“I…” What was he asking? Her mind scrambled as she tried to decipher his question.
“I mean, I like spending time with you. It always seems to go by so quickly.”
“It does.” She nodded, thankful he wasn’t asking her to spend the night. Because she wasn’t ready for that. Not that kind of intimacy. Their connection still felt fragile.
He took her hand and led her back to her cottage. He stood facing her, holding her hands. “Would it be okay…” He paused, looking deep into her eyes. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”
She nodded silently. He lowered his lips to hers, the lightest brush like the flutter of butterfly wings, then pulled away slightly. His intense gaze locked with hers. He dipped his head again and kissed her deeply, a sigh escaping his lips. When he finally pulled away, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest.
Her heart ricocheted, racing a race that had no end. She could feel his heart thrumming against her cheek. After severallong moments that still weren’t long enough, he loosened his embrace and stepped back. He brushed his thumb along her jaw. “Good night, Amanda.”
“Night,” she answered, wondering if he could even hear her words as they drifted off into the night, carried away on the ocean breeze.
CHAPTER 21
Amanda couldn’t get Connor’s kiss out of her mind. Not while she made coffee the next morning. Not while she worked on her to-do list for the festival. Eventually, she surrendered to the persistent thoughts and decided to channel her energy into dinner preparations. She did a quick run to the grocery store to get what she needed to cook for Connor tonight. She’d go ahead and make the mashed potatoes early so she could then fry up the potato pancakes. Rosemary chicken and asparagus would round out the meal. She also bought apples to bake a pie.
She hurried home to get started. Connor’s praise for her peach pie crust came to mind as she mixed the dough and rolled it out. She couldn’t resist adding a touch of artistic flair with a fancy design on the top crust and a cute edging that she had seen while browsing the internet.
She set the table and used some pretty placemats that the owner of her rental had provided. They made her smile, thinking that Brooklyn would like that she had them.
After feeling like she had things under control, she sat down at her computer to work for a bit. She flipped open the top and navigated her inbox, clicking through the emails. She had webalerts set up for Magnolia Key Heritage Festival, and she clicked on an alert to see who had mentioned them.
It was a post on social media. She clicked over to it and started reading. Her breath caught as she scrolled. Desiree had indeed not been impressed with the artwork for the festival and hadn’t minced words. Her heart sank when she read the scathing words the art critic had used to describe Connor’s work. Trite. Similar to a mass-market carving she’d recently seen but admittedly with a nicer piece of wood. Desiree went on to say she hoped the other regional art shows she covered had a higher quality of artwork.
Amanda closed her eyes. She so wanted the festival to be a success. Not so much for her, but for Connor and the entire community. Now with Desiree’s harsh words out there for all to see, she worried about the fallout.
This was not the publicity she’d hoped for. But then she clung to a tiny hope. Maybe no one local would see it? Maybe it would get lost in the vast sea of social media posts? But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was unlikely. In a close-knit community like Magnolia Key, news traveled quickly, and a review like this was bound to make waves.
She straightened in her chair and set her shoulders. She would not let one post on social media derail all the effort she and so many others had put into the festival. She clicked on another alert, her heart sinking when she discovered that a regional paper had shared Desiree’s review on their social media account. That hadn’t taken long…
A wave of guilt swept over her. As the organizer of the event, she couldn’t help but feel responsible. She never should have contacted the art critic. If only she would have let it alone. But she’d been trying so hard to get more publicity for the festival.
Or had she been trying to get some acclaim for all she’d done? For her event-planning skills?The thought taunted her.Was she really that shallow? Had she gotten so used to the frequent accolades for her work that she craved to be noticed for all she’d done for Magnolia? The thought was sobering.
How had she let this happen? How had she let some snobby, big-city critic come and pan the art show? Amanda knew art and firmly believed there was unbelievable talent in the pieces selected for the show. She’d firmly believed that others would see the beauty and value in the work as she did.
So why had Desiree, with her haughty, big-city attitude, been so critical?
Her mind raced with thoughts of damage control. The last thing she wanted was for one critic’s words to overshadow the hard work and dedication the artists had put into their work.
But most of all, she worried about Connor. The idea of him stumbling upon Desiree’s post made her stomach churn. But Connor wasn’t really a social media type guy. There was a good chance he would remain blissfully unaware of Desiree’s harsh words.
She could only hope that this post would fade away as most posts on social media do. And she fervently hoped that Connor never got wind of it.
Connor made his way to the hardware store in town, determined to find some oil to silence the incessant squeaking of the door to his cottage. The sound had been grating on his nerves, and despite his certainty that he had some oil somewhere, it had mysteriously vanished. But he wanted it fixed before Brooklyn showed up with her high energy and her tendency to dart in and out of the cottage.
As he entered the store, he nodded to the store owner—Jake, wasn’t it? Then he surprised himself by speaking aloud. “Afternoon, Jake.”
Jake’s eyebrows lifted, clearly taken aback. “Ah… hi, Connor.”
He couldn’t fault Jake for his surprise. He rarely actually spoke to people when he shopped. He was more of a nodder.
Connor found the oil and went back up front, holding up the oil can. “Squeaky door.”
“Yep, that happens. The salty air seems a bit rough on the hinges.” Jake rang him out, then paused, holding the can mid-air. “Um… sorry about that review of the art show. I think it was pretty harsh. Sounds like it was written by someone who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. I was over at city hall and peeked in where Amanda was storing the artwork. Some pretty impressive pieces in there.”
Connor had no idea what Jake was talking about. What review? And how was there a review when the show hadn’t even happened yet? He’d thought the show was so small and local that it would fly under the radar of any art critics.
