For the Longest Time (7 page)

“Chicken.” Zoe's mouth curved into a smile. Then she laughed. “Not that I blame you. It's going to be great, though. Six shiny new studios, and I've decided to keep the largest one handy for on-site classes. We've held some off-site that have been very popular.” There was a quirk of her eyebrow, a mischievous grin. “Maybe you'll decide you want one of those studios for yourself. I'll even give you first dibs.”

Sam's smile felt pasted on, and she instinctively started scrambling for some lame noncommittal response. “Well—”

Zoe waved a hand, neatly cutting her off. “I know, I know. I can see it all over your face. But a girl can dream, all right? Don't crush my dreams on your first day. Not before I've had my second cup of tea.”

She relaxed almost instantly. It was such a welcome change to be working for someone who acted like a real human being. Mona had been able to pull off a professional veneer most of the time, but all of the gallery employees were well aware that there were claws and teeth underneath it.

“Tea?” Somehow, this was not a surprise. She eyed
Zoe, who was apparently one of those women born to make jeans look good. Today she wore them with a long, fitted gray sweater, a forest green scarf, and a pair of brown leather riding boots. Her hair was back in a low ponytail, the braids cascading down her back, and diamonds glinted at her ears. She looked every inch the Lady of the Manor at leisure. Tea should have been a foregone conclusion.

Zoe pointed one long red fingernail at her. “Oh, I'm serious about my tea. You just wait. I'll have you converted in no time.”

“Sorry. Coffee and I are in a relationship.”

Zoe settled her hands on her hips and arched a single imperious brow. Sam thought she now looked like a very disgruntled aristocrat. The silvery ring of the bell above the door sounded behind her.

“Then I will guarantee you're going to be unfaithful with my Monkey Picked Oolong,” Zoe said, a determined glint in her eye that Sam suspected boded ill for her lifelong tea avoidance. Amused and more comfortable than she could ever have expected in Zoe's company, she opened her mouth to say something obnoxious. But she caught Zoe's sudden expression, widened eyes, a flash of real irritation directed at the front door. Curious, Sam turned and saw a familiar face.

“Jason, if there is mud on your boots
again
, I will kill you.”

Jason Evans, who Sam remembered being tall, thin, and minus any facial hair, clomped into the gallery in boots that were anything but clean and offered Zoe a half smile that was far more defiance than manners. “You can't kill me,” he said, his voice gruff. “I'm a cop.”

“You're a
forest ranger
. This isn't a forest, and all the outside you carry around on your clothes and your shoes doesn't belong inside my gallery.”

“Whatever. I'm here to spend money. You'll live.” He finally seemed to notice Sam as he walked farther in. His eyebrows lifted. “Hey, Henry. Heard you were back in town.”

“Hey, Jason.” It was exactly the same greeting he'd used on her during her entire childhood. Same through elementary school, then through high school. He'd never tormented her, Sam thought. He hadn't talked much either, but she'd been happy just to be left alone. Of course, if he'd looked like this back then she might have reconsidered. He'd done some filling out. Okay, a lot of filling out. And going by the stubble on his face, the facial hair thing was no longer a problem.

“Don't you have some squirrels to chase or something?” Zoe's voice was strained with temper, and it was easy to see why. Jason's path into the gallery was clearly marked with twigs, leaves, and clumps of dirt. She watched him shrug as he made his way to the rocking chair Sam had been admiring.

“I'm off today.”

Zoe's gaze lingered on the trail of debris before she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and strode over to where Jason was examining the chair. Sam hung back, fairly sure that the tension now crackling through the air meant her interference wouldn't be welcome. Besides, it was actually pretty entertaining to watch stylish, put-together Zoe go toe-to-toe with a giant in ripped jeans, an old T-shirt, and a worn jacket that did a hell of a job showing off just how broad his shoulders were. He was
Jake's cousin, as moody as Jake was outgoing, but the two of them had always seemed to get along well enough.

Unlike Jason and Zoe, apparently.

“I'll take it,” Jason said, straightening to tower over her.

“Oh, you will, will you? You're finally going to buy this chair?” Her eyes were narrowed as she glared up at him.

“Yep.”

“Does this mean that you're going to stop dragging your dirty, woodsy self in here every few days?”

“Probably not,” Jason replied, and Sam would swear she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “I like some of those,” he continued, jerking his head toward the area where some of Grace Levrett's photography was displayed. “Gotta think about it, though.”

“Of course you do.” Zoe's voice had gone flat. She looked at Sam. “Could you take care of him? That one's forty-five hundred. I'm going to get the vacuum cleaner.” She stalked off into the back before Sam could do more than nod. After a long, silent moment, she turned her attention back to Jason. He was staring in the direction Zoe had gone, his expression unreadable. It felt weirdly intrusive to speak, but whatever issues Zoe and Jason had, they weren't hers. And besides, she really wanted to complete her first sale. Starting off with a pricey piece of furniture seemed like a good omen to her.

“I can take care of you at the register, Jason, if you're ready.”

He started a little before turning a pair of very intense brown eyes on her. It was as though he'd forgotten she was there. “Yeah, sure,” he grumbled, then followed her
to the rough-hewn maple cabinet that served as a counter. It was a relief to find the register setup familiar, and Sam had no trouble taking the payment when Jason handed over his credit card. He was silent for most of the process, though his deep voice rumbled to life again as he was signing the slip.

“Surprised to see you back here,” he said, scribbling something that sort of resembled his name and handing the slip to her. “City didn't work out?”

“Not really,” Sam replied, surprised when he looked interested.

“I could have told you it was a bad idea. Too many damn people.” Then he smiled, a lazy, lopsided grin that changed the entire look of his face. It made him look boyish again—and made Sam realize exactly how much he'd grown up since. That was disconcerting, but at least he was friendly.

“You're right. That was at least part of the problem,” she said. “I'm not up for living in the woods, though, so here I am again.”

Jason snorted softly. “There's a lot to be said for staying in the woods—trust me. Nice and quiet.” His mouth twisted into a wry smirk. “Plus you can track dirt wherever you want to.”

“I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you do that last part regardless.” When all she got was another smile, Sam just shook her head. Looked like Jason was still an odd one, but knowing he was a regular customer was strangely comforting. Not that Zoe would probably agree. “Are you going to want this delivered?” she asked.

“Nope. I brought blankets for it in the truck. I'm right out front, but I could use a hand with the door,” he said.

Sam obliged, watching Jason lift the rocker as though
it weighed nothing and carry it past her. She assumed the mud-spattered SUV was his, and was proved right when he headed for it. “Thanks, Henry,” he called over his shoulder. “See you around. I'll be back in before long to look at those pictures.”

“Maybe with cleaner shoes next time?”

She heard his low chuckle as he headed around to open the back of the truck. “That wouldn't be half as fun.”

She shook her head, hearing the vacuum cleaner roar to life behind her. She had a suspicion Zoe had been waiting for Jason to leave before she reappeared, and wondered what the story there was. That level of irritation could mean any number of things. Maybe at some point Zoe would tell her. It might be nice to have a girlfriend to complain about men with again. Especially considering her old roommate's main issue with the opposite sex was their method of payment. Those conversations had gotten awkward really fast.

Sam raised her hand as Jason drove off, then paused in the open doorway, savoring the scent of October air. The trees lining the sidewalk were ablaze with color, their leaves littering the sidewalk. To her right, Hawthorne Street rolled gently down toward the harbor. Lunchtime traffic had begun to pick up as cars made their way toward the restaurants downtown, and she could hear the faint sound of music playing somewhere nearby.

It took her a good minute to recognize what held her in place, but finally, it came to her—or really, more like landed on her like a ton of bricks.

For the first time in months, she'd relaxed. What she was feeling was peace.

Sam struggled with it for a moment, but it didn't last. After everything she'd been through lately, it seemed stupid to
want
to be unhappy somewhere. Maybe the impossible had happened. Maybe she'd stayed away from the Cove long enough that things really were different, that the old rules she'd chafed at so badly no longer applied. She thought of Jake, and dinner, and decided she was going to find out soon enough. The thought was enough to take her little moment of Zen and shred it into tiny pieces.

Zoe's voice rose above the din of the vacuum. “Sam? Come here. You need to see this. Somehow, that man dragged half a tree in here on his feet. I'm not kidding! He doesn't look like Pig-Pen, so how does he carry a damn field around with him? I swear on all that is holy, if this machine breaks because it tried to suck up a log . . .”

As the complaints lapsed into frustrated muttering, Sam laughed softly, all her worry vanishing as quickly as it had emerged. For today, at least, reality was a lot more interesting than anything she could come up with to worry about.

“Coming,” Sam called out as she went back inside.

S
am had expected to be nervous by the time the gallery closed on Friday, giving them an hour to set up before reopening at six as the First Friday activities got under way on the square. Instead, she found herself surprisingly calm. Maybe it was because, out of everything she'd done in the last few weeks, this was the first thing that had felt normal. Or maybe it was the mouthful of liquid antacid she'd chugged just in case. Either way, as the artists began to trickle in to help out, she felt like she was among friends.

She was setting out plates of hors d'oeuvres on a foldout buffet table draped in white linen when a hand snaked around her and snatched a handful of crackers before she could do so much as blink. Sam whipped her head around.

“What the—”

“You didn't see anything,” the thief informed her.

“Sorry. I can't understand you around the chewing,” she said.

He put up a finger to indicate that she should wait, finished chewing, and swallowed. “Mmm. Did you make the stuff on the crackers?”

“The ones you didn't eat, you mean?” Sam asked,
unable to help her smile when the lean, handsome interloper gave her a cheeky grin. His long, slim figure was clothed in a pair of skinny jeans, a crisp white button-down shirt, and a trim pin-striped vest, and his spiky shock of blond hair had a bright blue streak in the front. The blue in his hair matched his eyes, which gleamed with the sort of mischief Sam had always admired in a person. She wasn't much of a troublemaker by nature, but this one was plenty of trouble, and completely adorable.

“Hey, I can hear the accusation in your voice,” he said, pretending to be wounded. “Look, I'll even help you rearrange the plate so there isn't a hole. Well, not quite as big a hole.”

Sam laughed softly. “What's your name? Trouble?”

“Trouble is my
middle
name, thank you very much.” He fussed with the crackers, camouflaging the damage he'd caused with ease, and then gave her a look of triumph. “There! Good as new.”

“Thanks. I think,” Sam said, then settled her hands on her hips, stepped back, and looked over the spread meant to draw people in. There were crudités, chips and dip, the crackers, platters of cheese, and chocolate dipped fruit. There were also glossy postcards advertising the gallery and its work, with the dates of upcoming shows on the back. Though this month would be quiet, owing to the need to finish the work on the studios, things were going to pick up in November. Sam felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach at the thought, then another at the fact that she could feel that way about work again. Not her own work . . . but a start.

“You must be Sam,” the man said, drawing her attention back to him. “Zoe was just all about you on the phone yesterday.” He stuck out a hand. “I'm Aaron.”

She immediately made the connection between the name and a sculpture of wings that she'd been drooling over since her first day. His grip was firm, and though his fingers were long and elegant, she could feel the calluses. “Aaron Maclean, the sculptor. Your work is amazing,” Sam said, and meant it. He looked to be around her age, and she wondered if they'd gone to school together and she'd simply missed him. It would be just one more regret if she had.

“Thanks,” Aaron said, his grin flashing, bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yours is pretty awesome, too. Zoe mentioned it,” he said quickly before she could ask. “I'm really nosy. Just for future reference.”

Sam snorted. “You must be from around here, then.”

“Nope. I'm from a little town in upstate New York where my genius was unappreciated.”

“So you came . . . here,” Sam said slowly, trying to find the sense in it. Aaron chuckled, seeming to understand.

“I followed a cute firefighter. Don't judge.”

Sam widened her eyes dramatically and leaned in close. “I would
never
.”

That prompted a musical laugh. “Oh, hang around me a little more and you definitely will.”

Sam decided she was willing to see if that was true—Aaron seemed like fun, and she could use more of that in her life. Of course, he also seemed like the kind of friend who might occasionally require bail money, but it seemed like a risk worth taking if she could start laughing regularly again. She missed having artist friends . . . even if she wasn't sure she was really an artist anymore.

They'd just settled into conversation when Zoe appeared at Aaron's side. She barely came up to his
shoulder, but her presence was twice her actual size. One hand settled on her hip. The other tugged at his sleeve.

“Sorry to take you away from
eating all of my food
, Aaron, but I need you to do more than stand around looking pretty for a minute.”

He looked down at her, amused. “Stepladder not high enough for you again?”

Zoe's gray eyes glittered in the light, one eyebrow arching dangerously. “You know, no one's going to buy your beautiful sculptures if I shove them all where I'm thinking of shoving them.”

“Ouch.”

“You know I love you, Aaron,” Zoe said, lips curving even as her expression said he'd better get his butt in gear. Sam stifled a laugh. Aaron sighed loudly.

“Your love is a painful and frightening thing. But since I'm a gentleman, I'll go reach things for you.” He inclined his head. “Nice meeting you, Sam. Let me know when you're in the mood, and we'll go out and make a spectacle of ourselves.”

“Definitely,” she replied, and Zoe flattened her hands on his back to guide him away, shaking her head no at Sam with a mixture of horror and amusement.

She turned back to straightening the table, then moved to start lighting the candles. It was only when her cheeks began to ache that she realized she was still smiling. As Friday nights in the Cove went, she decided as jazz music began to drift softly through the air, mingling with the chatter of the Two Roads artists, it didn't get better than this. And for once, she didn't mind the feeling at all.

* * *

Jake threw his head back and laughed, his warm breath rising like fog in the night air. He was glad he'd let
himself be dragged out for dinner at Merry Meet, which was running specials because of First Friday. It had been a tough week, and he hadn't been able to find his footing to weather it the way he usually did. Tonight, though, his world finally felt right again.

Shane gave Max a good-natured shove as they wandered in a laughing, constantly shifting mass down the sidewalk. Thea and Kallie had their heads together, and he heard the word “Cancun.” Probably already hashing out the spring vacation, which they all chipped in on and took, with very few exceptions, every year. Not last year, though . . . he'd begged off. Work, he'd told them, unable to articulate the actual reason. All he'd known was, the thought of participating in the creation of another album full of pictures of all of them drinking and dancing on or around a beach somewhere had made him want to go on a vacation in the opposite direction. By himself. To a place where he might actually be able to meet women without his entourage scaring them off.

Jake shoved the thought away, feeling his mood hovering somewhere just above his head like a black cloud and threatening to descend again. What the hell was wrong with him? He had good friends here, and a spare bedroom full of unruly fur balls back at home, with Tucker keeping watch by the door. It was a beautiful early October night. Life was just fine. It was normal. It was—

“Did you guys want to turn around? All that's left up here is the tea shop and the gallery,” Thea said, looking around as though she hadn't realized how far they'd gone. Max had an arm slung around her, the way he had since high school. It had always struck Jake as more than a little possessive, but Thea seemed to like it. As slim and
dark haired as Max was burly and blond, Thea should have looked like an odd match for her husband. Instead, Jake had a hard time imagining one without the other. They were the glue, he thought, that held the rest of them together.

Or maybe just the people who make sure the bubble around them stays intact and impossible to get into . . . or out of.

Jake blinked.
Shit
. He hadn't quite shaken that mood off after all.

Jake turned to look in the direction they'd come from, seeing the soft glow of the lamplights around the square. A band called the Shoes played classic rock on a makeshift stage near the Cove's famous Witch Tree in the square, and he could hear a decent rendition of “Layla” being played. The street was lined with cars, and despite the deepening chill it seemed like most of the Cove was out milling around, sampling food and drink, shopping the displays on the sidewalk. Even up here, near the edge of the celebration, there were plenty of people. And as Jake turned, he could see why.

Sometime over the course of the past year, Two Roads had become a draw.

“The gallery's pretty cool,” Kallie said, shivering a little in the thin jacket she'd worn. She slid a quick look at Ryan, who was as oblivious as usual. That torch had to be getting heavy after carrying it all these years, Jake thought.

“Why don't we check it out?” Ryan said, stuffing his hands deeper in his jacket pockets and pointedly ignoring Kallie's looks. He raised his eyebrows at Jake. “They have food and heat, and I'm freezing my ass off. This is the coldest night we've had so far.”

He could hear the soft sound of live jazz from inside as the front door opened and shut, warm chatter drifting out to them. He wondered, not for the first time, if Sam was working tonight. Maybe not, but probably. And wanting to find out hadn't quite overridden his concern that if he saw her before their date she'd find a way to back out of it, the occasional funny text message notwithstanding.

Still, the thought that she was only feet away was impossible to ignore.

When he turned his attention back to his friends, though, Jake could see he was in the minority.

“I don't feel like looking at art,” Thea said stiffly, and in an instant, Jake knew she'd already heard who was working there. His visions of some sort of pleasant reconciliation, vague though they were, started crumbling around him. In the empty place they'd left behind, annoyance bloomed.

“I didn't feel like looking at ceramic pumpkins with weird faces on them,” Jake replied. “You didn't hear me complaining. Come on. I haven't been in here before.”

There was a flicker of temper across Thea's face, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She could be a sweetheart, Jake thought, but he'd seen the flip side of that, too. He just ignored it when it wasn't directed at him . . . which was almost always. It bothered him even less than he might have imagined to take some heat now. She'd get over it.

“Fine,” Thea said stiffly. “Just for a few minutes, though. They've got drink specials at the Tavern, and I'd rather be having a half-price beer than staring at some cut-rate artist's abstract painting of boobs. This isn't New York City.”

The sharp edge to her words startled him into speech before he could think too much about it. “Jesus, Thea. If you're that excited about parking it at the amazing Harvest Cove Tavern—
again
—go for it. I'm about done for the night anyway.”

She blinked, as though his words didn't quite compute. “What?”

Max puffed up and glared at him, which was the usual progression of things. “What crawled up your ass and died, Jake? She's tired of walking around. I think we all are. You don't have to be a dick about it.”

On a normal night, he would have shrugged it off, made some stupid joke, and they would have gone on with their plans at the Tavern. But on a normal night he wouldn't have made an issue of going into Two Roads in the first place. This was a just-for-fun night. He was happy as long as he was occupied and in good company.

He was now tired of being occupied, and the company was quickly headed south. Now he remembered why he'd begged off last month's First Friday and watched a movie with Fitz, the only member of their usual crew who was missing tonight. Fitz had gotten awfully good at going missing when he felt like it . . . which was increasingly often.

Since that never seemed to elicit more than grumbling from one or two people, Jake thought, maybe he should ask for pointers.

“If my wanting to do something different upsets you, go for it,” Jake said, putting up his hands as he took a couple of steps back and then turned around. “I'll be in here getting warm. See you guys later.”

There was a weight off his chest the second he turned around, so sudden it surprised him. It shouldn't have
been a big deal. He was ditching a night at the bar for an art gallery, which sounded a lot nobler before you factored in Sam. Still, the fact that he didn't feel much but relief was a warning sign he couldn't ignore. He'd always been easygoing off the field—and these days, out of the office—unless it was something he felt strongly about. But that didn't equal pushover. Never had.

He guessed it was time for a reminder.

Jake walked away, turning onto the walk up to the gallery's front door without bothering to look back. He could feel their eyes on him, and their surprise. He heard a muttered, “Screw this. I'm freezing,” then rapid footfalls, and Ryan fell into step beside him. Jake half expected to see Kallie too, but it was quickly apparent that she'd chosen Thea this time around. Another old, hard-to-break pattern. Tonight, he was grateful for it.

Ryan shot a look at him. “You in a bad mood?” he asked.

“Nope,” Jake replied. “Just want to see something beautiful.”

There was a soft chuckle. “I guess I heard something about that.”

Jake turned his head to look at his friend curiously. “So are you really that cold or do you actually want to look at art?” he asked. Ryan was a former baseball player who taught history and coached at the high school now. He wasn't necessarily someone you'd expect to discover in a gallery, but then again, Jake thought, still mulling the ugly reactions of the friends now walking away from them, it was possible to discover new things about people you'd known for years. Or at least, it was possible to find things you'd willfully overlooked.