One of These Nights (12 page)

None of it would go with his stuff, but he found it fascinating to look at nonetheless. The one he really liked was the big one of the Witch Tree in its full October glory, with Loki, Sam's black cat, just visible in the tall grass nearby. Maybe he'd commission something one day, after he snagged a couple more of Zeke's rockers for the porch. He was by no means rich, but he was low maintenance . . . and he saved for what he liked.

“I mean to come in here every time I'm home,” his mother said, craning her neck to look around. “I didn't think it would be this nice!”

Jason slid a look at her, but she was as oblivious to it as she always was. She ignored him, instead heading for a display of Andie Whitman's pottery. He had a couple of pieces at home, though he suspected she hadn't noticed and would continue not to unless he said something. Which he wouldn't.

There was a soft creak above him, and Jason turned his head to watch first Zoe's brown riding boots, then the rest of her, descend the stairs that led up to a number of studios used for both classes and rentable artist space. He felt the way he did every time he spotted her—a sudden tightness in the chest, a rush of heat. She looked as perfectly put together as she always did, the picture of casual elegance from head to toe. He wasn't sure how she managed it, since he usually saw her in some kind of stretchy leggings and big, loose sweaters and scarves this time of year. He thought of the leggings as, like, sweats for women. Socially acceptable pajamas. Except Zoe always looked like she was about to have tea with the queen.

Her curly black hair was up in a loose bun, the caramel highlights in it set off by the butterscotch color of her sweater. She was carrying a disposable cup that had steam rising from it, and from here he could see the faint imprint her lipstick had made on the rim. It took him a few long seconds to tear his eyes away. There was no earthly good reason why he should be so fixated on Zoe's mouth and whatever it had touched, but it was a hard habit to break.

When he managed to lift his gaze, his eyes met hers immediately. She looked . . . surprised. Pleased? He wanted to think there'd been a flash of that, but it was too quick to be sure and he wasn't into fooling himself. She looked quickly around the room to find his mother, and there was definitely no pleasure in her expression then. More like resignation.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “Welcome to Two Roads.”

It seemed more like a general welcome than one just for him, so Jason offered only a small smile while the out-of-towners peppered Zoe with questions immediately. Was this her only gallery? Did she carry any more of Samantha Henry's work? How long would she hold a piece for with deposit?

The exchange had drawn Molly's rapt attention, but Jason had seen Zoe work her magic on customers often enough. She was tough not to buy from. That was part of the reason it was so entertaining to make several visits to look at a single piece before finally giving her the sale.

While the couple tried to decide between two of Sam's smaller paintings, Zoe excused herself for a moment to head for him. Her big gray eyes were both curious and wary, but her smile seemed real enough.

“Look at you, out in the real world,” she said. She looked down, and for a second he thought she was going to give him a rough time about his clothing choices, but instead she simply said, “You haven't been hiking or anything, have you?”

He chuckled. “I think you're getting paranoid. Do I look like I could hike?”

“I put nothing past you. How's the leg today?”

The concern, so quickly and casually given, surprised him. He shrugged. “Fine. Itchy. A big pain in the ass.”

“I bet.” She glanced past him, to where his mother was momentarily distracted by a glass case full of handmade silver and gemstone jewelry. “Everything okay?” She said it quietly, barely moving her lips.

“Hell if I know.”

That earned him a real smile, a flash of dazzling white as her eyes crinkled up at the corners. He found himself returning it without a thought. It was easy, too damn easy, to pretend she was really his.

It was some small consolation that her cheeks flushed prettily before she looked away, as though she was thinking the same thing. It felt a little like an awkward first date, friendly but flustered. You'd never know she'd kissed him just the other day. Not that it had meant anything. Probably. Even if she'd tasted like heaven and looked at him like maybe, just maybe, she would consider letting him take her clothes off with his teeth.

Careful, genius. You've gotten yourself into enough trouble here already.

“Molly,” Zoe said, “have you been in before?”

“Never,” his mother replied, moving to join them. “Love what you've done with the place. I always thought they'd tear it down eventually. It was such an eyesore, and we used to scare each other walking past it with a bunch of made-up crap about seeing people in the windows, stuff like that. But this is
amazing
. What a cute little gallery! It's just right for Harvest Cove!”

Jason winced, since he knew damn well Zoe didn't consider the physical representation of her life's work either “cute” or “little,” but she didn't miss a beat, even if the light in her eyes cooled considerably.

“Thank you,” she said smoothly. “It was a lot of work to get this place in shape, but I knew right away it was perfect. The artists here are really something special, too.”

“I wouldn't have thought,” Molly said, looking around. “But I'd even buy some of this.”

Zoe glanced up at Jason, and he was relieved to see she was more amused than angry. “Well, while I help these lovely people make their decision, you'll have to have Jason give you the grand tour if there are specific pieces you're interested in.”

Molly laughed. “Right. I love my son, but you've seen his house. I think I'll give myself the tour instead.”

Zoe's brows rose. “But haven't you seen—”

“Forget it,” Jason interjected. “No big deal. You go ahead and do what you need to, Zo. I'll just hang around while Mom looks.”

She blinked, but though she looked between them with enough confusion that he could see, she didn't argue. “Okay. I'll, ah . . . just be a few minutes. Enjoy.” With one more searching look at him, she turned and walked back over to her customers. He heard her turn on the charm immediately, and wondered how anybody could work around people all the time without going insane, much less without just scaring everyone off in complete frustration.

Molly was still smiling, apparently tickled by the idea of her older son hanging around an art gallery. “You really come in here? I'm trying to picture that.”

“Why wouldn't I come in here?” he asked. “It would've been hard to get her to go out with me if I hadn't.”

“Good point. Ooh, what's that?” Molly walked past him, suddenly interested in Grace Levrett's photography. Obviously she hadn't noticed he had some of that on his walls, either. Jason shifted his weight uncomfortably and looked around the large room, with its gleaming wood floors and eye-catching arrangements of art—paintings and sculptures, pottery and jewelry, glimmers of light and beauty everywhere encouraging people to look further, closer. When he breathed in deeply, he could smell the light potpourri Zoe had planted somewhere, making the whole place smell like apples and spice. The first time he'd come into the gallery, it had been on a whim. He'd wanted a look inside for just the reasons his mother had given Zoe, with one addition. He'd also wanted a closer look at the small, curvy dynamo he'd seen only from a distance at that point.

Both the woman and the gallery had been far more compelling than he'd expected.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was a soft, irritable buzz by his shoulder. He turned his head as Zoe reappeared. “Why don't you want her to know that you actually know what you're looking at? She think
I
bought all that stuff in your house?”

“She hasn't noticed it,” he muttered, hoping his mother didn't hear him. He needn't have worried, he realized, when he saw her join the couple still agonizing over which painting to buy. Lending her expertise, he was sure. Hopefully they wouldn't bolt.

“Hasn't noticed?” She tipped her chin down and looked up at him, arms crossed. “Did you hide everything? It was all there last night.”

“No. She just doesn't see it. She only sees what she feels like seeing. It's some kind of superpower. Trust me.”

“You could point it out,” Zoe replied. “I know I will.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It's not worth it.”

Her expression was incredulous. “Because . . . ?”

“It just isn't,” he said flatly. Even if he felt like going into it, which he didn't, this wasn't the place to get into the reasons he no longer pushed back against his family's perception of him. He was happy. Happy enough, anyway, and they weren't around ninety-nine percent of the time, so there was very little struggle about it anymore. Visits were frustrating, but with any luck, this one would be over soon.

Zoe's eyes flashed a warning. “Jason,” she began, and then closed her eyes. “Oh Lord. Is she really trying to talk them out of those paintings?”

He listened a moment. “Yes. Yes, she is. And she's got her phone out to show them something that they'd like better. Must be she's been redecorating her house again if she's got ideas about stuff to hang on the walls.”

Her nostrils flared and her chin went up. “I'll be right back.” Then Zoe turned on one heel and walked over to the small group, her voice as warm as melted butter as she soothed the ruffled feathers of her would-be customers. “That
is
nice, Mrs. Evans. But the style is completely different, and I believe these people were interested in one of Sam Henry's originals as opposed to buying a framed giclée.” Her voice turned gently questioning. “Unless you'd prefer to look at something more traditional here? I can show you Mara Prince's work. She paints some beautiful local scenes.”

Jason turned away, amused at how deftly Zoe defused the situation. The couple were adamant that they wanted one of Sam's paintings—the summer scene, as it turned out—and his mother was smart enough not to try to argue them out of it again. He didn't know what got into her sometimes. He never really had. But there were reasons she had as many enemies as friends in the Cove.

He glanced back over at Zoe, considering. Maybe he could make a little of this up to her. Stupid idea, probably, but once the idea materialized he found it impossible to banish completely. She steered the couple over to the antique desk she used for business, politely dismissing Molly with barely a word. His mother was left looking disgruntled in front of a very fine grouping of Sam's work. Stifling a sigh, Jason made his way back over to her.

“Nice, Mom.”

“I was just trying to help,” she hissed. Somehow, she managed to look wounded.

“Yeah, well, driving away business doesn't qualify. Come on, let's go down to the square. You can look in the shops and I can sit in the park. I'm already tired of lugging my cast around.”

She shook her head. “I don't know how you can be so antisocial. You need to get out more. Your father and I have friends, your brother has tons of friends. . . . It's not that hard, Jason. You grew up here!”

“I have friends. I'm as social as I want to be. Not everybody's built the same. You raised me. You should know.”

She looked up at him, her expression intense in the way it always got when she was mulling over his multiple shortcomings and various ways to fix them. The latter part was the one that worried him. This was the look that happened before she
did something
. It was the look she'd worn the day she'd driven him to football tryouts without telling him. And the day she'd had the basketball coach come to the house to assess him while he shot hoops in the driveway. And the time she'd set him up with a friend's daughter for homecoming, announcing it only on the day of the dance when she handed him a newly bought suit.

It was also the look she'd worn the day she'd signed him up for online dating.

Jason had the sudden and overwhelming urge to go lock himself in Zoe's office.

“It's my fault,” Molly said. “I didn't push you hard enough because of your stutter. I should have made you interact more. Got you involved.”

Jason bristled instantly. This was a subject he didn't want to canvass with her anywhere, much less here. “Not now, Mom.”

She waved him away like she always did. “No, really, I—”

“Not now.”
He growled the words forcefully enough that he could feel Zoe's eyes on him, questioning. All at once, he'd had it with the day, this stupid outing, his damn leg, and most of all, family time. If that made him a terrible person, so be it.

“You and I have very different memories of my childhood, and I don't want to talk about it,” he said slowly. “You're bored, so go ahead. Find something to do. Take the truck. I'll get a ride.”

Molly's eyes rounded, and she looked as exasperated as he felt. “Jason Patrick Evans, don't you get miserable on me already. I've only been here since Sunday. You can just come on outside and lighten up. We'll go see—”

“No,” he interjected firmly, trying to keep his voice low so that the other customers, who sounded like they were happily engaged in conversation with Zoe, didn't hear. They'd caused enough of a headache for her today. “I'm not interested in limping all over downtown. I'm tired and I'm done. Go see your friends.”

Her nostrils flared. “Fine. I'll get out of your hair. But you're not going to hide forever. I won't let you. And if she does,” Molly snapped softly, jerking her chin toward Zoe, “then you might as well still be single for all the good she'll do you. At least Sara made you push yourself.”