things. Toby reminds me who, what, will get hurt if I tell—
“Doctor Beckett,” she continued, looking into Jeff’s green eyes for courage, “wants us to start animal therapy with his patients.”
He tucked her hand into his elbow. “Lead the way to the kennels, Abby.”
As she looked into his warm smile and twinkling eyes, her heart hammered as her stomach plummeted. Despite her best intentions, Jeff’s name went on her List.
He kept her close throughout the tour, stepping in to ask questions when talking became too much for her. And then they shopped together. It got easier to see people staring. Poor Abby Quinn is all dressed up and has a date.
But she was in borrowed clothes, and he wasn’t a date. He was a security blanket.
When they returned to her booth, every photo had a Sold note stuck in the corner.
“You have an amazing eye and an incredible talent,” Jeff said from behind her.
Her skin heated. Sure everyone complimented her on her photos, but they knew her. He didn’t. And she wasn’t the only talented person in Fiddler. She waved her hand behind her, indicating the stalls they’d worked their way through. “So do they.”
“Not like this.”
No. He didn’t get to belittle the people who’d helped her, who’d taught her to sew or fix her roof. The people who’d hired her to help in storefronts or given her credit when her clients hadn’t paid. She swept her hair over her shoulder, hissing as the necklace pulled the shorter strands tight.
“Stop. Let me.”
She didn’t need his help. He shouldn’t help her.
“Don’t rip it or you’ll hurt yourself. Move your hands.”
Their fingers bumped together, and she recoiled as if he’d burned her. “I’m tougher than I look,” she grumbled.
Tough, sure. That’s why his breath on her skin made her fingers twitch. That’s why so many people close to her had—
“You look beautiful.” He rolled the chain and teased her hair free, his fingers tormenting her until her toes curled.
“Charlene brought me clothes so I could impress Tracy,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“For saving your hair or for the compliment?” he teased.
“Both.”
He rested his hand on the curve her shoulder, keeping her still. It wasn’t necessary. She couldn’t move even if she wanted.
“Why are you pissed at me?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder. He was close enough she could see the sea-green flecks in his irises. “Is their work less pretty because it’s useful?” She nodded down the row, indicating spaces full of pottery, home goods, quilts, jewelry, and clothing. “My work just hangs there.”
“That isn’t true.” Jeff pointed to the one of the gnarled tree. “I could stare at that one for hours. It looks like driftwood, but we’re too far inland. How did its branches get twisted and stripped of their bark? Or this one, where you’ve caught the light as it spills through the fissure and shows off the layers in the stone. What caused it to break? How long had it been whole? And how long did you sit, waiting for the right moment?”
He saw too much. He was the most unmanageable person on her List. She made herself step away from him.
He pursued her, slipping back into place behind her. “But you’re right. I don’t tend to think of functional things as art. Art is in museums or galleries, on the walls.”
Abby shook her head. “Everything is designed by someone.”
“True,” he agreed. “But not everything makes you feel something.”
He pointed to the misty tree. “I’ve watched that same tree emerge from the fog when I’m up early. It makes me peaceful, sort of like a meditation before I start writing. And the fishing one. You caught the exact moment I felt at home here. I hate that someone else bought it.”
“They didn’t,” she whispered. “It’s a gift for you.”
Now he turned her to face him. “You don’t have to do that. I already bought one.” He nodded toward the tree they
“Doctor Beckett,” she continued, looking into Jeff’s green eyes for courage, “wants us to start animal therapy with his patients.”
He tucked her hand into his elbow. “Lead the way to the kennels, Abby.”
As she looked into his warm smile and twinkling eyes, her heart hammered as her stomach plummeted. Despite her best intentions, Jeff’s name went on her List.
He kept her close throughout the tour, stepping in to ask questions when talking became too much for her. And then they shopped together. It got easier to see people staring. Poor Abby Quinn is all dressed up and has a date.
But she was in borrowed clothes, and he wasn’t a date. He was a security blanket.
When they returned to her booth, every photo had a Sold note stuck in the corner.
“You have an amazing eye and an incredible talent,” Jeff said from behind her.
Her skin heated. Sure everyone complimented her on her photos, but they knew her. He didn’t. And she wasn’t the only talented person in Fiddler. She waved her hand behind her, indicating the stalls they’d worked their way through. “So do they.”
“Not like this.”
No. He didn’t get to belittle the people who’d helped her, who’d taught her to sew or fix her roof. The people who’d hired her to help in storefronts or given her credit when her clients hadn’t paid. She swept her hair over her shoulder, hissing as the necklace pulled the shorter strands tight.
“Stop. Let me.”
She didn’t need his help. He shouldn’t help her.
“Don’t rip it or you’ll hurt yourself. Move your hands.”
Their fingers bumped together, and she recoiled as if he’d burned her. “I’m tougher than I look,” she grumbled.
Tough, sure. That’s why his breath on her skin made her fingers twitch. That’s why so many people close to her had—
“You look beautiful.” He rolled the chain and teased her hair free, his fingers tormenting her until her toes curled.
“Charlene brought me clothes so I could impress Tracy,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“For saving your hair or for the compliment?” he teased.
“Both.”
He rested his hand on the curve her shoulder, keeping her still. It wasn’t necessary. She couldn’t move even if she wanted.
“Why are you pissed at me?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder. He was close enough she could see the sea-green flecks in his irises. “Is their work less pretty because it’s useful?” She nodded down the row, indicating spaces full of pottery, home goods, quilts, jewelry, and clothing. “My work just hangs there.”
“That isn’t true.” Jeff pointed to the one of the gnarled tree. “I could stare at that one for hours. It looks like driftwood, but we’re too far inland. How did its branches get twisted and stripped of their bark? Or this one, where you’ve caught the light as it spills through the fissure and shows off the layers in the stone. What caused it to break? How long had it been whole? And how long did you sit, waiting for the right moment?”
He saw too much. He was the most unmanageable person on her List. She made herself step away from him.
He pursued her, slipping back into place behind her. “But you’re right. I don’t tend to think of functional things as art. Art is in museums or galleries, on the walls.”
Abby shook her head. “Everything is designed by someone.”
“True,” he agreed. “But not everything makes you feel something.”
He pointed to the misty tree. “I’ve watched that same tree emerge from the fog when I’m up early. It makes me peaceful, sort of like a meditation before I start writing. And the fishing one. You caught the exact moment I felt at home here. I hate that someone else bought it.”
“They didn’t,” she whispered. “It’s a gift for you.”
Now he turned her to face him. “You don’t have to do that. I already bought one.” He nodded toward the tree they
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