29. Chapter 29 – Lucy
C lay’s truck drew up outside the studio, and I dashed across the rainy sidewalk to slip inside.
His slow grin as he took in my damp hair and scowl softened something in the region of my heart. It was impossible to stay irritated when he looked at me like that. He didn’t deserve my lousy mood.
“Hey, honey. Good day?”
I leaned across the bench, drawn by the need for comfort, the earthy scent of petrichor and his soap battling for my attention.
Who was I kidding? It wasn’t even a fight with Clay in the mix.
He brushed my lips in a quick kiss, smiling against my mouth when he drew away, only to have me seek to prolong our connection.
“ Long day,” I corrected when we broke apart.
“Let me guess: fifty-seven text message interruptions about Chaz and Island Muse?” he asked, the hint of humor in his voice. “There’s nothing like a small-town gossip network.”
“As soon as the studio’s closure is What’s New, Friday Harbor- official, things will die down, but between Anya, Vi, and Rae all seeking updates, Janine checking in, and Gran badgering me, I almost threw my phone in the glory hole furnace.”
The entire island seemed alive with chatter about Chaz. When he disappeared, the studio shut down. Word was that Megan claimed Chaz had a family emergency on the mainland.
“Have you heard from Agent Harris?”
“The DEA and the Parks Service aren’t officially cooperating on this one.”
I arched a brow. Unofficially, we’d helped Nick a lot. He’d better not be holding out on us. Part of my frustration came from having no real updates for my friends. We were just as much outsiders as they were.
“But since the Parks Service has a financial interest in Island Muse, he did follow up. They served their warrant and seized a bunch of records. Want to guess what else they found?”
I pinched his side. “Spill, Robertson.”
“Sheets of blank prescription labels and pill sorting and packaging supplies.”
“They think it was drugs?”
“They do.”
“Huh. What does that mean for the parks fundraiser? Will they still release the funds to you?”
Clay dipped his chin. “Eventually. Nick says they’ve already brought Megan in for questioning once, but predictably, she lawyered up. There’s a lot we don’t know yet.”
“Do you think Chaz will come back?” I tugged at my bottom lip. If it were me, I’d be gone for good. Find a nice island somewhere warm and disappear. I snorted. Then again, that was what he’d left behind.
“I think if they issue a warrant, he won’t be able to hide forever. Either way, I think Island Muse is done.”
I rolled my lips together. While it felt good to be right about Chaz, it also felt wrong. We’d lost an important part of our local art community. Island Muse’s closure would have a ripple effect on a lot of the local artisans.
Clay drove us home, easily handling the sparse traffic downtown. The farther into fall we got, the fewer visitors the island attracted.
My phone buzzed, and I winced at the caller ID: Gran. Dammit.
Gran: Do you have Janine’s #?
Immediately suspicious, I tapped out why?
Gran: I want to make her a job offer.
Lucy: To do WHAT?
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified for Janine. But if anyone could survive working with Gran, it might be Janine.
Gran: Run Island Muse. I just bought it.
I blinked, reading the message twice.
“Gran just bought the most high-profile money laundering front on the island and wants to put Janine in charge of it.”
Clay’s bark of laughter caught me by surprise. He shook his head from side to side, his chuckle subsiding. “At least we know why she was so interested in Island Muse.” He winked. “I bet she tries to talk you into teaching for her.”
My eyes widened, fresh horror making me speechless. Holy hell. Gran hosting paint and sips opened up all new potential nightmares.
“I give it two weeks before she tries to recruit you for a class called Uncorked and Unclothed .”
“Bite your tongue, Robertson.” I shook my phone at him. “Don’t you go giving her any ideas.”
He snickered. “She doesn’t need my help.”
***
With the mystery behind Island Muse somewhat resolved, we could turn our attention to settling into living together and his parents’ impending visit.
The days leading up to Thanksgiving showed me a whole new side to the man I’d moved in with.
Clay was rabid for the holiday. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.
We spent a solid two days carting boxes of my stuff from my old place to his house.
We navigated which pieces of my furniture we’d keep and what we’d get rid of relatively easily.
All the aspects of the move and of combining households that should have been stressful, we managed effortlessly.
It was only when Clay started planning his menu that the monster came out.
“I still need a solid stuffing recipe,” he muttered, flipping through yet another cookbook as he sat next to me on the couch.
I side-eyed the stack of abandoned books and laptop with fifteen browser tabs open. “There’s always Stove Top.”
“Bite your tongue, woman. Those are fighting words.”
“You know, I’ve always been partial to the boxed mac and cheese,” I added airily, grinning when he tensed. “Are you sure we really need a recipe with gruyere?”
“That’s it!” He tossed his book aside, pushing to his feet. He towered over me, glaring down, his expression fierce. “I draw the line at powdered cheese. You must be punished.”
A giggle slipped out. He pulled me to my feet, hoisting me over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry, adding a slap to my ass when I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Hey!”
“That’s what you get for laughing at my menu planning. This is serious business, woman.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with faux meekness as he carted me off to our bedroom.
Much later, I traced his chest, twirling a fingertip in the hollows and tracing his moles from point to point. “I had no idea you were so serious about Thanksgiving.”
Almost reflexively, he smacked my flank. “Let me have my dreams, Lucifer. After all, you’re one of them.”
I snorted. “Really?” Glancing down at my naked body, I had to concede. “Okay, I am pretty dreamy.”
His expression softened. “I’m serious.” He turned, reaching into his bedside table and emerging with a small journal.
My heart stalled. Was this the famed journal? The one he promised to let me read someday?
He flipped pages, his eyes flitting across the words inside until he landed on the passage he was looking for. He extended the open journal toward me.
“As promised. My entry from the date we met.”
Slowly, I accepted the leatherbound book, hands shaky. I wasn’t exactly kind the first time Clay and I met. It was hard to imagine I’d made a good impression. But the way he watched me gave me second thoughts.
Dear Diary, today I met the woman I’m going to marry.
I chuckled. At least he was consistent.
Just kidding. I don’t think she’ll have me. But I can dream, right? Since I lost Jen, I’ve been convinced my romantic life is over, that lightning doesn’t strike twice. The kind of partnership and connection we had was a one-time deal.
But today, the meanest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen told me to fuck off, and I fell. Hard. Even asked her to marry me. Of course, she said no. She’s probably sane. I’m a bad bet.
My throat tightened. When we met, I thought I was a bad bet too. I wasn’t ready to trust. Not him, not myself.
But teasing her is the most fun I’ve had in forever. Does it make me a bad person that I can’t stop? She’s feisty. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve felt awake. Like I’ve been in a fog, and she’s a sharp wind that cuts through all the noise.
I don’t know if she’ll ever want me.
But God, I hope she does.
I swiped at a hot tear that had no right sharing my business, sniffing. Clay Robertson was a menace. I looked at him through blurry eyes, struggling to find the words. All at once, I knew exactly what to say.
“Marry me.”
Clay stalled, blinking. His breath hitched, chest rising once.
The moment stretched, my heart thumping, the sound growing louder and louder in my ears when he didn’t answer.
He lay next to me, utterly naked and yet still willing to reveal even more of himself.
Of his heart. All the teasing and ribbing in the world couldn’t cover up how much he’d come to mean to me.
He’d been mine since the day we met. It just took me a while to realize it.
“Say it again,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Marry me, Clay.”
He surged up, cupping my face in both hands like he couldn’t believe I was real. “ Yes . I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Loving you.”
I sniffed, wiping at another tear. “You’re saying it better than I am.”
“Honey, it’s ‘cause I’ve had more practice. I only stopped asking because I didn’t want to scare you away.”
“I’m tougher than that,” I protested, wiping at my eye.
Clay gathered me in his arms, mouth quirking at one corner. “Sure, you are, Luce. You’re one tough cookie. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“Shit. We’re really going to do this.”
His chuckle shook my chest. “Words every man wants to hear after a marriage proposal.”
I smacked him gently. “How are you so calm?”
“I’ve had months to prepare. Waiting for you to catch up has been killing me inside.”
I leaned back. “Is that why you’ve been so anal about Thanksgiving? You’re pouring your frustrated marriage proposals into dinner?”
“Nah.” He grinned. “That’s just me.” He dropped a smacking kiss on my mouth. “No takebacks. You’re stuck with me now.”
“The devil keeps her bargains.”
“Good. ‘Cause, make no mistake, you own my soul.”
“Dammit. Now I want to ask you to marry me all over again.”
His chuckle made me smile. “That’s okay. You keep practicing, baby. It gets easier every time.” He kissed me tenderly. “And I promise, I’ll keep saying yes.”
***
If I thought Clay’s attention to Thanksgiving details might ease after I proposed, I was mistaken. If anything, he doubled down on his recipe searches.
“We don’t have to tell your family about our engagement at Thanksgiving if it’s too much pressure,” I offered, watching him scribble furiously at his planning notebook.
“Don’t you dare try to weasel out of our engagement,” he muttered, glaring up at me. “I will chuck the whole meal in the trash before I let that happen.”
“Whoa, Robertson. Ease up. It was just a suggestion. If it’s not our engagement, what’s driving all of this?” I gestured to the stack of cookbooks.
“I want to celebrate the things I’m thankful for. Chief among them is you .”
I wreathed my arms around his neck. “You know how else we can celebrate?” I asked with an arched brow.
“If you say powdered cheese, I will destroy you.” He waited a beat and grinned.
“In bed.”