7. Chapter 7 – Lucy
F riday dawned sunny with a light wind, so I took advantage of my morning to bike to the bakery.
Nestled next to a grocery co-op on the outskirts of town, our bakery closed each weekend.
If you didn’t get your carbs on time, you were stuck with store-bought.
No one wanted that. Thus, the line that greeted me as I parked my bike at the rack and joined the queue.
The building itself looked more like a rustic home than a business. Lots of caramel-colored paneled wood inside and cedar shake on the exterior.
“Hiya, Harry,” I greeted Vi’s gaming friend and former roommate as I reached the front of the line.
She dipped her chin, a half-smile on her round cheeks. Her dark hair was caught up in a messy bun, and she wore the baker’s rough uniform of a tee shirt and jeans.
“Hey, Luce. Your regular?”
“Please.”
I stowed the loaf of sourdough in my backpack and accepted the cup of coffee and ham and cheese croissant she passed me, my stomach already grumbling, calling out for the warm, savory goodness.
“Thanks, Harry.”
I chose a spot at one of the picnic tables outside to enjoy my breakfast, watching a steady stream of islanders and visitors enter the bakery, leaving with pastries or loaves.
Islander. Visitor. Islander.
The little game I played, guessing whether someone was local or a tourist, had become way too easy. When I first moved to Friday Harbor, it’d been a good way to distract myself from thinking about Christopher. Now, I knew most of the bakery’s regulars. Hell, I was one.
I nodded at James Cox, a grizzled boat captain I recognized from the marina.
Leona Marks and Rachel Younce waved, chattering a mile a minute as they slipped inside.
I felt like a regular Mr. Rogers, greeting everyone in the neighborhood. Who even was I?
I picked at the last bit of black nail polish on my index finger.
Olympia was so big, it was unusual to run into people I knew.
Here, I couldn’t help bumping into familiar faces everywhere.
The only thing keeping my Loner Card from expiring was that I hadn’t dragged Rae or Anya along with me to the bakery.
Somehow, somewhere in between my yoga classes, coffee runs, and art shows, over the last five years, I’d become part of Friday Harbor.
A familiar pink head caught my eye. Maybe I wasn’t quite the local legend that Barbara Fenwick was, but to be fair, she had a head start.
Gran flipped me the bird, walking on by, and I returned the gesture.
One of a kind, that woman.
A familiar truck pulled into a vacant spot, prompting a groan.
Of course it was Clay. Why not run into everyone today?
He slipped out of his truck, spotting me immediately. Clad in his brown Park Service uniform, he had no business looking that good. His broad chest stretched the fabric. His unruly hair was tamed beneath a hat. Jaw relaxed, eyes warm, he ate up the distance between us in big strides.
My pulse picked up as he drew closer, his gaze steady on me. He moved like a predator, smooth and silky. White teeth gleaming. Like he could eat me in a single bite.
“Hiya, Lucifer.”
“Clay.” I kept my greeting clipped. Maybe if I wasn’t too welcoming, he’d get what he came for inside and scram.
His cheeks creased, tiny lines forming around his eyes. Like my lack of welcome pleased him.
Contrary man.
He nodded to my cup. “You look like a sweet little ray of pitch-black today. Even have the coffee to match.”
“Robertson, I don’t think a man in head-to-toe brown should be commenting on my fashion choices.”
He puffed up, flexing. His shirt stretched, straining to contain the firm muscles beneath.
“If a button pops off and blinds me, I’m suing your vain ass.”
He dropped his hands to his sides in a more relaxed stance, pouting. “Lucifer, you’re no fun.”
Gran ambled up, eyebrows raised. “Are you flirting or preparing to file a restraining order? Hard to tell, but it’s good entertainment either way.”
“Mrs. Fenwick. Just picking up pastries for my volunteers.” Clay saluted the older woman, then he winked at me. “Lucifer. Catch you later.”
Why did that sound like a threat?
In two big steps, he reached the door to the bakery, holding it open for a young mother with a stroller who was trying to juggle coffee, pastries, and her kid.
I couldn’t help noticing the way his arms flexed.
“Keep looking, and he might poke your eye out yet,” Gran said with the hint of a smile in her voice. She cleared her throat. “Or just poke you .”
I blinked. Had she meant that to sound dirty? The broad grin on her weathered face said yes .
She tilted her head toward the bakery entrance. “Some men dim the lights. The good ones hand you a torch.”
“You think Clay’s one of the good ones?”
Gran wasn’t even my grandmother, but somehow her seal of approval was reassuring.
She snorted. “With a tight butt like that? Honey, it doesn’t matter if he’s good or not. That man’s built for bad decisions." Before I could crack a smile, she continued, “And bonus—he’s got more than enough muscle to carry your baggage.”
“Gran…”
She flipped her palm down. “Don’t mind me.”
“I won’t.”
She grunted, equal parts scolding and affectionate. “But also: don’t waste that opportunity.” She lifted her coffee. “See you at class.”
What was it with people issuing threats this morning? I bit my lip to hold back my smile. Gran probably didn’t mean it that way. Probably.
I slipped my bike from the rack and rode to the grocery store, eager to get back to the quiet of my studio. Getting coffee had turned out to be more peopling than I’d bargained for.
But Gran’s words stuck with me: was Clay a man who’d dim a light or shine the torch? He was so full of himself, it seemed more likely he’d be the one under the spotlight. The man didn’t know when to quit.
I threw the handful of groceries I needed to get through the week into my basket and beelined for the checkout.
“Hey, Lucy,” a familiar voice piped up behind me. Reluctantly, I turned to acknowledge the short redhead who’d joined the checkout line.
“Hi, Janine.” Chaz’s assistant at the gallery was too kind to snub, even if I was all out of small talk for the day.
She hovered behind me, quiet smile in place. Freckles covered her nose, adding to her innocent aura. She was stunning in her own way. Even if she weren’t an organizing dynamo, Chaz would have hired her for that face alone. Art enthusiasts loved beauty in all its forms.
“I’m looking forward to the art benefit. It’ll be nice to have something to do for once.” She visibly wilted after she said it. Like she’d said too much.
I frowned. “Doesn’t Chaz have a big show coming up?”
Janine shifted, avoiding my gaze. “Yes. But he prefers to work with A.A. on his own.” She wrinkled her nose. “Would you believe I’ve never met them? He says he doesn’t want me ‘scaring off the artist.’”
“Excuse me?” I asked, affronted on her behalf. Janine was almost too gentle. She was a painful reminder of my past. Part of me saw the damage of my relationship with Christopher in her posture and the quiet, almost obsequious way she spoke. Like she didn’t deserve to be heard.
Fuck that.
“I… I shouldn’t have said anything. Chaz is my boss.”
“And a royal prick.” I forced a smile. “I’m sure you’re wonderful with the artists. You’ve always taken great care of me.”
Janine flushed, making me sad that such a small compliment had an impact on her. “Thanks, Lucy. I enjoy working with you.”
“Liar.” I snorted, adding a smile to soften my denial. “You’re sweeter than I deserve. I know I was a pill about the staging for my last chandelier.”
She lifted her shoulder. “It’s all part of the job.”
“Well, you do yours very well. If we had more traffic at my studio, I’d hire you in a flash.” I shuddered. “No one really wants me interacting with the public.”
“I don’t buy that for a minute.”
“Last week, I was five pieces of candy from leaving a trail to my oven for the twin girls and their tourist parents who tramped around for a solid hour, I kid you not, putting fingerprints on every piece on display. Those Brothers Grimm must not have liked trespassers either.” Janine hid a smile behind her hand.
I scrunched my nose. “Or, pardon me – art connoisseurs.”
I set my groceries on the belt. “Anyway, I hope you stay busy at the gallery. If you’re really bored, we should talk. I might not be able to afford full-time help, but for the summers at least, I’d love a part-timer.”
Janine smiled, the kind that said she didn’t think I was serious.
“I – I shouldn’t have said anything about Chaz or the gallery. You won’t tell him, right? He doesn’t like it when I talk about the business side of things. Says it’s all confidential. Please, just forget I mentioned A.A.” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “He always says mystery sells.”
Her words didn’t sit right.
I’d always chalked Chaz up as a little eccentric – flamboyant and a little obsessive, sure, but not dangerous. More quirky than creepy. But Janine looked genuinely nervous, like she’d said too much. Like even bringing up A.A.’s name might get her in trouble.
I wanted to press, asked her more about their anonymous artist, but something in her expression stopped me. Her smile had gone brittle, hands fidgeting with her reusable tote.
Maybe I was reading too much into it. Janine was sweet. Too sweet sometimes. The kind of person who apologized when you bumped into her.
Was I overreacting? Seeing shadows where there weren’t any?
“See you around, Lucy.”
I swiped my card and grabbed my bag but couldn’t shake the image of Janine behind me, fiddling with the hem of her shirt like she wanted to disappear. If Chaz really didn’t want her “scaring off the artist,” maybe the artist wasn’t the one who needed protecting.