Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
T he next morning, Amanda was up early, sorting through various items for the upcoming art show at the Heritage Festival. Paintings, sculptures, and other local artworks were scattered across her living room, waiting to be organized. She hummed softly to herself as she examined each piece, trying to envision the perfect arrangement. A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she went to the door, half surprised that Connor had kept his promise to help her.
“Come in.”
He stepped inside and swept his eyes around the room, taking in her organized chaos.
“There is kind of a method to my madness. At least I thought there was.” She looked at the items placed on the table and set on the couch. “Or… maybe not.”
He crossed over to the table and picked up a hand-thrown pottery vase, examining it closely. “This is nice work.” His voice carried a tone of genuine appreciation.
“I think it’s pretty.” She picked up a framed picture. “And this is an original illustration from Heather Parker. She’s local to Moonbeam Bay. A lot of her work is printed commercially on t-shirts and mugs and things like that.”
Connor scowled and turned around but not before she would swear he muttered, “That’s unfortunate.”
He picked up a hand-sewn quilt, tracing a finger along its even stitches. Then he sorted through a stack of framed photographs of different landmarks on the island.
“That’s from a local photographer. She does good work, doesn’t she?” she asked, trying to gauge his reaction.
“She has a fairly good eye,” he admitted, though his tone suggested reluctance.
He picked up a sea glass necklace and held it to the light.
“That’s a local too. She makes all sorts of items from sea glass.”
“Looks like it’s just that cheap broken glass you can order online anywhere. Not sure it’s really sea glass.”
“Well, it’s really pretty, whatever she uses.” She defended the necklace because it was beautiful.
He grunted and turned to a hand-knit lace shawl. He didn’t say a word about it and continued looking through the items. No words of praise. Nothing.
Connor turned to her, his blue eyes reflecting a mixture of reluctance and curiosity. “All right, let’s see what we can do.”
For the next hour, they worked together, sorting and arranging the items into thematic groupings. Connor offered suggestions on how to best showcase certain pieces, his knowledge of art and design becoming increasingly apparent as he engaged in the task.
As they worked together, he seemed to warm up to the job at hand, his attitude softening as he admired a hand-blown glass ornament that perfectly captured the colors of the sea. He picked up a set of hand-dipped candles. “Lavender. And a mild scent, not too overwhelming like so many candles.”
He looked around at their piles, neatly sorted now. “I think you’re going to need some walls to display some of this. The pavilion is open air.”
“I’m not sure what to do about that.” She frowned, considering their options and the logistics.
“I could make you a few display walls. Use pegboard and then you can use hooks to hang the items.”
“You’d do that?” she asked, surprised at his offer.
“Yes. And don’t worry. I’ll make the bases sturdy so they won’t blow over if we have a windy day.”
“That would be so helpful.” She looked at him closely, genuinely stunned he’d offered to help even more. She liked this new Connor a lot more than the gruff, standoffish one.
Connor shook his head, surprised he’d offered to help yet again. But it wouldn’t take him long to make the display walls for her. A quick trip to the hardware store for some pegboard and hooks, and he’d be set. Besides, he was beginning to grudgingly admire her commitment to making the town’s festival a success. And the way her eyes lit up when she picked up a piece of the artwork, appreciating the skill that was poured into the work—it stirred something inside him. It was hard to resist her infectious enthusiasm and nearly impossible not to get roped into her plans.
“So, do you think you would change your mind and display a few of your carvings in the art show?” Her eyes were hopeful, pleading. So similar to Brooklyn’s when she wanted something from him.
The question caught him off guard and hung in the air between them. Of course, this was the price he paid for offering more of his help. Now she wanted his art.
“I don’t really do art showings anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Got my reasons.” The words came out blunter than he intended.
A look of hurt settled on her face before she struggled to compose herself. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask again.”
He let out a long, weary sigh as he swore he felt his sister jab him in the side. “Okay, maybe just one carving.”
Amanda’s eyes filled with excitement. “Really? Oh, Connor. That’s wonderful. Thank you.”
For a moment he froze, sure she was going to launch herself into a hug, just like Brooklyn when she got her way. Luckily, Amanda stopped just short of that but did grab his hand.
He stared down at their hands, her small hand smooth against his calloused one. How long did they just stand there? He pulled his hand back and cleared his throat. “We could go over to the workshop now and pick out which one you want.” He paused and looked at her sternly. “But I get the final say. No arguments.”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
With the soft crunch of sand beneath their feet, they made their way over to his workshop. He threw the doors open wide and let the light spill into his studio. He had designed the workshop with care, strategically placing windows on all sides to let in the most natural light possible. His workshop was his most favorite place on earth. His sanctuary. The one place he was truly at peace.
He turned around to see Amanda standing tentatively in the doorway. He motioned to her, the corners of his mouth tilting up ever so slightly. “You can come in, you know.”
She nodded and stepped inside, looking appreciatively at his artwork. He restlessly stepped from foot to foot as she wandered around the shop, looking at each carving. “I can’t choose. You should.” She came back to stand in front of him, her face a mixture of appreciation and indecision.
“Okay, I’ll choose.” But why was he so nervous?
He walked over and picked up a carving of a seagull, its wings stretched out in mid-flight. He carved the details of its wings with painstaking precision. The carved bird was held up by a curved piece of wood that he’d reworked over and over to get the braided look just like he imagined it.
He crossed the room to another shelf and picked up a carved sea captain outfitted in a rain slicker and hat. The sea captain held a pipe in one hand and a bucket in the other. The carving capturing the essence of a life at sea.
He returned to Amanda. “How about one of these?”
She looked at them closely. “I love them both. Each in its own way.” Her voice was full of admiration.
He sighed, a small smile creeping over his lips. “Okay, you can have them both.”
She clapped her hands in delight. “Really?”
He nodded and set them on his workbench, the carved seagull and sea captain resting among the array of tools and wood shavings. She wandered over to a life-sized carving of a blue heron, its slender body captured mid-stride. “This is so beautiful.”
“That’s carved out of cherry. I loved the colors of that piece of wood, and the lighter sapwood accentuates the details of the feathers.”
She touched the wood lightly, stroking it. “It’s the most magnificent piece of work I’ve ever seen.”
Her sincere praise pleased him, even though he thought he was way past what anyone thought about his work. But he did care what she thought. Her appreciation awakened something long buried.
He cleared his throat as emotions he hadn’t expected swept through him. “That was the first piece I carved after I moved here. I wasn’t sure I was ever going to carve again when I first came here.” He touched the wood, smooth from hours of rubbing oil into it. “I busied myself building this workshop and… one thing led to another. Seeing the herons wading along the shore, watching me, their graceful swoops as they take off—it reignited the spark of creativity I’d been missing.”
“I’m glad you didn’t stop carving. These are all so lovely. I know you said not to ask… but why not show them? Share them with the world?”
Her honey-brown eyes held that pleading look that he couldn’t resist. Asking him to open up, to explain. But he wasn’t ready for that. “I do have my reasons,” he said softly. “Things happened that made me disillusioned with the art world. Things I couldn’t change, but things I didn’t want to be a part of any longer. So I left that all behind me. Left New York City. Moved here.”
“You’re from New York, too?”
“I am, and I don’t miss it a bit.” Okay, he did occasionally when he let himself remember the good times there. The excitement of a big art show opening. The thrill of seeing his art at prestigious galleries. When an art critic would praise his work. The satisfaction when a buyer’s eyes lit up when they found a piece of his art that spoke to them and they just had to have it.
But then… all that changed with one mistake. A mistake born out of naivety and misplaced trust. But he couldn’t go back and change it any more than he could fix the consequences.
Amanda was oblivious to the turmoil rolling through his memories. She smiled and said, “It took me a bit to get used to the slower pace here. But I enjoy it now. It will be hard to go back.”
“You’re going back to the city?” He tilted his head, studying her expression.
“Yes, this is just a sabbatical. I needed a break from… everything. The calls, the texts, the emails. The… rush.”
“And you took on running the festival? Isn’t that counterintuitive to your need to step back?” He couldn’t stop the hint of amusement in his voice.
She smiled softly. “I guess it is. But I’ve really enjoyed working on the festival. And you know what? Magnolia Key people are not constant texters like New Yorkers. I like that. I like being here.” She shrugged. “I didn’t know what to expect when I came here, but I seem to have gotten more than I bargained for. I love it here.”
“I think you’re doing a fine job with the festival. You seem very organized. You’ve done a lot in the short time you’ve had.”
She sighed, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her eyes. “Now if I can just finish up everything in time. And get the townspeople won over a bit so they aren’t so skeptical I can pull this off.”
“You will. And I’m going to help you.” He didn’t know what came over him, but he had this strong desire to help this woman. Make sure her festival turned out exactly how she’d planned it. Show all the townsfolk what she was capable of.
As if on cue, Megan’s voice echoed in his mind in a tone of sisterly pride. “ Way to go, baby brother. Way to go .”
But he silently reminded himself to be careful. Not to be so trusting. Because he vividly remembered what happened the last time he blindly trusted someone.