Against the Wall (Stoddard Art School Series Book 3) Page 3

  He raised an eyebrow and shot her a smile that had her rethinking that warm, fuzzy idea. “You were looking for me?”

  “Don’t get any ideas.” She gave him a coy smile in return. “Shadow met me outside.” Kay glanced past him while she pulled the business card from her pocket. Holding it between two fingers, she waved it at him. “I’m here to meet with the owner, Mr. Coulter.”

  Bear gave a snort. “Why are you meeting him?”

  “You sure do ask a lot of questions.” Kay checked her watch again.

  “You sure do like to avoid answers.” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  Kay shrugged. “What can I say; I’m a woman of mystery.”

  He laughed. “Most women are a mystery to me.”

  “We’re a very hush-hush society. There’s even a secret handshake.” She smiled. “But if I showed you—”

  “You’d have to kill me.”

  “Exactly.” She glanced around again. “So where can I find Barrett Coulter?”

  Bear swept his arms wide. “You found him.”

  “You’re Barrett Coulter?” She shook her head and scoffed. “You are not. Quit kidding around. I have an appointment.”

  “How can I prove it to you? I’ve got my hands full, but my license is in my wallet.” He turned his hip and offered her his butt. “You’re welcome to fish it out.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. He was mocking her. Did he think she wouldn’t dig into his back pocket? She stepped closer and reached behind him. “You just want me to grab your ass. Getting back at me for not telling you my name? Fine, I’ll play your little game.”

  This close, she needed to lift her gaze to see the bemused expression on his face. She could smell the soap he used. Mixed with polyurethane it made her a bit lightheaded. She plucked the wallet from his pocket and hopped back.

  Giving him her best, eyebrow raised, sassy, I have you now smirk, she flipped open the billfold and pulled his license from the warm, worn leather. Reading the thick laminated card made her stomach dropped. “Damn and crap…”

  “What’s it say?”

  She closed her eyes tight. “It says your name is Barrett Coulter, you’re six foot five, and you’re an organ donor.”

  “That would make you Kay Winston.”

  “Double crap. On a cracker.”

  ****

  Color flooded Kay Winston’s cheeks. God, she was cute when she blushed.

  Even with her eyes still shut tight, Bear remembered their deep blue color. When she opened them, she kept her gaze on the floor. “Turn around, please.” She made the circle motion with her finger. He obliged, and she stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. “Shortest interview on record,” she mumbled behind him. “Sorry to bother you.”

  He turned back to find her heading away with her portfolio. “Hold on. Don’t run off. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Why don’t you hit the kitchen and help yourself to some coffee, and we can start over.” He held up the brush. “I’ll go clean this.”

  She gave him a side glance. “I don’t think—” She shook her head.

  “Do you want the job, or don’t you?”

  “I do.” She was quick to reply.

  “See, answering a question doesn’t have to be so difficult.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. The other morning on the beach, she’d had it twisted up off her neck. He liked it better down. It fell past her shoulders and curled at the ends. Was it as soft as it looked? Not many women kept their hair long these days. He liked long. And the dark, honey-blonde color was working for him too. She tucked it behind an ear. A hammered silver star hung from her earlobe. It caught the light.

  She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Okay, let’s start over.”

  “Good.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the kitchen. “Door’s that way. Watch your step, there’s a ton of supplies out there. Can’t miss the coffeemaker. Give me a minute, and I’ll meet you in the dining room. Swinging doors with porthole windows. Right side. Can’t miss it.”

  Five minutes later, he’d grabbed a cup of coffee for himself and sat with her at one of the square tables scattered about the dining room.

  “This is wonderful. Cozy, intimate.” Her gaze traveled around the space. “The view is spectacular, and the colors are great. Rich, yet muted.”

  “This was the first room to be finished, paint wise. The linens are due next week.”

  “I can picture couples eating here. Holding hands. Staring into each other’s eyes over the rim of their wineglasses. Celebrating anniversaries, having first dates, maybe lovers from out of town who come here once a year to have their affair.”

  “You get all that from some muted paint and new drapes?” he teased, yet he was enjoying seeing the room through her eyes. With all the details and scheduling and grunt work, sometimes it was hard for him to appreciate what others might think of the place.

  “Sure, where’s your imagination?”

  “Oh, I have plenty of imagination. I’m imagining a kitchen staff that knocks out something other than boiled lobster. I’m imagining all the business I’m losing by not opening in time for tourist season. And I’m imagining the day I can stand back and say, ‘There, it’s done.’ ”

  “You’ll finish it. So you miss this summer. Maybe you’ll be open to catch the fall foliage people. Bell Harbor is stunning in the fall and beautiful in the winter, too.” Her dark eyes met his over the rim of her coffee mug.

  “I agree.” He wished he had her optimism. “I fell in love with this place when my wife and I vacationed here several years ago.”

  She set her coffee aside. “So, you’re married.”

  “Not anymore. Diane and I split. Not too long after that vacation, actually. We own—owned an architectural design firm in Los Angeles. She thrived on the constant push and pressure. Me, not so much. We met in college. Got married. Moved to LA.”

  “She’s still in California?”

  “Yep. We talk. It ended amicably as soon as I signed over the business to her. But no regrets. It wasn’t the life for me.” He shook his head. “How did we get from drapes to my divorce?”

  “Hey, Bear.” A workman stood at the doorway of the dining room. “Sorry to bother you.” He jerked his chin toward Kay. “Hey.”

  She grinned back. “Hi.”

  “Did you need something, Skippy? Or just coming to say, hey?”

  “No, no. Which molding you want for the cap on the wainscoting? Up on four. The bullnose?”

  “No. Match the hall trim.”

  “Yessah.” Skippy saluted Bear with the hammer he held and left. Kay winced.

  Bear huffed out a breath. “I hate when he does that. One of these days, he’s going to bean himself in the head. ’Course that’s better than when he scratches his ear with his screwdriver.”

  Kay bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Okay, where were we?”

  “Drapes to divorce.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”

  He waved it away and took a swallow of coffee. Opening his planner, Bear checked through his notes. “Back to the interview. What is this, start over two or three? I’ve lost track.”

  “If you count me making an idiot out of myself, this would be number three.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I set you up. Walt described you perfectly. I knew who you were when you walked in. When you turned out to be beach girl, I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Walter calls you Yogi.” Kay pointed at him.

  “Has since the first day we met. I kinda like it now.”

  She shook her head. “I should have put two and two together. Bear…Yogi…”

  “Quite the character, that Walt. He raves about you being a wicked good artist.”

  She shifted in her chair and sipped at her coffee. “He’s prejudiced. He loves me.”

  “It’s obvious. He’s showed me a few of your pen and ink sketches. I liked them a lot. There’s some
thing so familiar in them. Comforting. You capture this area so well. Not just visually, but it’s like you understand the spirit of the place.”

  “Thank you.” Her cheeks pinked again and she dropped her gaze. “Bell Harbor’s my home away from home. I’ve always liked the feel here. The ease of things. Even when it’s packed with tourists, they’re happy and relaxed.”

  He grinned. “Sometimes too relaxed, like when you’re trying to get an inn open.”

  Her eyes met his. “Folks here don’t like to move too quickly.”

  “Nothing like LA.”

  “No, I would say Bell Harbor, Maine, is the exact opposite of Los Angeles,” she agreed, looking sympathetic. “I don’t work at LA speed either, but I do work rather quickly. Tell me what you’re envisioning for the lobby project. I’m assuming you’d like the back wall done.”

  “Yep, that and all the rest. I’d like all four walls painted.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s quite the job.”

  “Would you be able to handle that?”

  “Of course. I’ve done jobs this size before.” The sparkle in Kay’s eye made him smile. She slid her portfolio onto the table and unzipped the case. “These are my murals.” She pulled out conceptual sketches as well as finished photographs. “I’ve done several full-room commissions.” She laid examples across the table. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

  “Your work is very diverse.”

  “Each job is different. I try to meet the client’s wishes while at the same time bringing my own artistic voice to the project.” She pulled a listing out of the back of the portfolio. “Here are my references. Clients, professors, etc.”

  Bear took the offered sheet. “Impressive.” He examined the photographs again. Even though each mural captured their settings perfectly, her paintings all carried a unique styling.

  Why did her work feel so familiar? It was as if they’d met before, but he sure as hell wouldn’t have forgotten her. “What if the client doesn’t know what they want?”

  Kay smiled as if this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. “I ask a lot of questions, listen to what their plans are for the space, and come up with some ideas that I think will fit.”

  No, he would have remembered her smile. She leaned to pull a small spiral notebook out of her bag giving him a ring-side view of creamy cleavage within the V of her black sweater. He was wrong. Cute didn’t describe her at all. Blushing or not, she was beautiful. Refined, understated, with a definite hint of daring. He’d have to keep on his toes with her around. Why did he all of a sudden envision being swept off his feet? “I’d like to hear your ideas for my lobby.”

  “Well, I’m already getting a sense for the style you’re going with. Antiqued, yet elegant. Four walls, soft colors…” She tucked her hair behind each ear. Wait, her earrings didn’t match. A silver star paired with the crescent moon. Tapping the end of her pen, she glanced toward the front of the inn. “You don’t want anything too bold when you first walk in.” She scribbled a few notes. “Seasons, possibly. With the compass rose—four winds, perhaps…hmmm… vignettes, could work. A bit of trompe l’oeil possibly.” She jotted one idea after another into her notebook. Bear sat back in amused silence. She was captivating to watch.

  “I’d need to take some measurements, but I could sketch out a few things for you along with an estimate, say by Friday?” Kay pulled a thirty-foot tape measure out of her purse.

  A woman with a tape measure? Be still my heart. “Friday would be great. I’ve got the room’s specs. I can give you a copy of the blueprints.”

  “Perfect.” Her smile lit her face and slammed him in the chest.

  Yep, damn near perfect.

  Chapter Four

  Kay almost ran down the sidewalk toward her car. Through her nervousness, the familiar bubbling of excitement filtered to the surface. The full lobby of the inn? Her mind was already reeling with possible designs. Slipping into the warm car, she thawed her chilled hands on the steering wheel.

  Bear Coulter owned the inn? Hunky Bear Coulter? Hunky, please-let-me-see-your-tattoo Coulter? Kay let out a shaky breath. She hadn’t seen his tattoo, but she’d felt his ass! Her head was spinning at how the interview had gone from mortifying to When can you start? If she wanted to keep from making a total fool out of herself, she needed to remember the golden rule. This was a job. He was a customer. And you should never feel the ass of your customers. Not twice, anyway.

  But then he shook her hand good-bye, that big paw of his engulfed her fingers. It sent lovely electric shimmers up her arm…and straight to her knees. He walked her to the door, his hand resting casually on the small of her back… That small touch had shot more than shimmers to a place slightly north of her knees.

  He’s a client. He’s a client. He’s a client!

  Watching the charming bustle of the small village of Bell Harbor through her windshield, Kay came up with an inspired idea for the mural. She could picture the whole scene in her mind. She had to get it all down on paper. A visit to the library would be necessary. They closed early on Wednesdays, however, so she’d go there first thing in the morning.

  Kay pushed her keys into the ignition when her phone vibrated in her bag. Hearing the low hum, she dug past blueprints and her portfolio and scrambled to find her cell at the bottom of her purse.

  “Kay Winston.”

  “Thank God. Kay, where are you?” Madeline Sullivan’s husky voice screamed at her from the receiver. “I’ve the whole town of Stoddard searching for you.”

  “Calm down, Madeline. I’m in Maine.”

  “Why the hell are you in Maine?”

  Kay wasn’t about to get into the particulars about her escape from Stoddard. She reloaded her purse and ran a hand over the blueprints. “I’ve found a mural job over here in Bell Harbor. I’m staying at my folk’s place.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

  “I noticed your messages, all eight of them. I was going to call you after my client meeting. What’s so urgent?”

  “I have news. Good news.”

  “That’s the best kind. What’s up?” Kay turned the key in the ignition enough to open some windows. The warmth of the afternoon was heating up her car.”

  “Two things. First, I got you into Luc Girard’s class for the fall semester.”

  “Wow.” Luc Girard was a Stoddard alumnus. His blown glasswork was brilliant. “Everybody wanted that class. Wasn’t there a waiting list?”

  “There was, but grad students got pushed to the top. I worked a little magic.”

  Kay smiled. Madeline was famous for her magic. “That’s wonderful.”

  “So I moved your Tuesday and Thursday schedule around a bit, but you’re in.”

  Kay didn’t know where she’d be eating and sleeping come the new semester, but at least she knew what she’d be doing on Tuesdays and Thursdays. “That’s great, thanks.”

  “And even better…are you sitting down?”

  “I’m sitting.” Kay shook her head. Madeline was also famous for her theatrics. Kay fumbled for her water bottle.

  “Your painting. The lighthouse one. What was it called?” Papers rustled in the background. Kay pictured Madeline in her cluttered office. Every flat place piled high with artwork, paperwork, a half-eaten sandwich, and a bobble head Andy Warhol… “Point of Light. One of your Bruce Gallery pieces.”

  “Yes?” A flush of optimism raced through Kay as she found the bottle of water she was searching for under the passenger seat.

  “It sold.”

  “Honest?” The Point of Light piece was special to Kay. She had a momentary twinge of sadness at the news. It had been the star of her portfolio when she’d interviewed for the graduate program at Stoddard School of Art, but she’d loved it long enough. It was time to sell it.

  “Yep, it caused quite a ruckus. Two parties wanted it. Bad. It went into a bidding war.”

  “You’re kidding.” Kay uncapped the water, took a sip, and grimaced. It was warm an
d tasted like plastic, but it was wet.

  “Nope. Some woman from Cape Cod, and a guy. I forget where he was from, but his pockets were deep and he wanted that painting. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Daniel Bruce was thrilled, to say the least.”

  “That’s awesome. I’m flattered.”

  “How’s six grand for flattery?”

  Kay choked. “I’m sorry, I could have sworn you said six grand.”

  “I did. Six thousand, seven hundred and twenty dollars. I have the Bruce Gallery check right here. That’s eight thousand minus sixteen percent commission. Daniel only charges students half.”

  Eight thousand? Kay’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. She had no words. Screaming might work, but words? Nope.

  “Kay? Did you hear me?”

  “Ahhh…yeah, I heard you. I’m waiting to wake up now.”

  “You’re not dreaming. Check your hands.”

  “Hands? What?” Her brain was jumbled, and Madeline was giving her whiplash.

  “They say if you look at your hands in your dreams, they’re all weird.”

  What? Kay examined her fingers. Ten normal-looking fingers. “Shit, I’m not dreaming.”

  “Told you. Congratulations.”

  Kay let out a screech and frightened two elderly women who were passing on the sidewalk. “Sorry. Sorry.” She waved to them. “Oh my God, Madeline, I…this is unbelievable.”

  “Highest sale in the whole show. You should be very proud.”

  “I am. Add stunned. Thrilled. Oh my God!”

  “So I guess you can’t swing by and get this check.”

  For a second, Kay actually considered driving the three hours back to Stoddard. “I’m not exactly in swing by territory.”

  “Okay, let me find a pen. I’ll pop it in the mail. Where are you?”

  Kay gave Madeline the address for Polka Dots. “Send it in care of Dorothy Polk.”

  “Got it. I’ll post it today. You should have it in a couple of days. Do me a favor and let me know when you get it. And don’t fall off the face of the earth again. You had me worried.”

  “Don’t worry, Maddie, I’ll let you know the minute I get it.”

  “Good. Congratulations, Kay.”