Chapter 6 Too Close To Home （Kane） #2
“What about green?” I venture, eyeing the dark green-black colors. “It’ll bring the forest inside.”
“Mmm, the dark ones are very moody. But a nice viridian green overlooking the lake… that might look cool. We could even throw some red in to pop with the fall colors and winter sunsets.” She pulls out her phone.
“I took a couple pictures earlier. I wish I’d taken more.
There’s this sweet app that simulates colors and styles on real rooms. It’s a game changer for home renovations.
You upload some pics and it’ll take the options and put them into a full 3D model, like walking around your new house. Here, let me find it.”
My spine locks.
It’s like some asshole just punched me and I’m retraining my lungs how to breathe.
“So useful,” she says, tapping her phone and flicking through her apps.
“No,” I spit.
She glances up, surprised at my sharp tone.
Fuck, I’m giving too much away.
But I know it’s hardly as useful as she thinks.
“Come again?” Her eyebrows draw together in confusion.
I force my throat to relax a little.
“I just mean I’ve seen them before,” I rush out. “Yeah, it might be useful, but the AI engines give you too many options and not enough good ones. Why don’t you get a real opinion from a contractor? If Sully Bay doesn’t have an interior designer, surely there’s one somewhere down in Bar Harbor.”
“But that could take a week or more. I thought you wanted to get this done?”
That was before she mentioned the app.
“I can help you get started, yeah. Besides, these painting projects usually take longer than you think. Whenever I didn’t hire it out back home, it could take me days to do a few rooms.”
She puts her fist on her hip like she’s gearing up for a fight.
“I’ve painted a bedroom before, you know.” Her voice is teasing, but I just stare at her.
“Never said you couldn’t. I think it’s a bad idea to go bolder like this without an expert weighing in, that’s all.”
“Well, okay. I guess.” Her hand falls back to her side and her posture softens.
Like my lack of humor has knocked the wind out of her sails.
I’m sure she expected something more constructive or maybe for me to join in with her teasing, considering the almost-flirting last night, but the app soured the mood.
If she knew who owned that technology, she’d understand.
“The metal detectors are back this way. Think I even spotted a thermal tool for seeing behind walls,” I say, nodding at the kids to follow us.
“Can we rent them both? That would be super helpful.” She jams her phone back in her pocket and follows me.
Relief cools my blood, knowing we’ve moved on from AI bullshit.
“I think so. If there’s anything behind the walls to worry about, we’ll find it.” I play it cool, not saying much more in front of the kids.
If they get one whiff about hidden treasure in the house, they’ll howl until I start knocking holes in the walls.
Margot looks at me but doesn’t comment on the we part.
Just like she doesn’t say anything else about shooting down the app consultation. I’m sure it comes off as weird and old-school.
Who isn’t embracing AI-powered everything with wide-open arms to make their lives better?
I need to do better.
Keep it the fuck together, man.
She insists on paying for the tools, and I allow it.
Technically, she’s the homeowner, after all.
The sun feels warmer as we step outside, burning away the last of the morning mist by the time we head back to the vehicle.
The kids rush back to our SUV. Margot sees a poster on the side of the hardware store before we leave.
“Farmers and crafts market today?” Her expression lights up. “Okay, now we have to make another stop. It’s just a couple blocks away.”
Her eyes shine like she’s one with the sun.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she echoes. “It’ll be fun. Don’t you like a little spontaneity, Kane Saint?”
I grit my teeth.
“If you think spontaneity means tromping around a farmers market when you’re already struggling to eat up half a ton of blueberries, you should redefine fun,” I growl, but I’m already following her, waving Dan and Sophie over.
“It’s not just a farmers market. It’s a farmers and crafts market.” She holds up a finger. “Important distinction.”
In this town, she isn’t wrong.
Sully Bay isn’t a big place.
It’s one main street cutting through the business district, a couple eateries, and one or two touristy stores selling tacky souvenirs. The market takes up the whole center of town, tents and stalls set up all along the sidewalk.
It’s the epitome of small-town excitement.
A band plays covers of eighties hits, which is perfect for the crowd. There are a few younger people in their teens and twenties wandering around, but most of the folks here look middle-aged, if not pushing into their senior years.
“Awesome,” Sophie declares, pushing her glasses up her nose.
“See? Listen to your kiddo.” Margot flashes me a knowing smile.
Most of the stalls are hawking local produce, honey, and more blueberries like they’re the local currency.
Of course, the quality is obscenely good.
Sophie pops into a craft stall, looking over a row of birthstone necklaces. Dan hovers at the next one over, keenly scanning some intricate wooden carvings of animals.
Margot struts around like she was born for this.
For a billionaire’s granddaughter, she’s no oversophisticated snob.
I fucking hate how refreshing that is.
She flicks her hair back over her shoulders, dazzling the stall owners with her breathtaking smile, pausing to make polite conversation with a few artists.
Still, nothing grabs her until she comes to a stall filled with ceramics.
I’ll admit, they’re impressive. Artisan quality like you see at the fine shops in New York or whenever I’ve traveled to the West Coast art malls.
Huge urns, bowls, and cups bursting with colors and a glossy finish that makes them look museum-grade.
Some have swirling blue and green patterns, the edges fading to a darker brown. Others look like stone on the outside, with muddy red or dark-purple accents inside.
“Wow!” Sophie’s eyes go wide behind her glasses as she peers in for a closer look at a bowl. “How do you think he did this?”
Margot touches the tip of one finger to the rim of the bowl, her lips pursed in thought as she looks up. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Um. I dunno. Can you?” Sophie shakes her head so adamantly her glasses slide down her nose.
She’s such a shy girl and she doesn’t strike up conversations with strangers easily. Especially when they impress her.
“Go ahead. I bet he’d love to talk about his art. I’ll get you started.” Margot leans over the table, catching the eye of the man in the corner. She flashes him her showstopper smile. “Excuse me? My friend here has a question about your work.”
I don’t miss the way Sophie’s lips turn up.
My friend.
Damn, this woman has a knack for making kids love her.
Shame it’s so complicated with adults like me.
Then I remember last night, the way she looked at me under the stars.
Not like I was some monster getting in her face with his tattoos and damaged history, but like I was a person she wouldn’t mind getting to know.
Even after I tried to intimidate her.
Then again, she’s never laid on the charm like she’s doing for this guy.
Jealousy rips through my gut like a storm of needles as I listen in.
“Um, I just wondered, mister… how’d you make them so colorful?” Sophie’s voice is a whisper.
The man steps up without a smile, tall and grim-faced, wearing the typical five o’clock shadow scruff a lot of artists do.
“Trade secret, my dear. I’m afraid if I told you, I’d have to kill you in the worst ways.” Then his face breaks into an enormous grin.
Sophie gives back another tiny smile.
Margot laughs politely, breaking the tension.
That should annoy me, too, but it doesn’t.
“These are unbelievable. You could sell them for three times as much to rich people in New York,” Margot says. “Did you make them all yourself?”
The man’s eyes flick to me and then to Sophie and Dan, then back to Margot, like he’s memorizing us.
Besides being a human beanpole, he’s broad-shouldered and lean, with a shock of reddish-brown curls that makes him look younger than I suspect he is.
He smiles, his gaze lingering on my face for a beat before he looks at Margot again.
“Every piece on the table is mine from start to finish,” he says with an easy charm I can tell Margot likes.
Her body language changes, relaxing and moving closer.
The way she looks at him makes my fist tighten.
What the fuck? I have no business feeling this urge to break one of those fancy bowls over this clown’s head.
“Amazing. Have you been at it long?” she asks.
“Just started my shop, actually. I only moved here earlier this year.” He sends me another glance, a flash of what might be curiosity or annoyance that I’m here with a woman this beautiful.
“Oh, that’s recent.” She waves a hand at the street. “And how do you like it? Such a lovely place, right? I bet it’s perfect in the offseason for your work. Lots of quiet to focus and get things done.”
“Lots of scenery,” he corrects gently. “A man can’t help feeling inspired when he’s surrounded by beauty everywhere.”
He looks away from me and back to Margot so pointedly I want to laugh in his face.
Fucking worm.
If he thinks that’s a good pickup line, he’s clearly been spending too much time with his pottery.
But Margot doesn’t wince at what he says.
She bites her lip a little as she glances away, though I’m sure she’s no stranger to being called beautiful.
“What made you move here?”
“I came up looking for a fresh start, I guess. About like half the people around these parts if they weren’t born and raised here.” We lock eyes again, as if I’m the one who asked. Some weird, standoffish challenge in his eyes. “And what about you, miss?”
“Oh, I used to come here as a kid.” She stops in front of a collection of bowls in sunny autumn colors. “These are freaking gorgeous, by the way. I’m in love with your designs, Mister…?”
“Lee.” He smiles. “Lee Glazkov, and thank you. It means a lot to hear that.”
“No, I’m serious. You have some serious talent. You must have a website or something online?” She picks up another object shaped more like a mountain with a grooved path running down to a small basin at the bottom. “And this incense holder—fabulous!”
“If you’re hoping flattery wins you a discount, it’s working,” Lee says.
She bites her lip and bats her eyes.
Shit.
Again, flaming hot jealousy knifes me in the chest.
“So generous, I’d love that. Not sure I’ll be here long, though. I’m basically just here on vacation,” she says. “If I buy something now, can I get it shipped home?”
“Absolutely. And thanks for showing me how kind Sully Bay can be, even if you’re not a regular,” he says with an easy smile. “Take your time, and please don’t worry about hogging anything you like. They’re all one of a kind, and no one else stopping by yet has appreciated this stuff like you.”
Why do I doubt that?
Could’ve sworn I saw several other people fluttering around his stall earlier. I think one older lady walked away with a mug, smiling from ear to ear.
But I don’t think Margot notices or cares.
She just smiles at him gratefully as she browses, running her finger absently along a few pieces.
Out of curiosity, I pick up a black mug and turn it over in my hand.
There’s no denying quality when you see it. Sturdy with an artistic flare that makes each item stand out with deep, rich colors and a glossy finish. His stuff feels high-end without being pretentious.
He has a good eye, this Lee.
That’s why Margot loves his work, I suppose.
“What about you?” Lee asks, stopping in front of me, separated by another table featuring his ceramic wares. “Did you also come here as a kid?”
“No. First time in Sully Bay, actually.” I turn the mug over again, keeping my eyes riveted to it. There’s a faint signature scratched into the bottom. “I’ll take three of these. Black, red, and that dark-green color.” I nod at the row of mugs in front of me.
“Excellent choices.” He takes the black mug back and starts wrapping it up with the others in thick brown paper. “You planning on hanging around here long?”
My eyes narrow. My blood stings.
It couldn’t be fucking clearer he’s after Margot.
I fold my arms, already regretting the purchase.
“Maybe. We’re flexible with the kids just starting school,” I lie.
So what if I emphasize kids?
Let him think whatever he wants.
From the way his face falls, he must think she’s off-limits, and that’s goddamned fine and dandy.
“Oh, yes. Playing it by ear, huh? It must be nice for the young ones this time of year. I could never sit still in a classroom, especially with big piles of leaves to romp through.” He holds up the card reader with the amount on the screen, offering a tight smile.
I don’t even look at the screen as I tap my card.
“Guess so,” I say flatly.
“Hey, Lee, can I get a few of these bowls?” Margot interrupts, pointing to the autumn-colored dishes.
He quickly moves over to wrap them up for her.
There’s a lull in the conversation as she pays, and we accept our paper bags. They’re nondescript, no logo on the side or any fancy branding.
At least Lee stops leering as he checks her out.
“Your work shines,” I say, just to show him there are no hard feelings. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to find anything this high quality here. That’s getting rare, even back in New York.”
For a second, his eyes glint.
“Handcrafted will always be king, my friend. Nothing will ever change that. The machines won’t come for ceramics for a while. I hope I’m dead by then if they do.”
Huh?
Margot steps back, flashing me an odd look. She’s as shocked by the sharp edge in his voice as I am.
Every word drips bitterness, and there’s this odd anger in his eyes as he looks back at us.
Then he rakes a hand over his face, smoothing it away like he’s peeling off a mask.
“My apologies,” he says with an embarrassed chuckle. “I’ve been reading about a lot of AI platforms replacing artists lately. It’s just sad. Remember when we always heard technology would take on the hard work and free our creativity? Now we’re living the opposite, more with every passing day.”
“Unfortunately. Hate that shit,” I agree, feeling a growing knot in my gut.
Lee stares right through me.
Just a little too long for my liking.
Then again, aren’t the best artists usually a little off?
Margot frowns next to me, staring like she’s trying to decipher coded words that aren’t there.
“Are we ready?” she asks eagerly.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I say.
She doesn’t complain as we usher the kids back through the crowd.
After a quick stop for some fresh apple cider at another stand, we head back to the vehicle, and I deliberately forget about AI and the bullshit it brings.