I frowned. “That’s smart and very kind of you. Thank you for being so protective of your customers.”
It was her turn to blink. “Are you warming up for her? I have to admit that’s a good line.”
I laughed as I scrawled my cell number on her mailing list signup pad and pushed it toward her. “Tell her my name is Callum. MacGregor,” I added after a second. “I’m twenty-nine, single, and oh, I love vanilla ice cream. I’m staying in town a bit longer.”
Mostly due to her, since my car would be ready in not too long. But I couldn’t just walk—drive—away without making a real effort to find this woman.
Why? Because she has soft lips? Because she can kiss? Because her moan made you want to hear it when she was naked and on top of you?
I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very thankful for my long coat. I hadn’t expected to develop a semi in the middle of Kinleigh’s vintage clothes and home goods shop, but Crescent Cove was turning out to be an experience in a number of ways.
“Maybe you should stop before the ice cream part,” Kinleigh suggested, jotting down what I’d said just the same.
“She’ll know what it means.” Maybe, if I’d pegged her taste correctly.
“If you say so. Now if you’ll excuse me…” She trailed off. “Luna, c’mere a sec.”
A bouncy blond emerged from the back, jingling from her impressive collection of earrings and bracelets. “Sure thing, boss. What’s up?”
Kinleigh unbuttoning her blouse was my cue to split. “Thanks again,” I said before heading out. “Tell her to call day or night,” I added just before I closed the door behind me.
Way to sound desperate.
I glanced up and down the block. I wasn’t even certain I could recognize her in the daylight. Her hair had seemed pinkish in the dark. But I didn’t know if it was straight or curly, since she’d had it in braids.
Hell, for all I knew, she’d run because she was dating someone. Or engaged. Or married. Maybe she’d done both of us a favor, and I’d just have to chalk it up to a good moment not meant to be repeated.
A great moment.
Feeling moronic, I wrapped the red scarf I still carried around my neck. Then I lifted the fringes to my nose and took a long sniff. Not even the faintest scent of vanilla. Nothing but cold, crisp air singeing off my nose hairs.
I didn’t have a clue how to spend the day. My Christmas shopping for my family and Bryce and a few other friends had all been done before November 1st. I wasn’t one for putting things off. But my mom might enjoy a trinket I found in one of the shops here.
Just give her the scarf. Pretty sure it’s cashmere.
Nah, I’d just bide my time there.
I wandered in and out of a few shops. I found a kitten sun-catcher in one of them with a lake motif that I thought my mom might like in the dead of winter. A cat steering a boat was kind of weird, but she had a wacky enough sense of humor to appreciate it.
Then I took a walk near the water. Last night, I’d gotten a few clothes at a funky store called Vintage December so that I wouldn’t have to wear the same outfit today and possibly tomorrow. Most of them were back at my room, but my messenger bag was still bulging from the sweater I’d brought with me for the day. The button-down was soft and a hell of a lot nicer than most of the things in my closet. I’d dropped a few hundred dollars in that shop since I hadn’t exactly been prepared for an impromptu vacation in a lakeside town that had to be at least ten degrees colder than Syracuse.
After I shrugged on the cardigan, I closed my bag. The army green fabric was covered in old stamps in faded ink along with hand-sewn patches from all sorts of random cities in New York. I wondered if Crescent Cove had a patch I could add to my collection.
Maybe I’d have more interest in browsing later. For now, I was shopped out.
On my way back to the bed and breakfast, when I was shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk with the midday shopping crowd—and yes, apparently the holiday festival was still in progress, judging from the amount of signs—I caught sight of a small art shop tucked beside the library. It was obviously new, and when I stepped inside, there were still dropcloths all over the floor.
“We aren’t open yet, sorry,” a woman on a stepladder called out.
Though it wasn’t in my nature to be rude, I’d noticed two things I needed. I grabbed the sketch pad off an easel and plucked a hunk of charcoal out of a cup. “I have to have these. Name your price.”
Her laugh was as airy as the windchimes tinkling from the eaves. “Well, seeing as you’re my very first sale and I intend on framing that dollar, I won’t overcharge you. But I’m really not open yet. I don’t even have the register online.”
“How’s fifty bucks for you to frame?” I was already prying out my wallet. If I’d ever needed the supplies more, I couldn’t remember it. “Extra because you’re really helping me out of a jam with these.”
“Sold.” She held out a hand, and I gave her the money. Rings winked on every finger. “You’re not spending your last dollar for those, are you? Here, let me get you a bag.”
“No, I have a few left. Thanks.” I let her take my purchases and put them in a paper sack before returning them to me. Then I slid my items into the messenger bag I’d grabbed from my car before turning it over to Dare.
True to her word, she slipped my money into a small frame she had waiting before hanging it on a hook on the wall. “There. Every Line A Story is officially in business. Thank you. I hope you’ll come back when we’re open for real in a couple weeks.” She turned back and dusted her hand on her hip. “I’m Colette.”
“Callum. Nice to meet you. Afraid I don’t live here or travel this way, but I wish you all the luck.”
She smiled, her long brown hair ponytail slipping over her shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Inwardly, I sighed. If only I’d met her the day before. Now my head was full of possibly pink hair and unforgettably soft lips.
I nodded to her and went back outside, taking a bracing breath of the crisp, water-tinged air. At least the snow had stopped, although the slate gray sky warned it wouldn’t be long.
We’d just see how long I would get.
I crossed the street and got lucky with a bench near the lake, just beyond the bulk of the festival mayhem. Even on the gloomy day, the small lapping waves of the lake glittered.
A giant snow globe had been set up near the shore. Fake snow whirled inside as children leaped around like little maniacs. I hoped the structure didn’t take flight in the wind, but it seemed securely tethered.
If not, Sheriff Unfriendly would have something else to grouse about.
Christmas carols played brightly from unseen speakers, and the scent of real roasted chestnuts carried on the air. I drew in deeply and considered making a lunch of them—after I worked on my sketch.
I dug out my newest acquisitions from my bag and flipped to the first page in the pad. I skated my fingertips over the fine weave of the paper. It wasn’t super high-end, but there was nothing like the promise of a fresh start.
Perhaps that was what Crescent Cove could be for me too. Even if I hadn’t realized I was searching for one.