Chapter 4
4
ELENA
I t’s quickly becoming extremely obvious that Clark doesn’t date much, if at all. Although I lowkey love his idea of just driving past some restaurants and seeing what looks good.
I also love that he taught me how to throw a real punch. It’s one of those things that I vaguely thought I would figure out in the moment, but now that I actually know how to do it right, I feel a lot more confident. It’s amazing that he wants me to be strong.
Looking over at his huge frame as he casually drives down the slow, winding forest road, I wonder what it would be like to be with him for a long time. This intense flirtation is incredible, and I want more, but I’m wary of staying in one place for an extended period, at least for the next year or so.
Somehow, I’m clinging to the hope that Dad will stop looking for me if there are zero breadcrumbs for him to follow. He’s never been particularly tenacious if there’s no instant gratification for him, so I’m expecting him to give up.
But if that Lawney guy is talking about Mom’s rings and the safety deposit box key, he must know Dad, or somebody that Dad knows, and that means Dad’s been calling in favors. That makes the situation much more serious. It’s not pleasant to think of your own father as a sinister villain, but hey, if the shoe fits…
The man is just nasty. Rumors of illegal activity, associating with lowlife scum. Mainly it’s the way he glares at me as if I’m the biggest inconvenience in the world and he wished that I didn’t exist.
Gah, why am I thinking about that on my first date with this amazing man? Talk about a buzzkill. At least I know I’m perfectly safe so long as I stick to Clark like glue.
I sneak another peek. He is absolutely stunning in a black button-down shirt and black jeans. Not formal, exactly, but definitely dressier than yesterday. His thick, slightly wavy dark brown hair is pushed back a bit more, accenting his rugged bone structure.
The long, meandering road through the forest begins to straighten out, and houses become closer together after we pass a sign welcoming us to Cedarville.
“What is it you’re dropping off?” I turn around to peer into the back of the truck but see only the shipping blankets.
“Easels.” He gives me a sideways glance. “Betty’s Bistro is run by Betty and Cullen Pinckney. Known them for years. They started running one of those nights where everybody gets together and paints the same photo.”
My hand reaches out to squeeze his knee, and I love the way the corner of his lips turns up at the gesture. “Cool! I’ve read about those. They sound like a lot of fun.”
“But what if you can’t paint?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow at me. “Aren’t you just going to feel uncomfortable?”
“The point isn’t necessarily to turn out a fantastic painting, it’s to try something different.” We turn a corner, and a beautiful restaurant with lanterns all around the huge, covered patio comes into view. “Nobody is really good at anything the very first time. It’s about figuring out if you enjoy the process, right?”
Clark shrugs. “I guess so.” He parks right in front, then comes around to help me out of the truck. I’m sure he knows I could manage by myself, but it feels like he wants to use every excuse to put his hands around my waist and hold me close, and honestly, I’m totally okay with that. “Think about what you’re hungry for. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Oh, I know what I’m hungry for.
He snaps down the back of the truck bed and leaps up with surprising grace. In just a few moments, he has the dozen or so easels unwrapped and leaning against the side of the building.
“Did you by chance build this patio? It’s even bigger than Jim’s.”
There’s a twinkle in his eye as he not-so-accidentally brushes his hand across my hip on his way back to the truck. “You recognize my workmanship, or the corner finials?”
“Both.”
He folds up the blankets, then closes up the truck. I wander over to the front window of the bistro, where there’s a bright pink poster describing the painting night. When I turn to Clark, he’s already right beside me. “It looks like all of the supplies are provided, and there’s even snacks. Why don’t we just eat here?”
His face is completely unreadable.
“Unless you had your heart set on something else,” I add hastily. “If you were thinking something fancier, or maybe you’re really hungry and are craving steak. Honestly, I’m fine with whatever?—”
His finger lands on my lips, quickly replaced by his thumb as he strokes gently across my skin, sending deep shivers through my entire body. “Elena, as long as you feel sufficiently fed, I’m fine with anything. I was just thinking that you wouldn’t want to get paint all over that pretty top. But we can fix that.”
He goes back to the truck to grab my purse for me and snags a light blue button-down shirt from the back seat while he’s at it. “Will this do for one of those…you know…bib things?”
I giggle. “You mean a painter’s smock?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” I love that now that the ice is broken between us, he laughs much more easily.
Betty is a brash rockabilly type lady, sporting bright makeup and her hair up in a fancy twist with a leopard print ribbon. She’s thrilled that we’re joining them and sets us up in the back corner with a platter of appetizers. We take a good look at the sample photograph. It’s of a long swath of forest, a cottage tucked into the woods, and a field of wildflowers in front. It’s a great choice, since it can be done as detailed or as impressionistic as you like.
We pick our main colors and get our workspaces organized. I love how meticulous Clark is, making sure we have plenty of water buckets, and the right kind of brushes. I pull on his shirt, which is practically a dress on me.
“One sec.” He stares deep into my eyes as he fastens the top two buttons for me. There’s a naughty gleam in his eyes, then his lips brush my ear. “Am I a bad man to want these gorgeous curves covered up when we’re around anyone else?”
A deep shudder goes through me. It feels like Clark wants…well, a lot more than a few dates and a “let’s see what happens.” It feels like he already knows we belong together or something. It’s more than just lust, although that is definitely surging through my veins.
It’s too fast. Too much. But I love it.
“Maybe.”
He kisses the tip of my nose to break the tension, then rolls up the shirt sleeves for me, his hands so gentle every time he touches me. I revel in this sexy, almost shimmery feeling that comes over me whenever we’re so close together. I wonder…does he feel it too?
We angle our easels back-to-back so that we can’t see each other’s work. Then we chat about everything under the sun for over an hour and a half, really getting to know each other.
At first, Clark peppers me with questions, wanting to know every single detail of who I am and what I do. Eventually he starts answering questions as well, sharing that he’s fascinated with architecture, but never got into it. Apparently he knows all the local lumberjacks and foresters, so he can get the best wood for his projects. It sounds like a borderline obsession with him, finding the right wood textures for the right pieces.
It also sounds like Clark goes above and beyond for his customers. They can select a piece from his website, but he will come into their home and measure if they need it customized. He delivers almost every piece himself. And everything is guaranteed for fifteen years.
The more he opens up, the more I like him. He’s steady. There’s a stillness in him that runs deep. I’ve always dreamed of having a quiet life someday, when I get the current disaster of my circumstances sorted out. Am I the kind of girl who falls hopelessly for the first man she dates?
Apparently so.
At the end of the night, everyone walks around and looks at each other’s paintings. Clark finds something complimentary to say about every single person’s work, whether it’s the use of color, or the mood they’ve captured.
Finally, we stand in front of my canvas. I chose to focus on the garden part of the sample photo, using multiple swirls and dots of paint through the flowers to make it soft and abstract.
Clark analyzes it for a moment, nodding. “You’re very decisive with your brushstrokes. And you have an amazing eye for motion and color blending.” He points toward the tight swirls of lavender scattered throughout. “The flow is fantastic here. I remember, you were bopping along with the music for those ones.”
I laugh, squeezing his arm. It’s hard to hold back a gasp when I feel how massive and solid his bicep is. “You’re right.”
I step in front of his canvas and my jaw nearly hits the floor. He homed in a bit more on the cottage, but it’s somewhat different.
Clark clears his throat. “I, uh, have a cabin by the lake down in Spring Grove. I made it more like that.”
The painting is incredible. The trees are fluffy and a bit abstract, but the cabin itself is created with steady straight lines, like perfectly cut planks. It’s as if he was sketching with the paint brush. I point to the tiny bits of bright green and blue in a shaded area beside the cabin. “What are those?”
“Canoes. My buddy Holt builds them. We’ve go to each other’s workshops if someone needs an extra hand, or has gotten behind on a series of projects.”
The more Clark speaks about the people he knows, the happier I get. I mean, it’s one thing to be a stoic, sometimes grumpy mountain man. Yet I’d be sad to think that he was a serious loner, firmly set in his ways.
“It’s amazing,” I tell him. “I’m seriously impressed.”
“Maybe I’ll take you there someday. You can tell me if it’s accurate.”
He’s already thinking about the future as it relates to us? That feels…well, not too much. It’s great. Just…not normal. Then again, I have no reference points, so who knows.
We dry the paintings with a low powered hair dryer, while snacking down the rest of the appetizers. Then we say good night to Betty and Cullen. I wait between the truck and the patio, still wearing Clark’s enormous button-down shirt while he wraps our paintings. I wonder if he’d mind if I added a belt and wore this as a dress.
He flashes me one of those huge, genuine smiles as he ducks back inside. “Wait right here. I’m just going to settle up with the server, now that the owners aren’t looking.”
Betty had murmured something about us attending for free since Clark gave them a generous discount on the easels, but if he wants to be sneaky, I’m hardly going to stop him.
“There you are.”
I whirl around to see that Lawney guy climbing out of a rundown blue pick-up. The guy he’s with examines me closely. “This her? Living right here in Cedarville?” He looks so familiar… If I could just see him in a better light, I know it would click.
“Nah,” Lawney drawls, “she’s working in Old Hemlock Valley. Which means she’s living there someplace.”
I can feel Clark’s warmth as he instantly steps behind me, wrapping an arm firmly around my waist. “Let’s go, baby.”
He takes a twisting route out of town that seems like a total waste of time until I realize what he’s doing. “You don’t think they’d follow us, do you?”
“They might.” He slows down, reaching out to stroke my knee. “Elena, why is Lawney Powell looking for you? And who’s that other guy? I’ve seen them together before.”
The world goes fuzzy for a moment as I try to place him, then it clicks. “Oh no. He looks like a younger version of Dad’s skeezy friend Jeff. It’s got to be his son.”
“So, your father has people out looking for you.” He pulls into a gas station, parks, then turns to take both of my hands. “Elena, I just want to protect you. I’ll have a better chance of doing that if I know everything that’s going on.”
Taking a deep breath, I knew that one perfect date was too much to wish for. If only I could close my eyes and have my father disappear.
Yet I already trust Clark completely. That’s something, isn’t it?
“I’ll spare you the gory details and give you the short version. Mom passed away two years ago when I was just nineteen, leaving me the key to her safety deposit box. Dad had taken off when I was twelve, but I guess he heard about Mom’s passing and must have guessed she would leave me her jewelry as her only child. She never trusted him, so she kept some of her things locked up in a safety deposit box, along with everything her parents left her. Of course, that just made Dad paranoid that she was hiding things from him.”
Clark leans forward, listening intently.
“I have her wedding ring, and a small engagement ring that she hadn’t worn in years. A few pairs of gold earrings, nothing huge.” I tip my head, showing him the little gold star in my earlobe. “The only thing of real value is a stunning emerald necklace my grandmother left to Mom.”
My eyes drop to the floor. “Dad made noises about selling that necklace once when he visited, when I was sixteen. It felt like he was checking to see what he could get out of the house. He’s always looking for the next scam. I think he feels entitled to the necklace since I’ve only worn it once, at a Christmas party Mom took me to. It’s been wrapped up in the bottom of my duffel bag ever since.”
There’s a cracking, popping noise. Looking up, I see Clark’s hands are in tight fists. “So this bastard is putting the word out to the scum of the Earth that they’re supposed to find you for him? So he can take what’s yours?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Even though his dark eyes are flashing angrily and his jaw is tight, his hand is incredibly gentle as he reaches out to stroke my cheek. “Elena, everyone knows it takes a long time to find a decent apartment in Old Hemlock Valley. Which means Lawney is going to figure out you’re staying at the Inn.”
His thumb drags slowly across my lower lip as he smiles slightly. Then he leans back, throwing the truck into gear. “So we’re going to clear out your room there, and you’re coming to stay with me.” He flashes me a sideways look. “If that’s okay with you? You’ll be safer.”
Checking out his house, and hopefully getting much closer to this incredible man who seems obsessed with keeping me safe? Sign me up!
“Yes. Thank you.”