kind? If they sell like I think they will, I’ll order more.” She
opened the center drawer of her desk and pulled out a flyer. “Check with this print shop. They’ve done work for other people whose work I carry and the artists seem to like how they handle their stuff. Be sure to sign your cards on the back. People like that sort of thing. Follow me.” Cammie led Gillian out of her office and stopped near where her employee was chatting with a customer.
“If I could ask you a question,
Lillian. Think these would make nice note cards?” She motioned for Gillian to show her charcoals to Lillian.
The young woman glanced at the cards before picking out the
sketch of the pair of clasped hands. “I especially like these, but they’re all quite nice.” She smiled in Gillian’s direction again.
A
man who’d recently been helped stepped forward. “You’re going to carry some new things, Cammie?” His voice was raspy.
Gillian eyed him.
The cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt told her he paid careful attention to his dress, and his slacks held a knife-like crease. A raincoat that looked new was slung over one arm. Long slender fingers adorned his large hands. Scars like those from a burn scored the tops of each. When he reached out to grasp the corner of one sketch, only the skin on his fingers seemed to stretch easily.
“
Alexander, good to see you again. Do you like these? I’m thinking of carrying them as note cards,” Cammie explained.
The man’s
head bobbed, and he pursed his lips as he studied the drawing before looking back at Cammie. “You know I’m partial to hands,” he replied. The corners of his mouth curled upward. “I’d buy some.” He handed the sketch to Gillian, his eyes reminding her of ebony stones deep-set in his pale face when he looked her way. “You do nice work.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, that settles it.” Cammie beamed at Gillian. “If one of my best customers likes them, I’m sure they’ll sell. Give me a call when you have those cards ready for me. We’ll talk about getting the word out. And if you have a website, we could link it to the store’s, that sort of thing.”
Gillian nodded. “I’ll do that,” her throat dry again.
She left the store, stunned at her first effort to interest someone in buying her work. It had been a day full of pleasant surprises … achievements, really. Matt had agreed to work with her, Nick’s problems no longer plagued her, and the lady at the gift store wanted to sell her work.
The sun was shining brightly
when Gillian stepped outside and strolled down the sidewalk. After lunch, she would go to the park. It was time to create more sketches, maybe some watercolors. Only after she returned home did she realize Cammie hadn’t bothered to talk price. Gillian chuckled. Quinn would say she’d never make a good businesswoman if she didn’t nail down that all-important detail. She made a note to herself to ask when she brought the completed note card collections to Cammie.
The next day Gillian ambled with Mo along the shore of Lake Washington on that part of the Burke-Gilman trail closest to her neighborhood. “Now it looks like I’m going to sell my sketches. Do you know
Cammie’s Closet
?”
Mo chuckled. “
Can’t say as I do, but if you’re going to sell note cards there, I’ll have to take a look.” He reached for her hand.
Gillian felt
slow warmth ascend her arm after Mo captured her hand.
Does he want us to be more than friends?
She liked him, but what she felt for him went no further than a comfortable friendship. Certainly not now, with so much on her mind about the upcoming wedding—
when
is Bianca going to get back to me about what I can do?—and setting up the trust. Matt’s character-filled face flitted into her minds’ eye. He was a man she would like to get close to if he weren’t married. But she was his client and she couldn’t imagine Matt ever wanting to add personal to their current strictly-business relationship.
She looked up at Mo’s smiling face
and refocused on what he’d been saying as he swung their hands forward and back. “You’re right. I should check caller ID before I pick up the phone. Quinn keeps reminding me to do that. I’m thinking of taking the car and going up to Snoqualmie Falls.” She pointed across the lake to the east where tree-clad hills angled upward into the clouds. Gillian’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and peered at the screen. “Quinn. Good. Hi, honey.”
“Mom, I just stopped by
the house. Where are you?”
“
On the Gilman trail. Mo, my walking partner, and I just rounded the bend near the boat launch.”
“
Then I’ll wait for you here. So we can talk.”
“
See you later.” She slipped her phone back into her pocket.
Mo squeezed her hand.
“Why don’t you come over to my place later? We can have dinner together and I’ll drive you home.”
Gillian angled her face upward and peered back at Mo. He reminded her of
an endearing puppy, hopeful she would accept his invitation. Would he take it the wrong way if she turned him down? Actually, the right way, that she wasn’t interested in him the way he seemed to be interested in her? She bit one corner of her lip. “Perhaps another time.”
He
nodded. “I understand. But I’m going to ask you again.” He set off in the direction of the nearby parking lot, Gillian’s hand again grasped firmly in his over-large paw.
But did he
really
understand? Was she going to have to be more obvious about her reluctance to get involved with Mo? Throughout the rest of their walk, Gillian mulled over how to let him down gently. When they returned to her house, she had yet to come up with the right time or place to do so.
Chapter
9
Three days later Gillian paced, waving her arms.
“Lauren, what am I going to do? I
know
Mo wants to do more than take walks with me, but I just can’t see—I’m not sure what to tell him, what to say to him. How does one let down a man like him? He’s so nice, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“You mean a catch like him, do
n’t you? A doctor and all? Almost retired, with money to burn and eager to make you happy? Gilly, just go with it. He’s a nice man. Enjoy his company. And if he wants to take you to bed, who says you can’t do that, too? He probably knows all about safe sex.”
Gillian’s cheeks burned at the thought. “It’s been
years
since I slept with a man. Or even took my clothes off in front of a man. It’s not like I’m twenty, or even thirty. Weren’t you the one who said gravity is not our friend?”
Lauren
chortled. “More on me than you, girlfriend. You still have a nice figure. Wait ten years and then see how you sag.” She reached for another cookie. “I guess going on the internet has let out the word that you are A-V-A-I-L-A-B-L-E. Look at all the men you know now.” She began counting them off, one finger at a time. “There’s Matt, the lawyer—”
“Business relationship only, Lauren,” Gillian interrupted, her heart thump
ing at the thought. Why, then, was she nightly comparing other men to him?
Lauren
waved off Gillian’s objection. “Hey, I’m the one who’s counting. Then there’s that guy online—fifty something. And the other online guy, Homebody. Such a cute name.”
She
snorted.
“That guy you met on the raft,
whats-his-name. Herb! Not exactly a hunk.”
“Oh, please. He
was such a boor.”
Lauren chuckled. “
Then there’s Mo, the rich doctor.”
“You don’t know that.”
“’Course I do. I looked him up. Aren’t all doctors rich? More to the point, he’s not married. Widower, for five years. Long past holding a torch for his wife.”
“How
do you know that?”
“I don’t reveal my sources, but if you’d get online more than that silly little dating place, you c
ould find out all kinds of things. Obviously, he’s ready to fill his bed with another warm body. Yours, anyway.”
“But I’m not
ready
for anything other than occasional walks around the lake.”
“
For now, maybe. You could change your mind.” Lauren refilled Gillian’s teacup. “Did he do anything at his house after you walked there the other day?”
“He was a perfect gentleman.”
“I rest my case. He’s a nice man. What are you going to say when he asks you out for dinner
not
at his house, or maybe there, but with some action after dessert?”
“I have no idea. Probably no. I haven’t been on a date in
too many years to count. He doesn’t really interest me that way.”
“
But hasn’t he hinted around?”
“I played dumb.”
“Gilly, you are impossible. How are you going to get off dead-center if you don’t jump when some man, a really nice man—so what if he doesn’t look like Yul Brynner?—shows an interest in you?”
“Why in the world did you mention
Yul Brynner?”
“Didn’t you say you liked how he danced in that
old movie you always ooh and aah over?”
Gillian took another sip of her tea. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“So, what’s the latest on the attorney front? Did you go with the other one, the really old guy? I saw Matthew Gordon on TV a while back. Some show about how lawyers work. On the educational channel. He looked good enough to eat. I sure wouldn’t mind putting his shoes under
my
bed.”
Gillian blushed at the thought.
“We’re supposed to meet one more time after he reviews my will and finishes the trust paperwork.” She rose from her chair and walked into Lauren’s living room to check out the window for a familiar car in her driveway.
“
I’d better scoot. Quinn and Bianca are coming over for dinner. I need to get things ready.”
“Tell them hi.”
“I will. Thanks for the tea and cookies.”
“Anytime.”
Gillian spooned the gravy onto her turkey
and peered first at Quinn and then at Bianca.
“Bianca wants me with her for the appointment
tomorrow.” Quinn reached over and grasped his fiancée’s hand. Bianca beamed back at him.
She’s pregnant
. For sure, this time? Good thing I’m moving forward with that trust.
Why couldn’t they have waited until after the wedding?
Gillian focused on the food on her plate as she debated what to say next. She glanced at Bianca and decided to risk it.
“Does this mean you’ll be cutting back your hours at the law firm
, assuming this is more than nerves? You just started there. Are they going to give you time off?”
“One question at a time, Mom,” Quinn urged.
“I’m going to talk to the partners after I’ve seen the doctor. I’m not sure I’m pregnant—”
“But didn’t you say you’ve been having morning sickness?”
“She had the flu, Mom. Remember?”
Why was Quinn answering for Bianca?
She frowned at her son.
The nine month kind, I’ll bet.
Gillian sighed. “Of course. Making sure is the right thing to do.”
I have to put a positive face on it.
“Well, if you need any help from me, getting your apartment ready, just let me know. I think I still have Quinn’s old cradle, maybe even some of his baby clothes—assuming you have a boy.”
Bianca smiled and nodded.
“The two of you have so much on your plate right now. New jobs, a baby on the way, the wedding to plan.”
Hint, hint.
The next morning Gillian headed for an open space promising a different view of Lake Washington. Intent on seeing if a more distant vantage point would provide yet another perspective for her watercolor project, she hiked through shrubbery more overgrown than she expected.
This place hasn’t been tended in years.
Blackberry vines reached out to snag her blouse. Twice, they tripped her up a she pushed them out of the way.
But the view she’d sought was worth it. Three charcoal sketches and two watercolors later, she headed back toward the car. Her
phone buzzed in her pocket.
Quinn sounded upset.
“Mom, Bianca’s in the hospital. They took her into surgery last night. I was going to call you then, but it was so late.”
Gillian caught her breath. “Whatever for?”
“Ectopic pregnancy.”
“Oh my goodness. Is that why she was saying she
thought she had the flu the last time you were over for dinner?”
“
I guess. She didn’t tell me how bad she felt, only that she couldn’t keep anything down. And I’m staying at the hospital until she’s released. Then we’ll come home. We want to talk to you. About the wedding and everything.”
“Oh,
” Gillian murmured. “You’re coming over tonight?”
“More likely
tomorrow. After Bianca’s released.”
“Give her my best, dear.”
Gillian tossed her phone onto the front seat of the car and left the park, aware of the bramble wounds on her legs and what had to be a bruise on her shoulder from her collision with a tree when she backed up without looking where she was going. No more sketching in a park she was unfamiliar with, one with brambles where flowers should have been.
Later that afternoon she had just turned on the teakettle when her doorbell sounded.
Who could that be?
I must look a fright.
She limped to the door and peered out the sidelight.
“Mo! What are you doing here?”
His grin was nearly as wide as his mustache, which he kept stroking with one finger.
“
I saw you pull in and decided to check on you. See what you thought of that old park. Did you find a nice view of the lake?”
His hiking shorts told Gillian what he’d been doing or
was about to do, but why he’d walked past her house was a mystery. He couldn’t get to the nearby park that way.
She opened the door wider. “Come on in. I was just putting on some tea. Would you like a cup?” She limped in the direction of the kitchen.
“You’re injured, girl. What happened?” Mo’s voice took on a concerned tone.
“Nothing, really. I fell into some brambles
the first time I slipped and I think I twisted my ankle the second time. That’s when I banged into a tree.” She pointed casually to her shoulder.
“Have you been to
a doctor? Maybe you broke your clavicle. If you’ll move your shirt out of the way, I could check.”
Gillian turned to face the man, her cheeks reddening. “It’s really not necessary. I just bruised it. See
? I’m fine.” She raised and lowered her arm. “It’s just sore.”
“It could be broken, nonetheless.” His fingers slid under the neck of her blouse and descended to just below her shoulder.
When he pressed gently against Gillian’s skin, she sucked in a breath. “Well, you found it. A bruise, right?”
He removed his hand from her shoulder.
“Yes. And bramble bites. You washed them out well? They could become infected. Maybe I should take a look at them. Complementary doctor visit.” Up went his eyebrows as he smiled.
“
No need. I’ll deal with them later.”
In my shower.
Her cheeks warmed again, wondering if he knew where she planned to check them. “Have a seat.”
She
turned away and filled the teapot with steaming water. “Would you like to select your flavor?” She pushed a basket with different tea bags in his direction.
Gillian felt
Mo’s eyes on her back as she shuffled between the stove and the table.
He’s going to ask me out. I just know it.
She took a seat across from Mo and reached for the Jasmine infusion.
Mo slowly stirr
ed his tea.
“I forgot. Do you need cream or sugar?”
“My tea’s fine. Gillian—”
“Just a minute.” She whirled around, caught her chair before it could topple over, and opened the pantry door to retrieve the cookie canister. “
Here. To go with your tea.” She plunked the canister onto the table.
Where are my hostess skills?
She should have arranged them on a plate, but her nerves were now showing.
“Gillian. Sit down
.” Mo’s deep-throated chuckle told her he’d seen through her anxious fidgeting. “I’m not going to bite.”
She sat, clutching her mug. As if sipping her tea was going to rescue her. What
was
she going to say to him?
“You’re a great walking companion
and a talented artist.”
“
An amateur sketcher, Mo. For my own enjoyment. No artistry there.” Although Cammie liked her work. Maybe it represented more than personal enjoyment. She took a quick sip.
“We won’t argue the point.” He pushed his mug to the center of the table an
d straightened in his seat. “I want to take you out to dinner. Please say yes this time.”
He certainly didn’t waste any time getting to the point
. Gillian couldn’t bear to look up, knowing that he was gazing at her.
“Mo, I—”
“You probably think I’m too old for you,” he interrupted. “Dinner. At a nice restaurant. Just a sharing of good food and conversation.”
She cleared her throat.
“Or I’ll talk and you’ll listen.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I can see you’re hesitating. Why don’t you call me after you’ve thought it over?”
Lauren’s words seemed to scream at her
. “Go for it! Get out of your comfort zone.” But Gillian was so far out of her comfort zone, she wasn’t sure she’d ever find it again. Her recent fight with the brambles came back to her. Was dinner with Mo any scarier than Horrible Herb on her rafting trip, who had tried to mash her lips?
She followed
him to the front door. “Mo.” She opened the door. When he pivoted on one foot, those bushy eyebrows raised again, hopefulness in his expression, she nodded. “I’d like that. Dinner. At a nice restaurant,” she repeated his words. “When would you like to do that?”
“How about
next weekend? Saturday?”
She gulped to clear her throat again. “Saturday it is.”
He looked as if he wanted to kiss her but stepped back. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Days later, Gillian looked sidelong at Lauren as she moved the hangers aside in her closet. “Now that I’ve accepted Mo’s
second
invitation to go to dinner, what do I do? What if we haven’t got a thing to say to each other? How embarrassing will that be—just staring across the table for the entire meal?”