4. Lyric
FOUR
LYRIC
My fingers flew over my keyboard as I listened to my distributor drone on about why they couldn’t fulfill my order.
My interest waned further as the guy added more excuses about the backorder that I had already been waiting on to add to the pile.
Freaking fabulous.
“Look, Bill, I get it. Specialty candy is a pain in the butt, but I come to you for this exact reason. If you can’t handle my orders, then I’ll start shopping around.”
“Hey, wait. I’m not saying I can’t get it. I just have to?—”
“You have to what? Give me the runaround. I’ll head overseas to get it if you won’t hit my needs.”
“You know I’d hit all your needs, Lyric.”
“Please. Don’t waste my time.” My voice chilled. Bill Patterson was based out of California and already a large pain in my ass, but if he thought his version of flirting was going to help this situation, he was sorely mistaken.
“Right. Sorry.” He cleared his voice, and the charm faded. “Let me tap a few contacts of mine, and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll get back to you midweek.”
“No. You get back to me by end of business today, or I’m pulling all orders.” I hung up. The satisfying clunk of plastic on my landline phone base only lasted a minute.
Annoyance returned, along with a throb in the center of my forehead that was quickly creeping toward the top of my head.
I did not need a migraine today.
A soft whine from under my desk was followed by a head on my lap. I laughed and stroked Sheba’s nose. “I’m fine. Just a headache.”
Her tail thumped on the dog bed under my desk before she did her circling and settled back down for a nap.
I reached over to my purse and took out some Advil and my water bottle to knock them back.
I tipped my head back on my chair. Sleep had been shit the night before.
My weekend had blinked away. I’d struggled to find a book or TV show to keep my attention. CJ had been hip-deep in a programming issue I’d never understand. Between the two of us, there was a lot of sleepless grumpiness energy in the apartment.
I shouldn’t have bothered taking the weekend off. At least I could have gotten ahead on paperwork if sleeping wasn’t on the docket. Instead, remnants of old dreams chased me into a fitful sleep.
Ones that I hadn’t had in a long time.
Being trapped in that basement had scarred me in a whole lot more ways than just my burns and broken bones.
In the new and improved building, there was no basement to worry over. Now there were vaulted ceilings and a wide-open floor plan since Nolan had absolutely gutted Trick or Treat. The design had added offices, which took up a small section of the building along with our own unisex bathroom. I had the largest office, followed by two smaller matching ones for the expansion of the business.
One of the new staff members was a marketing dynamo who was helping me create the artisan half of the warehouse. She was funny and bright with a bonus treasure trove of local knowledge. The Mastersons were a staple of the town and Tatum was one of the dozen cousins who populated Crescent Cove, Turnbull, and Kensington Square. Which only increased my pool of people to choose from, and if they had special artistic skills, even better.
I was still making in-roads in the town and hiring local would bring in exactly the kind of energy I wanted to curate for A Place for All. My vision was a rotation of artisans from all walks of life. Jewelry, specialty lotions and soaps, textiles, small batch liquors, crafts of all kinds, and anything else that would bring people in to shop in a fun community area.
Since we now had a full outdoor space, I pictured a monthly bazaar style situation where people could pay for a space and sell their wares.
It would increase community interaction, and we could increase options during the tourist season in the summer and fall.
My background in running a gallery in San Francisco made me perfect for curation, but I needed help with local contacts.
Tatum was meeting with a local jewelry designer to hopefully be one of our first semi-permanent artists in residence.
I pushed my chair back and got up, stretching out my back and the kinks in my neck from so many hours at my desk. Sheba lifted her head, her ears perked.
“I know it’s your nap time. You can lay back down.”
She gave me a little huffing noise and tucked her nose under her tail with a sigh.
I laughed. Hard life, evidently. I tucked my chair in halfway and locked my computer. Tuesdays tended to be slow, but I needed to go out and check in with the two people I had on the floor of Trick or Treat.
Grabbing my water bottle, I strode through the door and hung a left into Trick or Treat’s section of the warehouse. It was as much a gallery installation as it was a retail space. Nolan had leaned into the gothic touches, thanks to his Victorian house obsession. Where the old store had been flashy candy with tongue-in-cheek metal sculptures, now Trick or Treat was a feast for the horror eyes.
I was pretty sure Macy, Nolan’s sister, had a hand in the darker tone.
They’d been bonding over their deep love of the horror genre. And I think Nolan needed a different space as much as I did after the fire.
I passed a coffin that would make Nosferatu proud. The top of the coffin was open displaying small batch candy made from a chocolatier based in Salem, Massachusetts. It was horror and witch themed. Below, inside the coffin there were drawers of candy in dark acrylic. Above the coffin were candelabras with a tiny plaque that invited people to twist them to find a surprise inside. Secret doors opened to more candy displays built into the wall, these larger and more expensive.
I wound my way through the aisles and checked on my favorite display, the eight-foot Frankenstein full of truffles and dark chocolate filled candies. As usual, it needed a restock.
I waved at Marshall, our stock guy, and nodded to Frank. Marshall gave me a thumbs up and disappeared into the nearly invisible door that led to our stock room.
A few customers were oohing and ahhing over Nolan’s latest piece. A stained-glass structure in a gothic arch style in blood red, emerald green, and ultraviolet purple. Hidden in the panels were the same exact colors of M&Ms as well as Nolan’s beloved Red Hots.
He was far too clever as far as I was concerned.
I didn’t understand what went on in his head, but it made for a stupendous space.
And pulled people in for social media photos as well as purchases. Trick or Treat was truly a destination store in the Cove.
I made polite conversation with the customers, but they were more interested in figuring out the eerie images that were swirled in the glass. Once I ascertained they were happy to wander, I made my way to the front registers.
The raven from the new metal and stained-glass archway that lured people in from the road was echoed at the checkout desk. Poe’s raven was larger than life with a massive, outstretched wingspan that hovered over the black countertops.
An oversized pendulum straight out of Poe’s twisted imaginings had been built into a real clock and swung like a metronome behind Nova, our head cashier. Our beloved Grim Reaper was one of the few things that had withstood the fire and guarded the door to the break room beyond the register.
“Hey, Nova.”
“Hey back.” The pint-sized dynamo who had taken over my job as head of Trick or Treat was an ever-smiling mocha skinned Black woman with springy caramel curls and huge green eyes.
“How are things?”
“Good. We got a little busy, but nothing I can’t handle.” She set down her iPad with a satisfied smile. “Tatum’s post about Nolan’s new stained-glass structure is going viral. We’ve had everyone asking about it.”
“Tatum is a wonder on the socials.”
“Isn’t that the truth. Nolan actually just got here. I think he’s got another sculpture in his truck. I’m reconfiguring the front to showcase it.”
“Great idea. I’m still fighting with Bill on getting vegan gummy bears.”
“And those are exactly the ones I want for Nolan’s new piece. He showed me a photo of it. The stained glass is incredible. He did Ghostface.”
I snickered. “Amazing. I can’t wait to check it out.”
“He’s over on the new side.”
“Oh, is he?” Nolan didn’t normally care too much about my pet project. “I’ll go check in with him.” I tapped my belt. “Tag me if you need me.”
We all had small headsets and walkies since the place was now so dang large.
“Will do.”
“Oh, I sent Marshall to refill Frank.”
“Thanks. I was trying to get to it, but?—”
“Don’t even worry about it. Happy to help out.”
Since Nova had been hired, I’d been able to release the reins on my control freak side for Trick or Treat. I’d just transferred it over to A Place for All.
I headed back toward Frankenstein and Marshall was already unpacking cases of chocolate. I gave him a quick smile as I hustled toward the new side of the warehouse.
The neon purple and pink on black of Trick or Treat gave way to flat black walls and a matching sprayed ceiling. The jet-colored tiles transitioned to weathered gray hardwood floors. The space was so vast that the dark walls and ceiling actually made the space seem larger. The paint hid the industrial steel rafters and HVAC things we couldn’t tuck away without losing the incredible ceiling space.
Nolan was talking to someone, and I was about to reverse course to stay out of the way.
Since when did Nolan hang out with the crazy winter runners? There was a startling amount of them that lived around the Cove.
Then again, we were close to the firehouse. It seemed like those guys were always training for something.
This guy’s shoulders were impressive as hell even with the eye-scorching yellow. Since it was the first time I’d felt a kick of attraction, I let my gaze peruse the outline of muscles and biceps and even allowed myself to dip lower.
Most guys who had hella back muscles were robbed in the ass arena, but not this guy.
Then I noticed a hint of ink around his wrist followed by a far too familiar chuckle.
The man in yellow and black turned enough that his face was in profile.
Jensen.
Hell.
I was checking out Jensen .
Before I could duck back into Trick or Treat, he spotted me. The easy laugh faded, and his dark eyes locked on mine.
Nolan stopped talking and followed Jensen’s gaze. “Hey, Lyric. We were just talking about you.”
I tucked my fingers into the cuff of my sweater as I crossed the hardwood, my heeled boots clicking loudly since the space was still mostly empty. “Do I want to know what you were saying?”
Jensen cleared his throat. “Just that this was your brainchild. It’s impressive.”
His voice was sandpaper over decadent chocolate. It shouldn’t be so deep and sexy for a guy who was barely old enough to drink, for fuck’s sake. Maybe even a little deeper than when I’d worked with him last year.
Perhaps from the steroids he was obviously using to bulk up. I squashed that hateful thought.
The lanky guy who used to work for me was long gone. In his place was a body made for anything but a boy. I glanced at the vest that had been discarded at his feet.
What was that?
Finally, it dented my awareness that they were waiting for me to reply.
“A Place for All is built to be a way to increase community artistry in Crescent Cove.”
“Her San Fran hippie half is showing, but I’m all about giving the Cove some upgrades when it comes to art. We only have a small gallery in with the trinket shops by the lake.”
“It’s a little better than hotel room paintings,” I said dryly.
Nolan grunted. “Fair. I hope it works, or we’re going to have to find something else to do with the space.” Nolan folded his arms as he looked around. “I’d hate to chop it up and make storefronts.”
“God, no.” I got closer and gave Nolan a hard look. “Look at the size and scope of this place. Chopping it up would ruin the entire space.”
Jensen chewed on the corner of his mouth. “It’s tight. Classy, but approachable. The black is a bit stark, though.”
“That’s why it’s classy,” I said stiffly.
He laughed. His gaze tripped over my face and down to my mouth before bouncing up to lock with my eyes. “If you want it a place for all, you should give it some color.” He drifted away from me toward the natural alcoves that created the booths I envisioned. “I hear you might have a jewelry chick come in.”
“Yes. We’re talking toHadley McTavish. She’s had a few viral pieces and is looking to bring her pieces to a showcase market. Which is exactly what I’d like to build.”
Nolan didn’t say anything, just gave me a considering look.
Jensen dipped his hand into his pocket then came out with his phone. He typed something with those fascinating artist fingers then swiped through.
Was he checking his damn messages while we were talking?
Then he whistled. “She does some serious gemstones. Some of it definitely could be runway shit, but then she’s got the kind of sparklers you buy for your wife or girlfriend. It would be kind of cool to do a graphic line drawing on the black wall behind where she’d be stationed. Chalkboard style but elevated, you know?”
“Go on,” Nolan said as he walked over to Jensen, leaving me to do the same.
My chest tripped at being so close to Jensen. Not as overwhelming as how I’d reacted at The Cove, but I was still feeling far too buzzy for me to be comfortable.
“I don’t have my gear, but I could do a really stylized version of one of her more viral pieces, maybe. Would be like a sign to bring people to the booth or table—whatever you’re doing.”
Nolan stood beside him, his arms still crossed. I wasn’t sure when Jensen had bulked up enough to be nearly the same size as Nolan, but it was a bit disconcerting. “Could you do that for all of them? In a way that could be changed out easily when we changed out people?”
“Wait,” I said and hurried over to them.
Jensen looked from me to Nolan. I could see his brain working, but there was a thread of unease that made his brows gather and his lips pull down in a frown.
“If you could do it really graphically, it would tie in with Trick or Treat and still be its own thing,” Nolan said absently. He wandered down to the next booth that was a little larger. A table spray-painted black dominated the alcove. A bulky shelving unit lay on its side beside the table. “This one could be for the soap chick you sent over to me to check out.”
“Well, yes. She has quite a bit of product ready for sale. She prepped for a market that, unfortunately, got cancelled around the holidays.” I tugged at my cuffs, playing with one of the pills on the material.
“You could do one of her wraps with her logo or something? Or the ingredients for one of her soaps.” Nolan glanced over at Jensen.
“Yeah. I could do a line art version of flowers or lavender or honey—whatever the woman uses for her soap-making.” He moved to the wall and swiped his palm along the textured surface, the whisper of it bouncing over the vast empty space. I could practically feel the bumpy echo of it under my own palm and had to regulate my breathing.
What the heck was wrong with me?
He glanced at Nolan, then at me. I could see the light of excitement in his eyes. “Really oversized on the black to make it super stark.”
I checked out Nolan and saw the answering spark.
Hell.
This wasn’t going to be good.
At least for me.
Even if it looked like it would be damn good for A Place for All.