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idea.”
Personally Troy thought it was brilliant.
“Would it be all right if I phoned and checked on you in the morning?” Maybe he was pressing his luck, but he had to try.
“I suppose … but only this once.”
“Only this once,” he echoed. “I won’t call again after tomorrow.” The crack in her resolve to keep him out of her life was barely discernible but it was there.
Reaching for his coat and hat, Troy saw that he’d left a small portion of his bran muffin on the plate. He popped it in his mouth and gave Faith a lopsided grin. He swallowed, wishing he’d accepted a second one when she’d offered it. “I’ll ask Megan to get the recipe from you,” he said on his way to the door.
“I’ll be happy to share it.”
Troy lingered at the front door, but there was nothing else to say. Leaving Faith never seemed to get any easier.
Six
Will Jefferson knew he needed to play his cards carefully if he hoped to have a relationship with Shirley Bliss. Now that his divorce from Georgia was final, he was a free man. Of course, a wedding ring hadn’t been much of a detriment in the past. He’d had a number of affairs, which wasn’t something he took pride in. It was just … a fact. Georgia had repeatedly forgiven him, and he always meant to be faithful. His intentions were good—the best—but then he’d meet someone and the attraction would be there and, well, when it came to beautiful women, he was weak. That was all he could say about it. He didn’t even attempt to defend himself, although, to be fair, it did take two to tango—and to do certain other things… .
He experienced more than a twinge of guilt about cheating on his wife. Ex-wife. They should never have gotten married. The marriage hadn’t worked for either of them. They were mismatched, and as time went on, there’d been less and less to hold them together. He hoped Georgia didn’t resent him. But he’d begun a new life here in Cedar Cove, returning to his hometown, where he’d spent some of his happiest years. He wanted to become that person again, wanted to redeem himself, in his own eyes and those of his family and friends. Maybe Shirley Bliss would help him… .
He’d met Shirley, a widow, when he’d purchased the art gallery. He’d felt an immediate attraction, but it was more than that. She was a widow, and therefore available, so perhaps that meant he’d moved beyond his compulsion to seduce women already involved with other men. Whatever the reason for his urge to stray—boredom, the thrill of conquest, the need to prove his own masculinity—he wanted to overcome it. Besides, he was genuinely interested in Shirley and impressed by her talent.
Will wandered over to his desk. The Harbor Street Gallery was doing well, better than he’d expected. That was due, in no small way, to Shirley. She’d given him some excellent suggestions, many of which he’d used. The idea for the new display cases had come from her. They’d cost more than he’d budgeted for, but they were worth it.
In appreciation for all her help, he’d made Shirley, who worked with fabrics, the featured artist for January and would be pleased to inform her that over the weekend he’d sold the largest piece she had on display. He had a check for her, and he thought she’d be as excited about this sale as he was.
When he picked up the phone, he did so with a sense of anticipation. Aside from his pleasure in her success and consequently his own, he felt challenged by her. And not merely as a potential lover. This was the perfect opportunity to get to know her better. She hadn’t revealed any interest in him, however, which was puzzling. Not to brag, but he knew he looked good; at sixty he’d gained a stateliness that suited him. He was intelligent and had a natural charm, as so many other women—including Georgia—had told him. The possibility existed that Shirley was still in love with her dead husband. From what Will understood, it’d been a year or so since the accident that had claimed his life.
Will knew his own strengths and his weaknesses. He hadn’t gotten this far without identifying his assets and using them. He didn’t mind admitting that he was a man who generally got what he wanted; he’d also admit that this trait hadn’t always been to his benefit. Georgia had called him a “serial philanderer,” claiming he only wanted women he couldn’t have—and when he got them he lost interest. He didn’t deny it but he believed that Shirley would change all that.
He dialed her number and waited for her to answer. After four rings the answering machine came on. Then, just as he was about to leave a message, he heard someone pick up.
“Hello.” Shirley sounded a little breathless.
“Hello,” Will returned, smiling, glad they’d been able to connect.
“Who is this?” she demanded, irritation in her voice.
“It’s Will. Will Jefferson from the Harbor Street Gallery,” he told her. That she hadn’t recognized his voice stung his ego. He’d hoped, despite her previous reticence, that she’d been thinking about him, too. Apparently that wasn’t the case.
Her hesitation was just long enough to be noticeable. “I apologize if I snapped at you.”
Will was more than willing to forgive her. “I’m guessing I phoned at a bad time.”
“I usually try to work while Tanni’s in school.”
Tanni was Shirley’s teenage daughter. He’d met her twice. The girl was dating a young man with an unusual first name. Shank? Shiver. Shaw … that was it. Shaw.
The kid had talent. So did Tanni, although she was the one who’d brought Shaw’s work to Will’s attention. Shaw’s portraits, especially, had a lot of promise. He’d shown the kid’s work to an old friend of his, Larry Knight, who was a successful and influential artist, and who happened to be in Seattle recently. Larry had confirmed Will’s assessment. The way Will figured it, Shirley would be grateful for his help. And Will most definitely wanted to obtain Shirley’s gratitude.
“I understand,” he said smoothly. “I’ll remember to call either early in the morning or closer to dinnertime.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Your exhibit’s done well,” he told her.
Silence.
Since she didn’t seem inclined to continue the conversation, Will charged ahead. “I wanted to know if it would be convenient for me to stop by later this evening.”
She hesitated again. “Is there a reason?’
The question put him slightly on edge; he’d expected a warmer welcome. He was disappointed that he needed an excuse, but then he’d already made more than one incorrect assumption with Shirley. “Yes, a very good reason,” he said. “I have a check for you. The wildflower panel sold this weekend.” The piece, a fabric collage, was a stunning work. Everyone who’d viewed it, including Will, had been enchanted.
Shirley squealed with delight. “It sold! It really sold?”
“Yes.” Will had never heard her sound so uninhibited. “And the woman who bought it is interested in a couple of your other pieces, too.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I thought you’d be pleased,” he said. “I could drop off the check if you like.” He didn’t want her to think he was pressuring her.
“Ah … unfortunately I have plans this evening.”
“I could visit tomorrow if that would be more convenient.” He was trying not to come across as pushy; at the same time, he was curious to know what her plans might be.
“Well.” she said cautiously. “Maybe it would be best just to drop it in the mail.”
Will’s head was spinning. She didn’t want to see him, or not at her house, anyway. That was a disappointment. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you come to the gallery