‘Damn,’ Becca groaned. ‘He voluntarily spoke more than two words in the car on the way home today, too. I should’ve known it couldn’t last.’
‘Hang in there. It’s early days.’ Griff’s attempt at positivity did nothing to brighten her grim expression. He’d continued to rock Nora and she’d gone quiet again, staring up at him. It crossed his mind she might find his unusual mismatched eyes fascinating, then told himself not to be silly. From the little he knew about babies, he was pretty sure they couldn’t even focus well at this age.
‘I’ll take her, Griff, and let you get back to work.’ Becca’s weak smile had no effect on the edges of her downturned mouth.
He reluctantly handed Nora over and instantly missed the little girl’s heavy warmth in his arms.
‘Thanks again for rescuing me,’ Lyndsey murmured.
He mouthed the word —tomorrow— over her sister’s shoulder. A flare of happiness shot through him when she nodded back. Griff kept his expression neutral when Becca slid them both a look brimming with curiosity. If the spark of possibility fizzing between he and Lyndsey had the ghost of a chance, then her matchmaking sister needed to be the last to know about it.
Chapter Six
Nerves fluttered in Griff’s stomach. Anyone would think he was fourteen instead of forty. Lyndsey was on her way over to see where he worked — plain and simple — nothing more. But did he want it to be more? He’d tossed and turned all night asking the same question. There’d been a definite connection between them yesterday, but that could’ve been nothing more than friendly empathy.
Today he crawled out of bed with the dawn chorus, making do with a mug of scalding hot black coffee for breakfast before throwing himself straight into work. Once, Griff had tried to explain the multiple steps involved in making one of his stained-glass pieces to Deke and watched his eyes glaze over. To him, though, it wasn’t work, the same as any other job that revolved around someone’s passion. His friend had agreed when Griff asked if creating music was really any different. Composing, rehearsing, pulling together a show — none of those conformed to a nine-to-five, five-days-a-week schedule either.
First on his to-do list was turning the design he’d created on the computer into working pattern pieces. By nine o’clock, he finished copying and tracing the three paper copies needed. Then the ninety-five pieces for the first panel all had to be numbered, a slash line added to indicate the grain direction for each piece of glass, and a color designated from the glass choices he made yesterday to match his vision for the completed panels. Now he was done cutting out the pieces with special pattern shears, an exacting process that took all his concentration. After Lyndsey left, he’d attach the labeled pieces to the appropriate sheet of glass with rubber cement — a simple-sounding process that was far from it. For a start, a typical sheet of glass wasn’t uniform — the color might be more saturated in one part, or a bubble could’ve erupted in another section; any glass artist in tune with their craft used that to their advantage. Then there was the practical placement of pattern pieces so the least amount of expensive glass was wasted. Only when all that was complete did he have the luxury of one of his favorite jobs, actually cutting the glass.
‘Knock, knock, it’s me.’ Lyndsey’s lilting voice trickled in. ‘Is it safe to come into your secret lair?’
‘Yeah, come on in.’ Before Griff had a chance to open the door, she beat him to it and stepped inside. Her sharp green eyes widened with surprise. Instead of throwing a barrage of questions his way, she silently made her way around his workshop, checking everything out. Stopping at the back wall, she studied the finished pieces hanging there.
‘So, I’m taking a wild guess this isn’t another “old-man hobby” you use as a cover for your secretive real life? You’re a dark horse, Griffin Oakes. These are stunning. Why keep quiet about it?’
‘I don’t. Not really,’ he mumbled and rubbed his hands on his jeans, not knowing quite what to do with them. ‘Sit down. Please.’ Griff pulled out a high black leather stool. ‘It’s clean. I haven’t been working with the glass or any lead yet today.’
‘Is that an issue?’
‘Oh, yeah. My first teacher was real strict, and ingrained it in our thick skulls never to cut corners on keeping our work stations clean. We spent a lot of time mopping the floor and wiping down the work surfaces to eliminate glass slivers and lead dust. Dave was a paramedic in his day job and taught us first aid as well, so we’d know what to do when we cut ourselves.’ He chuckled. ‘Notice I said when . . . not if.’
Lyndsey suddenly reached for his hands and the brush of her warm skin against his sent shivers running through him. ‘Now you’ve satisfied my curiosity about these.’ She stroked the mesh of tiny scars that’d become such a part of him, Griff barely noticed them these days. ‘I want to know everything. What did you do before this? How did you become such a talented artist?’ He spotted an unmistakable flare of heat in her dark Caribbean skin. ‘Sorry. Am I being pushy? Becca claims I’ve got no filter.’
Griff smothered his disappointment when she let his hands drop away.
‘When it comes tomybusiness, people pay me extremely well to sort out their homes and work spaces. From day one, I make it clear I’m not going to hold their hands and tiptoe around whatever problems they’ve got.If they can’t handle my forthright style, they need to find someone whose personality matches theirs better.’
‘Does that mean you lose a lot of clients?’
‘Not really, and those I do, it’s the best solution for us both. We obviously wouldn’t have suited, so it would never have worked . . .’ She looked embarrassed. ‘I haven’t given you a chance to answer any of my questions, have I?’
‘No, but that’s okay. You ended up revealing more about you. In my book, there’s nothin’ wrong with being straightforward. I prefer it.’ A wave of shyness overwhelmed him. He wasn’t fond of talking about himself or his work, preferring both to speak for themselves. ‘About five years ago an ex-girlfriend dragged me along to a stained-glass workshop class she’d been given as a birthday present. She hated it. I loved it. I’d never done any sort of art work before, but it felt right, if that makes sense?’
‘Absolutely. I was an accountant — a good one — but that was always just a job.’
‘Yeah, mine was too, although I hadn’t realized it at that point. Watching the teacher turn pieces of colored glass into pictures only he could see in his head blew my mind. I’ll show you the first piece I made one day. I’ve got it hanging in the house.’ He grinned. ‘It’s pretty bad, but if I’m having a down day, it reminds me how far I’ve come. What about you? What steered you towards home organization?’
It wasn’t hard to get caught up in her enthusiasm as she explained about a Japanese woman who started a movement celebrating a minimalist approach to life. ‘That was my light-bulb moment. I adapted Marie Kondo’s way to be less strict, although when I told Becca that once, she roared with laughter. She thinks I’m directly descended from Attila the Hun when it comes to doing things a particular way.’ Lyndsey shrugged. ‘Anyway, tell me more about how you got from beginners’ classes to this.’
‘Every spare minute I wasn’t working, I took more classes to grow my skills. I started selling a few pieces at craft fairs and picked up my first commission for one of the fancy McMansions in Brentwood — that’s a wealthy area not far from here, with massive showy homes screaming money. The business mushroomed and I didn’t have enough hours in the day, or space in my head, for all I wanted to do. So I chucked in my job.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Senior manager in a health care company, with the fancy downtown apartment, designer suits and tickets to all the top concerts.’ He wasn’t ready to go into any more details and hoped she wouldn’t push. ‘I had a decent amount of savings and wasn’t responsible for anyone else, so I took the plunge and resigned. Sold my apartment for a decent profit. This place was on the market, and although the cabin wasn’t in great shape, the location appealed to me, plus it had a dilapidated shed perfect for converting into a workshop. That’s it, really.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing to a mosaic paperweight fashioned in the shape of a fish.
Griff felt himself blush. ‘It’s something new I’m experimenting with. All stained-glass artists end up with a lot of glass offcuts we can’t use, but I’d never given any thought to how they could be recycled until I went to a craft fair in Nashville and saw an amazingly talented lady selling mosaic pieces similar to that. I gave it a try, and I’m finding myself more and more drawn to it.’ He picked up the paperweight and offered it to her. ‘It’s more affordable, if my bigger pieces are out of a customer’s reach. But there aren’t enough hours in the day, so if I’m not careful I’ll get distracted by this, and not get my commissions done on time.’
