“Different
how
?” Allie asked, warily. It was Monday morning, and even though a whole day had passed since she’d left Walker’s cabin on Sunday morning, she still felt somehow marked by their time together. Not just inwardly, but outwardly, too.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sara said, frowning. “But you’re absolutely glowing. Like you got a facial or something.”
Or something. Something
in this case being twelve uninterrupted hours of mind-blowing sex with Walker Ford. Still, Allie was starting to wonder if the “glow” everyone kept commenting on was ever going to wear off.
But to Sara she said, lightly, “I
wish
I’d gotten a facial. But as far as I know, that’s one perk Butternut doesn’t offer.” She added, unconvincingly, “It’s too bad, really.” But what was
really
too bad was how difficult it had been for her to function since their night together. Even the simplest things—like spreading butter on toast, or making a bed, or brushing her teeth—seemed to require a longer attention span than she was capable of.
The problem was, she was constantly revisiting that night. Replaying it in her mind down to the last detail. And there were
plenty
of details, each one seemingly more delicious than the last.
She started to remember one now, then realized that Sara was staring at her again, not even bothering to hide her curiosity. Allie stared back at her, her mind a complete blank. Had Sara asked her something? She had no idea, but she resolved to try to stop thinking about Walker Ford all the time. She could do that, couldn’t she? She’d set the bar low to begin with. She’d just try to go for a minute without thinking about him. She immediately thought about him again. Maybe a minute was too long, she decided. Thirty seconds was probably more realistic.
“Did you want to discuss how you’d like me to hang those watercolors?” she asked Sara now, hoping to reach the thirty-second mark.
“The paintings?” Sara asked absent-mindedly, in a way that made Allie wonder if her inability to concentrate was contagious.
“The new watercolors?” Allie prompted.
“Oh, right,” Sara said. “We’ll get to that. But we have another fifteen minutes before the gallery opens, and I thought, since you’ve been working here for a month, now might be a good time for an employee review.”
“Right now?” Allie asked, worriedly. She didn’t know if she could pay attention long enough for them to have this conversation.
But Sara misunderstood her concerned expression. “Oh, Allie,” she said quickly, “I don’t want you to think I’m not happy with your work, because I am. Trust me. Receipts are up twenty percent from a month ago, and I know you’re the one who deserves the credit for that.”
Allie started to protest, but Sara waved her objections away. “No, it’s true,” she said. “As much as it pains me to admit it, you’re a better saleswoman than I am. Our customers like you. And more important, they trust you. They don’t feel like you just want them to buy something for the sake of buying something. They feel like you want them to be happy with their purchase.”
“But I do,” Allie said, without thinking.
“I know you do,” Sara said, smiling. “You can’t fake that kind of sincerity, Allie. And while sincerity isn’t always a plus in the retail industry, it is in a place like this, where most of our business comes from repeat customers. So it goes without saying I’m very happy to have you here. But what about you? Are you happy working here?”
“Absolutely,” Allie said, relieved. That question, at least, was easy to answer.
“Good,” Sara said, with a satisfied nod. “I know the money’s not great. But I am planning on giving you an end-of-season bonus, based on our profits. And, money aside, I want you to think of working at the Pine Cone Gallery as an investment in your future. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love owning it. But I’m not going to want to own it forever.” She sighed, taking a sip of tea from the mug on her desk. “It’s a lot of work, and my husband’s tired of the Minnesota winters. And honestly, Allie, I think I’d be willing to consider selling if I could find the right buyer. You know, someone who cared about it, and the artists who show their work here, as much as I do. Someone like you,” she finished, pointedly.
“Me?” Allie asked, surprised.
“Why not?” Sara said. “You obviously love art. You have a good eye for what will sell. You’re a good saleswoman. And I think you’d be good, too, at cultivating relationships with the artists whose work we represent. It can be the most challenging part of the business, but it can also be the most rewarding.”
Allie nodded, intrigued. “It’s not something I have any experience doing, though,” she confessed.
“Not yet,” Sara said. “But we could easily change that. Tomorrow I’m going to an artist’s studio near Ely to meet with a woman who makes exquisite hand-pounded gold jewelry. I saw her work at a crafts show last spring, and I’ve been thinking about selling it here since then. Would you like to come with me?”
“I’d love to come,” Allie said, honestly. “It sounds fascinating. And thank you for thinking about my future. Sometimes,” she added, “it’s more than even I can do.”
“Good,” Sara said, smiling. “Now, is there anything else we need to discuss before we open?”
“No,” Allie said, starting to stand up. And then she caught herself. “Yes, actually,” she said, forcing herself to sit down again. “I was wondering . . .” She paused, searching for the right words. She didn’t want to seem unprofessional. Especially after the conversation they’d just had. “I was wondering,” she began again, “if I could have Wednesday off. If it’s too late, if you already have plans, that’s fine. I know I’m springing this on you.”
But Sara only shrugged. “Of course,” she said. “If you need a personal day, take one.”
“I don’t need a
personal
day,” Allie said carefully, not wanting to misrepresent herself. “I wanted to take Wednesday off so I could go on a date.”
“A date?” Sara asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. After a moment, she said quietly, “I wasn’t aware that you were dating yet.”
“Neither was I,” Allie confessed. “I mean, it’s still pretty new.”
Sara smiled sympathetically, then said, “No, that’s fine. Take Wednesday off. God knows you’ve earned it. But if it’s not too personal, do you mind if I ask who you’re going on a date with?”
“Oh, no, it’s not too personal,” Allie said, thinking that it
was
a little personal but realizing that if she and Walker were going to date, she was going to have to get used to people knowing about it. Not to mention talking about it.
So she looked Sara straight in the eye. “It’s Walker Ford,” she said, then somewhat unnecessarily she added, “From the boatyard.” If she’d learned anything this summer, it was that everybody in Butternut already knew everybody else.
“Walker Ford?” Sara repeated, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. And then she seemed to recover herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly. “I don’t mean to seem rude. I’m not surprised he’s dating
you
. I’m surprised he’s dating
anyone
. I thought he was sort of off the market.”
“Well, like I said, it’s all very new,” Allie said vaguely, dodging the question of Walker’s past availability. “It’s not a big deal or anything.”
Liar. It’s a very big deal. For you, anyway
. “I wouldn’t ask for Wednesday off,” she continued, “but Wyatt will be at day camp, and it’s simpler that way.” She still hadn’t decided how to broach the topic of her and Walker with Wyatt. After all, Wyatt thought of Walker as his fishing buddy, not someone his mother was romantically involved with.
“Of course,” Sara said, nodding. “I’m just curious, though. Where are you going on your date?”
“We’re going on a picnic,” Allie said. “We’re taking Walker’s boat out to one of the islands in Butternut Lake. Red Rock Island, I think.”
“Well, that sounds very nice,” Sara said, wistfully. “I can’t remember the last time my husband and I went on a picnic.”
Allie didn’t know what to say to this, so she smiled politely and excused herself to open the gallery.
There. That wasn’t too painful,
she told herself about her conversation with Sara. The painful part, apparently, would come now. Because as nervous as she was about seeing Walker again, she honestly didn’t know if she could wait two days to do it. It would be pure torture. Pure, sweet torture.
Forty-eight hours later, Allie was waiting at the end of her dock, watching Walker’s powerboat glide smoothly over the surface of the lake in her direction. She was sitting down, her bare feet dangling over the side of the dock, barely skimming the surface of the water. She knew she’d have to stand up before Walker docked his boat, but at the moment, she didn’t trust herself to do that. Her knees were shaking so violently she wasn’t sure they could support her weight.
She didn’t know if she was excited, nervous, or just plain crazy. She did know she hadn’t been herself this morning. When she’d come back from dropping Wyatt off at day camp, for instance, she’d ignored the unmade beds, the breakfast dishes in the sink, and the loads of laundry waiting to go into the washing machine. Instead, she’d taken a bubble bath, something she rarely did at night, let alone in the middle of the morning. Then, after toweling off and drying her hair, she’d started trying on clothes for the picnic. Which was a little silly, really, considering that a T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers were the only sensible choice for the outing they were going on.
But the truth was, she didn’t want to wear something sensible. She wanted to wear something . . . something
romantic
. And practicality be damned. Which it was, in the end. Because the outfit she chose—a pale yellow cotton sundress, and no shoes—was hardly appropriate for an afternoon she’d spend climbing in and out of a boat, and hiking up and down the side of a rocky island.
Now, with Walker’s boat only a hundred yards away, she held up her hand to shield her eyes from the glare off the water and felt her heart contract as she got her first good look at him since saying good-bye to him the morning after their lovemaking.
He looks amazing,
she thought.
He is amazing
. Her knees shook harder.
He waved to her now, and she waved back. Then she willed her rubbery legs to stand up so she could help him dock the boat.
“Hi,” he said, almost shyly, as he maneuvered the boat parallel to the dock and reached out a hand to stabilize it against the dock’s bumper.
“Hi,” she said, and her voice sounded a little squeaky. There was still the problem with her knees, too.
He reached a hand up to her then and she took it, using it to help her keep her balance as she stepped down into the boat.
“Do you have everything you need?” he asked, looking at her a little quizzically.
Allie blushed. He was thinking, of course, about how completely unprepared she looked for a day on the lake. No hat or sunglasses. No bathing suit or beach towel. No bottled water, or sunscreen, or insect repellent. None of these, she realized, had even made her short list. Because the only things she’d thought to bring today was herself, and her little yellow sundress.
If Walker thought it was strange, though, he didn’t say so. He just pushed his boat off from the dock and headed it out into the middle of the lake.
“Nice day for a picnic, huh?” he asked, his eyes brushing over her in that way they had. As if he could see right through the thin material of her dress.
“It’s perfect,” Allie agreed, feeling the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. She’d been afraid, actually, it would be cool. All the locals said they were going to have an early fall. And yesterday she’d spotted a tree across the lake whose upper branches were already beginning to turn a fiery shade of red. But today? Today was perfect. Warm, sunny, and slightly hazy, with a soft, luxuriant breeze that was more like a caress than a breeze.
“By the way,” Walker said, taking her hand with the hand that wasn’t on the boat’s steering wheel, “you look amazing. Like summer itself.”
“Thank you,” Allie said, brushing back some hair that had worked itself loose from the French braid she’d braided it into.
“Do you . . . uh, recognize this boat?” he asked now, his eyes alight with anticipation.
Allie studied it, then frowned. “Is this . . . is this the boat I bought?”
Walker nodded, looking pleased. “What do you think?”
“I think,” she said slowly, still examining it. “I think it looks really different than it did when I test-drove it with Cliff.”
“Well, I gave it a few upgrades,” Walker admitted.
“A few?” Allie asked.
He nodded. “I replaced the engine. I thought you and Wyatt might need more power. And I had the seats reupholstered, too. I thought the orange was a little tacky. The blue-and-white stripe seemed more like you, somehow.”
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, admiring the boat’s big, shiny engine and crisp, blue-and-white-striped seat cushions. “But, Walker, tell me, honestly. Did you make
any
money on this boat by the time you were done ‘upgrading’ it?”
“Oh, I definitely came out ahead,” he said, pulling her closer to him.
“Mmmm,” Allie said, nuzzling his neck, enjoying the clean, masculine smell of him. “I hope you don’t do all your business this way, Mr. Ford,” she said, teasingly. “Because it sounds like a good way to run your boatyard right into the ground.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, sliding the boat’s gear shift into neutral and putting both his arms around her. “I have a very short list of customers who get preferential treatment.”
They kissed for a little while, until Allie sensed, even through the thick fog of their desire, that they should probably stop while they still could. She broke away, a little breathlessly.
“What’s wrong?” Walker asked, still holding her.
“We’re out in the open,” Allie said, gesturing to the lake around them. She was surprised to see that during their kiss the boat had drifted into the middle of the bay. “Anybody could see us,” she added, placing a conciliatory kiss on his cheek.
“Anybody
could
see us,” Walker pointed out, toying with the neckline of her sundress. “If there was anybody
to
see us.” That was true, Allie thought. Except for some loons swimming near the boat, the bay was deserted.