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Chapter Three

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Jonathan didn’t slam the second drink as quickly as the first, and by number three, he was willing to nurse it. The liquor seeped into the cracks of sympathy that formed when Bailey broke down, and helped him find his balance again.

The wind howled through the trees. Small branches banged into the building, but no rain fell. As long as the gusts died by morning, he’d be back to his hotel, catching up on work, and riding out this auction thing from a location where the roads didn’t randomly close and he didn’t have to worry about being caught in a hurricane.

He watched Bailey watch her cup. What was he supposed to say?

“She was really proud of you.” Bailey broke the silence first. “Bragged to everyone who would listen about how brilliant and successful her grandson was.”

He took another swallow of his drink and let it warm his face and throat.

She clinked the ice inside her glass. “She only had one fear for you—she was terrified you’d turn out like your dad.”

“A humorless fuck, who let his ego drive him into failure and shut down because he made a mistake?”

“At least the two of you are as close as ever.” Bailey’s laugh was sarcastic. “But no. She was worried you spent too much time working. That you’d lose track of life and the things you enjoyed.”

“What I enjoy is the job I built for myself. I’m fucking incredible at it, and I’ve always known it takes long hours. I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Which is why your phone is on the table next to you. I was gone for... ten minutes? Fifteen? Did it give you time to check in? Sorry. I didn’t mean to be snippy.”

This wasn’t pleasant reminiscing about the good things, and he wanted to enhance the buzz of liquor, not destroy it. “What about you?” He kept his tone curious and kind. “Appraisal and auction is specialized work. Not quite Indiana Jones, but I see the parallels.” When she was younger, she wanted to be a world-renowned archaeological adventurer.

He missed the fun they had when they were teenagers. The thought hit him hard. Not just the wild, unattainable dreams, but the friendship. Would they ever be able to find that again? The question came from left field, but he liked the sound of it. This felt like a good start, but it was rocky. Every other sentence, he misstepped.

“No, it’s not the same. But I see more variety in the antiques than your standard archaeologist, and there’s a lot less risk of me breaking something before it’s completely unearthed.”

“I bet you’re amazing at what you do.” This was better. He liked the way a smile lingered on her face.

She tugged on her ponytail, a sparkle dancing in her eyes. “I like to think I’m good at spotting both the valuable antiques and the things that have sentimental value—the art that fills people’s hearts with passion. I...” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah.”

Curious. “What aren’t you saying?”

“So much more than we have time for tonight.” She knocked back the rest of her drink. “That’s a big question.”

“I’ll be more specific. What aren’t you saying about the art?”

“It’s silly.”

There was a crash outside, and they both jumped. Gusts whistled against the wood siding. She laughed and shook her head. “You’d think I’d be used to the thunder and other sounds by now. Gets me every time. Probably for the rest of my life.”

“I promise not to laugh.” He didn’t want to lose this thread of conversation. “You’ve always wanted to discover the rare and the beautiful and share them with the world. Is that what your job is about?”

“It’s exactly that, and not at all in the way you’d think.” She fiddled with the whiskey bottle but didn’t pour another shot.

Silence stretched between them, spanning seconds and then minutes. He didn’t want to jar her from wherever she had drifted to.

She shook her head and looked at him. “I want to uncover new talent, not antiques. There’s a gallery on Main Street. I help move some of their pieces when I can. The owner is sweet—I adore her—but she’s selling the place, to move to North Carolina and take care of her father, rather than put him in a nursing home. I know it’s whimsical, but I wish I could buy it. Fill it with talent from everywhere.”

“It’s a lovely dream. You know places like that rarely make much money.”

She scowled at him. “Not everything is about the cash flow.”

“An investment like buying an art gallery is.” He didn’t want to offend her, but the thought of her wasting her time on a venture that would leave her broke... How could he explain his concern?

The doorbell rang, saving him from having to push the harsh truth. He stood faster than he intended, and his chair screeched across the Spanish tile. He cringed. “That’s probably Greg’s. Be right back.”

Bailey’s frustrated and wounded expression drilled into his mind, as he made his way into the living room and answered the door. The kid outside winced against the wind and thrust a paper bag at Jonathan as soon as the opening was wide enough. “Eight sixty-two,” the teenager said.

Jonathan glanced at the delivery and set it aside. “For milk and two sandwiches?”

“Yes. Eight sixty-two.”

Cheap food. One thing to love about the small-town feel. Jonathan pulled a twenty from his wallet and handed it over. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, man.” The boy’s smile made it look as if the tip was worth braving the storm for. He bolted back to the rusted hatchback parked next to Jonathan’s rental.

Jonathan was about to turn back inside, when a ball of white fluff darted between his legs, shot across the porch, and disappeared around the side of the house. “Lucifer.” The wind swallowed his shout. Though it was barely seven in the evening, the clouds swallowed the sun, making it look like the sun had set.

“What happened?” Bailey asked.

He whirled to face her. “Cat ran outside.” He hissed as he looked at the raging weather. “I’m going to go find her.”

“Wait.” Bailey vanished into the kitchen. Things rattled. Drawers and cabinet doors opened and closed. A moment later, she returned with a flashlight in one hand and a bag of—Jonathan squinted—cat treats in the other. She handed him the flashlight. “Let’s go.”

He secured the front door behind her, then shone the light on the ground, following the path he saw the animal take. “Don’t suppose you know if she has a favorite hiding place?”

“Under the rose bushes around back. C’mon, pretty Luci.” She rattled the treat bag and called out every few seconds, as she walked next to Jonathan.

As Bailey predicted, Lucifer waited behind the house, cowering under a bush. Her ears were pressed back against her head, eyes wide and body flat against the ground. She didn’t come when called, but she also didn’t run.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Jonathan crouched low and approached her slowly, hand outstretched. The cat relaxed and twitched her nose. “That’s right.” He handed the flashlight to Bailey, and then dropped to his knees. Maybe he was going to too much trouble for a fucking cat, but he couldn’t leave her outside in this kind of weather. He got close enough to touch her and let her sniff his fingers. Perfect. With a twist, he grabbed for the scruff of her neck.

She jerked out of his grasp and bolted again.

“God damn it.” He rocked back onto his heels with a frustrated sigh, trying to ignore the mud staining his slacks.

*

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THE SHARP WIND WAS stealing Bailey’s buzz almost as quickly as Jonathan’s disdain did, when she told him about her dream. Fortunately, the Jack lingered in her veins and chased away the chill, and once they got back inside, another shot or two would numb the sting of the interrupted conversation. She didn’t know whether to tease him or offer sympathy for his dirt streaked clothing. He was searching for Luci though, and that earned him several stars in the maybe some of my friend is still in there column in her mind.

A door slammed into stone, and then rattled back and forth, causing her to squeal and jump. She covered her mouth, embarrassed at the reaction.

“Cellar?” Jonathan asked.

“Probably.”

“What are the odds the cat’s down there?”

“Depends on if this is a coincidence, or the gods just want to make me squirm.” She gave him a nervous smile. The house had an outdoor cellar that had given her the creeps for as long as she could remember. She and Jonathan followed the cement steps down to the wooden door that rattled in the wind. Beyond that lay stone walls and wooden shelves. Once upon a time, they were full of canned goods the local people gave Nana as thank-you gifts for various things. Over the last few years, she’d worked to get rid of most of the stock and empty the room.

Bailey swung the beam of the flashlight, and it caught the shelves, casting tall shadows on the far wall. “Yup. Still freaking creepy.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” Jonathan said in an artificially loud baritone. “As long as there are no spiders.” He rested a hand at the small of her back and nudged her forward. The warmth of his palm seared through her shirt and calmed her more than she wanted.

A hiss drew her attention, and she pointed the light toward the sound. Luci crouched on the top of a shelf, a few feet away, next to a bowl. “Come here, princess,” Bailey cooed.

The cat flattened her ears and bared her teeth, then leapt. Her tail caught the bowl, sending it tumbling down on top of Jonathan and soaking him with rancid water. Luci landed on Bailey’s shoulder and allowed herself to be cradled.

“Fucking hell.” Jonathan grimaced and shook away the foul-smelling liquid.

This time Bailey couldn’t hide her laugh. “I’m sorry.” She sounded anything but. “I shouldn’t.”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “You should. And we should get back inside, so I can rinse this off. Ugh.”

The moment they were in the house, Lucifer hopped from Bailey’s arms and disappeared somewhere in the house. Bailey took the opportunity to survey the true damage. Jonathan’s hair held a green tinge in places and was plastered to his head. His shirt was half drenched. Mud and slime caked his slacks. But at least he’d stopped dripping between the cellar and here.

“You know what sucks the most about this?” he asked.

She shook her head, another bout of giggles threatening to burst out of her.

“My luggage is back at the hotel. If I were at home, at least I’d have a gym bag in the car.”

She was tempted to tell him he was welcome to roam the house naked, but she needed more liquor in her system for that. “Go take a shower, leave your stuff outside the bathroom, and I’ll toss whatever’s not dry-clean only in the wash. I’ll find you a bathrobe or sweats or something.”

“Nana was six inches shorter than me.”

“I’m sure one of her guests left clothing here. Or I can run back into town and grab you some shorts and a T-shirt from a gift shop.”

He twisted his mouth, as if he didn’t agree. After a few seconds hesitation, he turned toward the stairs. “We both know nothing’s open here after eight, except the diner. If you find me clothes here, I’ll be eternally grateful.”

She grabbed his clothes when he handed them through the bathroom door, tossed them in the washing machine, then went in search of something for him to wear. After a lot of digging, she found a couple of long nightgowns, a satin robe that was meant to reach mid-thigh, and a couple pairs of terrycloth shorts. She’d let him make the decision.

“Bailey?” His voice carried down the corridor. “Clothes?”

She set the stack in the hand he stretched out through the crack in the bathroom door. He closed the door, and seconds later she heard, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I couldn’t find anything else.”

“Figures. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be out.”

While she waited, she put away the milk—someone really needed to clean that fridge—set the sandwiches out on plates, and poured them each another drink. Hinges creaked behind her. She set down the bottle of Jack and turned, curious to see which option he went with and prepared to stifle a laugh.

The footsteps on the second floor moved away from her, and she frowned. Silence settled in. Should she call out? He probably wanted to see what he could scrounge for himself. Before she could decide what to do next, the stairs creaked. Seconds later, he stepped into the dining room doorway, a paisley sheet wrapped around him like a toga.

He leaned against the wall, the position elongating his frame, and wiggled his eyebrows. “You think I can start a new fashion trend?”

“If your target audience is frat boys. Speaking of—I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone actually wear a sheet-toga. Where did you learn that?”

“I was a frat boy. Shall we?” He nodded at the food.

They settled at the table and ate in silence. She wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand, she’d love to find that pleasant balance of fun and banter they used to have. That same feeling that peeked its head up a few times this afternoon. She didn’t want to hit one of those snags, where something set either him or her off, though. “I wonder why Nana never mentioned you still wrote to her.” She hid her wince. That was anything but a neutral topic.

He met her gaze for a moment, expression flat. He’d always had a brutal poker face. “Maybe she assumed it was a given.”

“You said mail. Like handwritten letters and such?” Why was she pushing this?

“With real stamps and real ink and real paper.”

“Hmm.” Bailey couldn’t come up with anything better.

Jonathan studied her. “I’m sorry about what happened with Danny.”

The name curdled in her gut, and she set her food aside in favor of another drink. “How much do you know?” Betrayal gnawed at her. She’d asked Nana to keep the details private. The entire town knew about the divorce, but Bailey couldn’t stand the thought of the whispers she’d hear if they knew why. It was worse with Jonathan, though. He’d tried to warn her. Pleaded with her not to marry the asshole. And she told him he was jealous.

But he’d been right. The cheating would have been enough, but there was so much more to it than he guessed. The verbal abuse. The way Danny made her doubt herself. His suicide threats. The bankruptcy she was still paying for... The one thing she could thank her ex for was she knew better than to get involved now. Flings on the mainland were easy—no heartbreak, no having to see their faces the morning after. The way life should be.

“Not a lot. Just that it ended badly and you were coping,” Jonathan said.

The reality pushed at her lips, wanting to spill out, but she washed it down with another drink. This wasn’t the night for confessions. “Exactly. And thank you.” She braced herself for more questions. Or pity. Or at least an I told you so.

“She never mentioned Lucifer.” He didn’t flinch, as he slid to a new topic.

Gratitude spilled through Bailey. “Luci’s only been here about six months. Showed up on the porch one day. Maybe a tourist left her behind; we don’t know. But she pretty much invited herself in and never left. What have you been up to? Nana bragged a lot, but never gave more details than you’re a big, important executive for some technology something or other.” Bailey also knew he paid his way through college with day-trading investments. Even as a teenager, he had a scary-good knack for buying and selling at the right time. An eye for numbers, trends, and how business decisions impacted both. He refused to go into brokerage though, because he wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.

“Well”—he refilled both their glasses—“I was, until about six months ago. I’ve got a handful of partners now, and we invest in businesses that might not find funding elsewhere.”

Angel investors. That sounded almost selfless and sweet. The whiskey drilled into her head, making everything a little more sparkly. “Do you keep in touch with the rest of your family?”

“You know I don’t. But this evening isn’t about me. You said Nana was there for you when no one else was. I understand it went both ways. Thank you for that.”

She ducked her head, not sure if the heat scorching her cheeks was embarrassment for the recognition, or because of the drinking. His comment from earlier, about Nana never hinting something was wrong, rushed back. “She wasn’t sick, you know. She had the normal aches and pains that come with age, but nothing else. There was nothing you could have done for her, even if you were here.”

When he smiled, lines of tension vanished from his forehead. He really was sexy, ridiculous sheet not-withstanding. If they didn’t have the shared past—if he were a random stranger, instead of her childhood friend—she’d consider hooking up for the night. Then again, he’d be gone as soon as the roads opened. What made him any less temporary than the next guy? Lingering traces of his warm touch teased her. The comfort when he held her. The power in his grip.

They ate and drank and glossed over the details of their lives since they last saw each other. By the time they moved to the living room, the bottle of Jack was almost empty. A pleasant haze clouded her thoughts, and every other thing either of them said made her giggle.

He settled on the couch. “Is the storm clearing up enough for me to escort you home?”

“You’re not driving.” She took the spot next to him.

“I’ll walk you there, then.”

She straddled his legs and wrapped her arms around his neck. A tiny voice in the back of her head asked what she was doing, but the whiskey and the wind drowned it out. “You’re such a gentleman,” she said.

He rested a hand at the back of her neck, holding her head, and searched her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Not thinking.” She crashed her mouth down on his. When he didn’t respond, ice filled her veins, but then he tightened his grip, and kissed back hard and hungrily.

This might be the biggest mistake she’d made... On second thought, nothing could top the disaster that was her marriage, and God, he felt good beneath her.