I side-stepped her weed missile. “Come on, you have to admit that playing music for plants is a little ridiculous.”
Shay huffed. “It’s scientifically proven to help them grow. There’s also been research that if you say nice things to them, they’ll do better.”
“That’s what you were doing when I came back from the shed, wasn’t it?”
She blushed. “It doesn’t hurt to tell them what a good job they’re doing.”
I wanted to scoop Shay up and steal away back to the house for an hour or two. She was just too adorable. I needed to lose myself in that for a while. But when I looked around at the mess that was the garden, I knew I’d be shot down. We’d moved into what Shay had deemed her gardening months, and everything else came second.
I kneeled and began searching for weeds. “Where’d you hear this stuff about music and sweet nothings for plants, anyway?”
Shay smiled. “Evergreen. She knows a ton about that stuff. And when I was drowning, not sure if I could handle this job, she walked me through a lot of things.”
“Has she agreed to come and visit?” I was more than a little curious to meet the woman who had helped Shay so much over the years.
“She said things are too busy at work right now, but maybe in a couple of weeks.” Shay rested back on her heels. “You know you can go paint, right?”
My fingers were itching to get something down on paper or canvas. I hadn’t done nearly enough of it over the past few weeks. And whenever that happened, I got twitchy. “I’m fine.”
She gave me a pointed stare. “Whoever it was is long gone. You know we’re safe.”
It had been three weeks since Shay had discovered the body on the dock. We’d been on high alert for days afterwards. But then another victim killed in a similar fashion to one of my older paintings had been found on the mainland. And just yesterday, a body had been discovered over the border in Oregon.
It should’ve eased something in me to know that he or she was moving farther and farther away. But it hadn’t. Everyone was still on edge. Constantly looking around for an unfamiliar face.
Shay sighed and moved closer to me. “Brody. I need you to go paint. At some point, we have to get back to normal. You can’t stay with me every moment of every day.”
She was right, of course. But when I thought about having Shay out of sight, something in my chest squeezed painfully. “You’ll just be in the garden?”
She leaned over and brushed her mouth against mine. “I’ll be right here. If I see anything even remotely out of the ordinary, I’ll scream my head off.”
“We need a dog,” I muttered. “A big, scary dog.” An almost wistful expression flashed across Shay’s face. “You want a dog?”
“I only had a pet once growing up.” Everything in her posture closed down. “It didn’t work out well.”
God, I wanted to hurt her brother. Even though I knew it wasn’t entirely his fault, I couldn’t help the rage that pounded through me. “But now you’d like one?”
“I’ve always wanted a dog. I kept saying ‘maybe one day.’ But I’m not really hiding anymore, am I?”
“No, you’re not.” Hair had fallen loose from her braid, and I tucked a strand behind her ear. “I bet there’s an animal rescue or something on one of these islands.”
The golden flecks in Shay’s eyes seemed to sparkle in the late-morning light. “There’s one on Shelter.”
My lips twitched. “You’ve already done your research, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s go this weekend. But no purse dogs.” We needed something that could actually be an early warning system.
Shay laughed. “Even you have limits?”
“Damn straight.” And a yapping fluff ball was one of them.
She kissed me long and slow. “Love you. Even if you don’t want me to get a purse dog.”
“Glad to hear it.”
She gave me a little shove. “Now go paint me something beautiful. I’ll meet you at the house at noon for lunch.”
I pushed to my feet, trying to ignore the twinge in my chest as I walked away. “Yell if you hear or see anything. Even if you think it’s just a critter.”
“Even if I think it’s a baby bunny,” she promised.
I didn’t let myself look back as I made my way to the studio. I was afraid if I did, I wouldn’t leave. But Shay was right. We had to get back to normal eventually. And the longer I was on high alert, the harder it would be to let those instincts go.
So, I forced myself to the blank canvas in the center of my studio. It didn’t take long for me to lose myself in the creation of something new. In Shay in her garden, singing to her plants. I was so consumed with the new piece that I jumped when my cell phone rang.
I snapped off my gloves and crossed to the table where my phone rested. I hit accept, and Carson’s face filled the screen. “You’re in the studio. Does that mean you’re painting again?”
“I’ve got pieces piling up.”
“You ready to show me?”
“Not quite yet.” After everything that had happened these past few months, I wasn’t ready to show anyone besides Shay a damn thing.
“That artist’s temperament is back,” Carson chided.
I scowled at Carson through the screen. “I don’t have an artist’s temperament.” I’d seen some artists pull some ridiculous stunts over the years—pitching fits, going to extremes for privacy, the list went on and on. I was pretty damn normal on that scale.
“All right, all right. You’re very well-adjusted. Feel better?”
“I do, thank you. Now, what’s up?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to meet Shay for lunch in fifteen minutes.”
Carson waggled his eyebrows. “Shay, huh? How’s my little caretaker doing, anyway?”
I let out a noise that sounded a whole lot like a growl. “She’s not your caretaker.”
A huge grin spread across his face. “Holy shit. You’re in love. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“We aren’t talking about this.”
“Fine. But get your caretaker and come to Seattle this weekend. It’s the unveiling of my installation. It would mean a lot to have you here.”
“Of course.” I’d been a crappy friend over the past year. It was a hell of a way to repay a person who’d always been there for me. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve been working on.”
Carson’s mouth twisted into some sort of grimace. “It’s nothing compared to what you can create, but I’m starting to find my way.”
“Don’t be dumb. Your work is amazing.”
Carson was always the toughest grader on his creations. The art world could go crazy for something, but he would still find parts that weren’t up to his standards.
“We’ll see,” he muttered. “Go have lunch with your girl. And text me when you know you’re getting into town.”
“Will do.” I hit end and headed for the main house. A trip to Seattle might be just what Shay and I needed. A true getting back to life and moving on. Eventually, the FBI would catch the copycat killer. And at some point, Michael would likely go back to jail or to a psychiatric hospital. We needed to move forward in spite of it all.