It felt natural bumping into Clint, walking and talking, assuming they’d spend time together. She had a feeling she’d miss him when he returned home tomorrow night.
“Brewster figures we can do it tonight after supper. I still think it would look good with some original art on it.”
“Flames?”
Clint chortled. The scooter had been speedier than she’d assumed, but not so much she felt flames fit its character. He pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and began scrolling through pictures before showing her a close-up of a spot on the front wind guard.
They stopped walking, Clint’s shoulder brushing hers. “We’re thinking we could paint a little scene below the headlight.”
“That could be nice.”
“We just aren’t sure what would look good and appeal to many.” He put his phone away.
“You don’t have much time to paint something like that.” They were five days out from the gala, and Clint had only another twenty-four hours in Indigo Bay.
He shrugged. “That’s Brewster’s job. I’ll help as much as I can, but bodywork’s not my specialty.”
“You should stay longer and help him.”
“Yeah?”
She lifted a shoulder, trying to look casual. “Sure.”
“Say I managed to take a few more days away from my shop…” His eyes lingered on her face. “What would a guy like me do around here for that long?”
“I’m sure you could think of something.” She patted his arm and began walking again.
“You fly straight to Dallas on Friday morning?”
She nodded. Brant would pick her up at the Dallas airport on his way to the high school state championship game. She’d ride home to Sweetheart Creek with him afterward.
“So if I moved my flight, we’d have a few days to get into trouble?” Clint rubbed his hands together as if plotting something evil.
“I’m helping with gala prep.”
“Oh?”
“I’m doing some running around and crafty stuff.”
“You craft?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“And that’ll keep you busy all day, every day, until Friday?”
She smiled.
“It won’t. You’re going to be bored. You were bored during your retirement and the idea of being stuck alone all day with nothing to do has you breaking out in hives.” He grabbed her arm and pushed up her sweatshirt sleeve, making her squeal. “Yup. As I suspected. Hives.”
She checked her arm. Clear of any kind of rash. “No hives.”
“I am hereby reporting for duty and will extend my stay to keep you healthy and safe from more hives.”
She laughed.
“Hives are very serious business, Maria.”
“You can’t neglect your business because I might get bored, Clint!” She pressed a hand against his forearm and he crooked it, tucking her arm so it was hooked in his. She leaned against him slightly as they walked, and he did the same.
“If I stay will you paint something on the scooter for us?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“No time.”
“That’s not the actual issue.”
Maria felt a jolt of surprise, at his mildly stated, but firm disagreement. She took a second look at Clint.
He seemed amused. “You’re not used to people challenging you, hanging on your every word, spoken or unspoken.” He had a teasing glint in his eyes and she narrowed her own.
“As a matter of fact, people don’t mess with me.”
He gave a long, deep bow. “Forgive me, my queen.”
Some joggers turned to take a second look as they went past.
Maria laughed self-consciously. “Unbend your spine, you silly old man.”
He placed a hand on his back and groaned. “I’m stuck!”
She squeezed his arm, her amusement becoming concern. “You are not.”
He grinned and straightened. “Anyway, I thought we weren’t old? Weren’t in our golden years yet?”
“Do you remember everything I say?”
“Yes.”
Well, that could be a problem. He was going to hold her to things she wasn’t sure she was ready to be held to.
“How about this?” Clint asked, draping an arm across her shoulders as he led her toward a stand selling roasted nuts. She felt cozy and safe that way, the gesture natural. “You help with the scooter and I’ll help with your crafty stuff. I’ll see if I can stay all the way to Friday and we’ll get into wonderful mischief and run away from home because the ocean keeps calling us.”
She laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“If you can help with crafty stuff, why can’t you paint a scene on the scooter?”
He paid for a bag of warm nuts and offered her first dibs. “Probably because it’ll look like it got splattered on there by a gifted elephant.”
Maria laughed again, the image clear in her mind. “That might work, you know.”
He frowned into the distance. “Weren’t we going to have supper if we bumped into each other tonight?”
“This doesn’t count?” She nudged the bag of nuts.
“Only if you add a corn dog from over there, and a coffee from there.” He pointed to other food stands. “But that’s not—”
“Done deal.”
“—what I had in mind.”
“But it works for me. Doesn’t it work for you?”
He was frowning, his wonderfully dark brown eyebrows knitted together.
“Loosen up, Clint. It’ll be memorable. More so than some burger joint.”
His gaze found hers, his brows relaxing as that warmth reentered his eyes. “Who are you? Where’s Maria Wylder?”
“What?”
“You implied a hodgepodge meal would be more special than a sit-down dinner, and told me to loosen up.”
“So?”
“So?” He looped his arm through hers again. “I like that you want to do special things with me.”
“I’ve decided that a break is what I need, as well as some fun.” She gave him a stern look. “Don’t read into it.”
“I happen to enjoy reading.” He offered her more nuts. “And I like that you’re taking some time for yourself.”
He left it at that as they exited the pier, getting in line at the corn dog stand.
“My treat.”
“Fine.”
“What I was thinking with the scooter painting—since I’m no good at it—was that you would be our Picasso and I would be your minion. I’d bring you coffee and rub the tension from your shoulders.”
“You seem to think I’ve said yes.”
“Haven’t you?”
“No.”
“But didn’t I just agree to move my flight for you, and you said you wanted to take some time for yourself?”
Maria paused. “Yeah, but…”
“I made a promise, Maria. I always keep them. Always.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but couldn’t find a suitable retort.
“Here’s a sample of what my hands can do.” Before she could utter a word, he had spun her around and was deftly kneading knots between her shoulder blades that she had long ago accepted as part of aging. But now, with Clint’s fingers coaxing them to give up their tension, she wondered why she’d never asked a man to give her a back rub before.