“Why?” His voice was sharper than he intended.
“Because I like her. And I’m glad you gave in to Brookie’s pleading and offered to donate one of your carvings. I hate how you keep all of your beautiful art tucked away in your workshop.”
“Can we not discuss this, Megs?”
“Not discuss Amanda or not discuss your art?”
“Both. Let’s not discuss either one.”
Megan leaned forward, ignoring his remark. “I think it’s great that Amanda is jumping in to help make sure the festival happens this year.”
“I thought we weren’t talking about Amanda.”
“No,youthought we weren’t talking about you.I’mtalking about her. You should be friendlier toward her.”
“I’m friendly,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Megan laughed. “As if. And you barely said a word during dinner.”
“The three of you had enough words for everyone.”
His gruff, defensive manner didn’t fool her. She reached out and gently touched his arm. “Connor, I don’t know why you act like this. All gruff and grumpy. Because you’re really not like that. You’re kind and generous. Or you used to be before you decided to become this reclusive artist.”
He sighed. So much for not talking about his art, either. “I just like my solitude, Megs. Like to work alone. And… well, I’m pretty much done with showing my artwork. I can’t believe I gave in to Brooklyn. Those eyes of hers. Who can say no to them? And I felt like if I said no, I would be personally responsible if she didn’t get to see her fireworks.”
“You would have been.” Megan’s lips twitched as she tried to hide her smile.
“I just hope they raise enough, or it all will be for nothing.”
Megan’s eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand. “You know, Connor, someday you’re going to have to get over it and put it behind you.”
He looked at her for a long moment, hesitating before answering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But, of course, he did. But they sure weren’t going to talk aboutthat. Not now. Not ever.
CHAPTER 12
Amanda wrestled with the folding table, huffing in frustration as she tried to get it set up where Beverly had made space for her. But no matter what she did, the fourth leg stubbornly refused to open. Her cheeks flushed with exertion and annoyance, and she just barely restrained herself from kicking the exasperating thing. She didn’t know if she was annoyed more at the table itself or at Connor for the way he’d acted so dismissively and cold toward her last night. The man had an uncanny ability to infuriate her.
Stepping back, she took a deep breath and then turned her attention back to the table, determined to conquer the thing one way or another.
She looked up in surprise to see Connor standing before her, hands causally tucked into the pockets of his well-worn shorts, watching her. “Need help?”
Before she could answer, he reached down and flicked the lever—the very same one she’d been messing with for over five minutes—with a deft movement. With a smooth pull, the last leg opened obediently. He flipped the table over and set it in place effortlessly.
“How’d you do that? I’ve been working on it forever,” she blurted out, unable to hide her exasperation.
“I pushed the lever?” he answered matter-of-factly.
“I did too. But it wouldn’t open for me.” She stepped back and crossed her arms defensively. “Anyway, thanks for the help,” she added, not wanting to sound ungrateful.
Then he reached behind him and retrieved a carving from a table near them. “Here.”
He thrust it into her hands. She caught her breath as she examined it carefully, turning it this way and that. Two doves sat on a curved magnolia branch. Their feathers were meticulously carved with intricate detail. A delicate magnolia blossom adorned the branch, its petals unfurling with lifelike grace. “Connor, it’s beautiful.” Her fingers traced the smooth contours of the wood.
He shrugged again, his expression nonchalant. “Just a little something for the fundraiser since I promised Brooklyn.”
“Well, thank you. This will really help.”
“I doubt it helps much.” He dismissed her gratitude with a wave of his hand.
