Page 228 of A Matter of Time

“I remember her,” he assured me.

“Yeah, well, she and I have our own business now. It’s called Harvest Design, and we do logos, branding, company concept, identity, that sort of stuff.”

“Sounds good. You like it?”

“I do. I mean, it’s not, like, a million-dollar business or anything, but we do okay.”

“Dane set you up?”

I was irritated instantly. He thought maybe I had borrowed the money from my brother to start my business because I was such a charity case? “Actually, no,” I said curtly, realizing he was still holding on to my arm. “Dyl and I took out a business loan together and had it paid off within three months of being open.”

“That’s great.”

Like he cared. I rolled my shoulder, and his hand dropped away.

“Sorry,” he said under his breath.

I held up the tape and the plastic bag full of screws. “Well, I gotta go. I’m in the middle of a project, but it was⁠—”

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m helping Chris build a crib.”

“Chris?”

“Dylan’s husband.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Is this their first child?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “We’re finishing up the nursery today, so I gotta get there.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll see ya.” I sighed before turning and jogging away.

I didn’t care if it looked like I was running. I wanted to put distance between us. I had closed and locked the door on Sam Kage and the mess my life had been when he was in it a long time ago. I wanted it to stay that way. Obviously, he did as well. If he had wanted it any other way, the first time I saw him—after the time I had seen him in the hospital—would not have been as he strolled, laughing, with friends and a woman I didn’t know. His life, I was sure, was exactly as he wanted it.

“Jory.”

I turned, and there was a stranger.

“Hi.” He smiled sheepishly. “Brandon Rossi. Do you remember me?”

I shook my head. “No, sorry.”

He cleared his throat. “I was at Bigelow and Stein when you and your partner did the logo for their new community outreach program a few months ago.”

“Oh, that’s right. They ended up with the big scary clown on their logo. Bigelow and Stein, the home of the killer clowns.”

“You don’t like clowns, huh?”

“They’re creepy as hell.”

His smile made his eyes twinkle behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Well, I, for one, didn’t understand what you guys were saying about the tree until I saw it in print.”

I nodded.

“C’mon.” He chuckled, reaching out, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “I just didn’t get it. I couldn’t see it in my head like you could. I’m not an artist.”