Even after I tried to intimidate her.
Then again, she’s never laid on the charm like she’s doing for this guy.
Jealousy rips through my gut like a storm of needles as I listen in.
“Um, I just wondered, mister… how’d you make them so colorful?” Sophie’s voice is a whisper.
The man steps up without a smile, tall and grim-faced, wearing the typical five o’clock shadow scruff a lot of artists do.
“Trade secret, my dear. I’m afraid if I told you, I’d have to kill you in the worst ways.” Then his face breaks into an enormous grin.
Sophie gives back another tiny smile.
Margot laughs politely, breaking the tension.
That should annoy me, too, but it doesn’t.
“These are unbelievable. You could sell them for three times as much to rich people in New York,” Margot says. “Did you make them all yourself?”
The man’s eyes flick to me and then to Sophie and Dan, then back to Margot, like he’s memorizing us.
Besides being a human beanpole, he’s broad-shouldered and lean, with a shock of reddish-brown curls that makes him look younger than I suspect he is.
He smiles, his gaze lingering on my face for a beat before he looks at Margot again.
“Every piece on the table is mine from start to finish,” he says with an easy charm I can tell Margot likes.
Her body language changes, relaxing and moving closer.
The way she looks at him makes my fist tighten.
What the fuck? I have no business feeling this urge to break one of those fancy bowls over this clown’s head.
“Amazing. Have you been at it long?” she asks.
“Just started my shop, actually. I only moved here earlier this year.” He sends me another glance, a flash of what might be curiosity or annoyance that I’m here with a woman this beautiful.
“Oh, that’s recent.” She waves a hand at the street. “And how do you like it? Such a lovely place, right? I bet it’s perfect in the offseason for your work. Lots of quiet to focus and get things done.”
“Lots of scenery,” he corrects gently. “A man can’t help feeling inspired when he’s surrounded by beauty everywhere.”
He looks away from me and back to Margot so pointedly I want to laugh in his face.
Fucking worm.
If he thinks that’s a good pickup line, he’s clearly been spending too much time with his pottery.
But Margot doesn’t wince at what he says.
She bites her lip a little as she glances away, though I’m sure she’s no stranger to being called beautiful.
“What made you move here?”
“I came up looking for a fresh start, I guess. About like half the people around these parts if they weren’t born and raised here.” We lock eyes again, as if I’m the one who asked. Some weird, standoffish challenge in his eyes. “And what about you, miss?”
“Oh, I used to come here as a kid.” She stops in front of a collection of bowls in sunny autumn colors. “These are freaking gorgeous, by the way. I’m in love with your designs, Mister…?”
“Lee.” He smiles. “Lee Glazkov, and thank you. It means a lot to hear that.”
