Taped to the front of the gallery window is the large, brightly colored poster I let Autumn stick up there a few weeks ago. She comes into the shop to hang out sometimes, especially when new pieces arrive. With her newborn son, I think she gets bored at home.
Liberty Island Art Trail and Charity Gala.
Scheduled only a month after the resort opening, the trail is Autumn’s way of bringing the island together. She wants to have art in all the shop windows along Main Street, as well as in the hotel, resort, and any other place she can think of. She’s planning to have island guides on the ferry pier as well as all the stops to encourage art lovers to visit the island throughout the summer, both as day visitors and as longer term guests.
And to start it all off, she’s throwing a charity gala. A huge event at the Grand Liberty Hotel. And of course, I’ve volunteered to help, not only because I can help with acquiring enough art pieces for the show, but because I know I’ll benefit from it, too.
The more tourists we get, the more money in my cash register, after all.
I’m smiling as I back up from the gallery window, my mouth watering at the thought of Mylene’s coffee. And that’s when I hit something solid.
It takes me a moment to realize it’s a chest, hard as steel against my back. A strong hand cups my hip to steady me, as I turn to see two familiar blue eyes. And I swallow hard as I recognize them.
Just like I recognize their owner.
“We must stop meeting like this,” Zach Fitzgerald murmurs, his hand still warm against my hip. In the other hand he’s holding a cup of coffee with Mylene’s branding on it. My heart starts to slam in my chest even though it shouldn’t.
Unlike me, he doesn’t look hungover, or in desperate need of a caffeine injection. Instead, he looks annoyingly good, in a pair of fitted jeans and a black t-shirt that seems to mold to his body.
“What are you, made of titanium?” I mutter, stepping back from him, because he’s too close and way too overwhelming.
“This one definitely wasn’t my fault.” There’s amusement in his voice. Damn, I hate the way my body responds to him.
Like it wants to climb him like he’s a tree and cling on forever.
I shake my head. This is what happens when you swearoff men but forget to exercise out your energy for two years. I really need to start running again.
“I didn’t say it was. Maybe you need a siren on your head or something,” I suggest sweetly. “That way I can avoid you completely.”
He smirks, like he knows I’m still salty about yesterday’s comment. Then he nods his head at the display in the window. “Nice paintings,” he says.
“I’m sure they’re a little toomediocrefor you,” I say before I think it through.
He shakes his head. “You were never supposed to hear that. And for what it’s worth?—”
“It’s fine.” I don’t want him to apologize. I like it better when I have a reason not to like him. That jawline combined with a good personality would be too much to bear. “Have a good day. I need some coffee.” I lift my hand up in goodbye. Then I stride toward the coffee shop, not looking back.
Because, yes, from a purely academic point of view, Zach has the kind of face that makes my heart race. But an injection of adrenaline could have exactly the same result.
Or an injection of poison.
And right now, the only injection I need is behind the door that jingles as I push it open. The smell of coffee and sugar envelops me like mercy itself.
I push the thought of Zach Fitzgerald far from my mind and step up to the counter, giving Mylene a plaintive smile.
“Uhoh, two shots?” she asks, knowing my aversion to any time before midday.
“Make it three,” I tell her. “And a black Americano for Romy.”
“Bad morning?” she asks, sounding sympathetic.
“Something like that,” I admit. Funny how a hangover,a monologue about Primal Play, and an encounter with a man I really don’t like will do that to you.
“Well I can’t give you three shots. You’ll end up murdering somebody.”
I lift a brow and she sighs, like only a woman who deals coffee for a living can. “Okay then,” she says, ringing it up. “But on your own head be it. If you commit any homicides today, I’m gonna plead the fifth.”
ZACH
