Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
SADIE
My head whirled for two full days, and then on Wednesday morning, I got the keys from Melinda in front of Life’s a Stitch. “Here’s my card,” the auburn-haired woman said. She wore a bright blue suit and a wide smile. “Call me if you need anything. Ta-ta!”
“Thanks,” I called out as she hurried back to her car. I turned to the door, slid in the key, and walked in.
The air was thick with dust. The far wall was covered with storage cabinets, and there were two long worktables to my right, with a small reception desk straight ahead.
Two sewing machines sat silent on the worktables.
I flicked the lights, then made a slow loop of the room.
There was a small staff bathroom and a tiny storage closet at the back, with a door through to the alley behind.
The worktables were solid, but both machines looked like they needed to be serviced.
I took out my phone and started making a list. I’d need a new fluorescent bulb to replace the one that was flickering overhead.
While I was at it, I might as well buy a good desk lamp to clamp to the edge of one of these worktables.
I tested one of the chairs and decided it would do, then checked the storage closet for cleaning supplies.
Nothing.
Looked like another marathon cleaning session was needed. I sighed. But first, matcha.
Knead More Bread was only three doors down. I smiled as I inhaled the scent of coffee and fresh baked bread, getting in line behind the man who owned the hardware store. He gave me a friendly nod and made a comment about the weather.
When it was my turn, I smiled at Caroline behind the counter. “The usual?” she asked, and my heart soared. I’d been in town just over two weeks, and the local café knew my order.
Things with Gideon weren’t amazing, but they weren’t bad. Maybe in the next four weeks, we’d find our groove. Maybe I’d get to reopen my business. Maybe everything would work out, even if I didn’t find true love.
At least there were plenty of friendly faces in town.
“I’m still shocked that a small town like this has matcha lattes,” I said, pulling out my card to pay. “I mean, I wasn’t even expecting you to have almond milk.”
She gave me a strange look, a smile with a confused frown, and I flushed. I’d basically just called her town a backwater dump that hadn’t entered the era of alternative milks. But Caroline just shook her head, charged my card, and started making my matcha latte.
“Gid tell you about Mr. Titty’s latest artwork?” she asked me over the hissing of the espresso machine.
I shook my head. Gideon hadn’t told me much of anything lately. But that was our deal, wasn’t it? My heart and body would get the memo eventually.
Caroline tilted her head toward Main Street. “Up the road a few blocks. Huge tits.” She set the jug of steamed milk down to gesture with her hands. “Gigantic. Over on the museum’s facade.”
“Mr. Titty does not care about Marswood Harbor’s historical significance.”
Caroline snorted, like she wanted to laugh but knew she shouldn’t. She shook her head. “I think it’s a message. That museum was paid for by Etta Mars.”
My brows jumped. “You think whoever’s doing this graffiti isn’t happy about the marriages.” I’d heard chatter about more matches being in the works. Wedding bells were going to be ringing with great regularity in town, if Etta got her way.
Hopefully they would be more successful than mine.
Caroline shrugged as she poured the milk into the cup. “Lots of people just want to keep to themselves. They don’t like change.”
“And you?”
She slid my drink across the counter and smiled. “I like the extra business you’re bringing to my bakery.”
“That’s all I am to you, huh?” I asked, clicking my tongue.
She laughed. “There’s a trivia night at Bertie’s tomorrow night,” she said, naming one of the three bars in town. “We need another person to have a full team. You should come and join. Then maybe you can become more than a frou-frou drink to me.”
“You are so rude,” I said, and took a sip. “You’re lucky you make good matcha.”
Caroline laughed, and I told her I’d join her for trivia the following night. I walked out into the sunshine outside, holding the door open for Gideon’s giant brother, Knox, who nodded at me as he headed inside. The door was just closing when I heard Caroline shout, “Out!”
Startled, I glanced through the window. Knox was smiling at her, his hands up in the universal sign of “Don’t shoot!”
I’d never seen him smile. It transformed him from scary-stoic to breathtaking.
Caroline was pointing an espresso portafilter at him.
I pushed the door open again. “Is everything okay?”
“The spawn of Satan was just leaving my fine establishment,” Caroline hissed, glaring at the big bear of a man.
He clicked his tongue. “Come on, sunshine. Sadie’s not that bad.”
“Funny,” she said. “Now get out.”
Knox had actually spoken multiple words. And it had been a joke. I blinked at him, feeling like I’d never seen him before. He’d spoken no more than a handful of words—mostly barely intelligible grunts—in my vicinity up until now.
Caroline wasn’t fazed by his smile. She reached into one of the display cabinets, grabbed a Boston cream donut, and hurled it at Knox’s head.
He caught it, laughed, then bit into it and waggled his eyebrows as the filling oozed out.
“You’re disgusting,” Caroline said.
“Thanks for the donut, sunshine,” Knox said, and then he took another bite of donut, turned around, and left. On his way past, he said to me, “Good luck with the new shop.”
I gaped at him. How had he found out so quickly?
“What did he say to you?” Caroline asked, glaring after the big man. “Did he threaten you?”
“No,” I said, and couldn’t help the curl of my lips. She was being protective of me. I had a friend. I hadn’t had a friend in a long time.
I left Knead More Bread with a beaming smile on my face. I loved this town. I had a sliver of a chance at reopening my business, and the sun was shining. Life was good. Actually, it was great. I had more to look forward to than I’d had in years.
I had to let go of this desire for Gideon. Only then would I be free to start a life here, in this adorably shabby town, with these people who had already made me feel welcome. But telling myself to stop wanting him felt like telling myself to cut off my own hand. I couldn’t do it.
Halfway back to my car, which was parked down a side street just past Life’s a Stitch, my eyes landed on one of Mr. Titty’s many pieces.
He’d spray-painted the side of a dumpster with a pair of breasts, these more oval-shaped with large nipples.
The signature barely fit on the side of the green bin.
I frowned. Something about the signature looked strange to me. And the breasts themselves…
Slipping my car fob back into my purse, I wandered over to the alley and stood in front of the dumpster.
I snapped a picture of the graffiti, then walked back to Main Street, where I knew there were more examples of the graffitist’s work.
I took pictures of each, and with each my certainty grew.
Gideon and his brothers had missed something important about this guy. If he even was a guy.
As I walked up the hill, I spotted Ivan Popov’s antique shop.
The breasts on his front window were similar to the ones that had graced the church doors.
Gigantic, tiny nipples, angular writing.
I spotted the beauty salon down the street and studied the boobs gracing its frontage.
My camera shutter clicked, and I found myself walking up and up and up, all along Main Street and a few offshoots, snapping pictures all the way.
That’s how I ended up at Rock Bottom. The dive bar was a squat, dark building with a flickering neon sign that stood at the back of a vast parking lot.
Half the parking spaces were taken up by motorcycles, gleaming in the summer sunlight.
An old pickup was parked around the side, and in front of it was another stunning piece of artwork by the breastacular Banksy wannabe.
I was busy snapping a picture of Rock Bottom’s boobs when I heard the scuff of a boot. Turning toward the sound, I gulped at the sight of a muscular man in a leather motorcycle jacket, a flaming skull on his breast.
Cash Bridges.
The biker was broad and tall, like most of the men in this town.
A beard hugged his strong jaw, and tattoos snaked over his knuckles.
He radiated danger, and the way he looked at me made me feel like my feet had grown roots and anchored themselves to the ground.
I didn’t know if I should run or stay very, very still.
He had brown eyes that sparked with interest when he saw me, and his voice was a low rumble. “Can I help you?”
“Just admiring your artwork,” I said, using my phone to point at the painting on the brick wall. I still held my matcha latte in my other hand, and I clutched it like it was a shield.
Cash’s smile was a quick flash of white in a dark beard. “One of Mr. Titty’s better pieces,” he noted. He brought his hand up to his chin like he was an art dealer at a fancy gallery.
I turned back to the boobs and tilted my head. “This piece does evoke strong emotion,” I said, picking up on his joke and running with it. “Yearning. Tension. The play between the vulgarity of breasts on a bar wall and the restraint of the art itself.”
“Don’t know about any of that,” Cash said, “but they’re a fine pair of tits.”
I snorted, and he flashed me a smile. I remembered what Etta had said after the wedding—she didn’t think that Cash was Mr. Titty. But still, I had to ask. “Did you do it?”
“Do what, sweetheart?”
“Are you Mr. Titty?”
His smile widened. “Are you Nancy Drew?”
He was mocking me. Knowing that to show fear would give him the upper hand, I pretended to be shocked and said, “You read books?”
He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Gideon’s got his hands full with you, huh.”