Finding Kyle(17)

Renewed rage sweeps through me as I realize that motherfucker not only hurt her feelings and her arm, but he just fucking hurt her livelihood with his malicious actions. I have to fight the urge not to track him down and give him a taste of my brand of justice.

Instead, I set my grocery bag down on the table beside the painting and reach into my back pocket to fish out my wallet. I open it up and flip through the cash, pulling out four one-hundred dollar bills. While this painting is a luxury I would not normally buy, particularly not in my immediate past life, it is certainly one I can easily afford. I was paid very well by the ATF while I was undercover, and every bit of that money was socked away into savings.

“I’ll take the painting,” I say gruffly as I set the cash down on the table and pick up the framed watercolor.

Jane spins around, her eyes wide with surprise. Her gaze flicks down to the cash, up to the painting in my hand, and finally up to meet mine. “Absolutely not. No way. It’s ruined.”

“It’s got a little dirt on it,” I say in a brush-off.

“It’s got dirt on it and a hole in it,” she grits out.

“It gives it character,” I tell her with a shrug as I look down at the painting in my hands. It really is beautiful despite the dirt and hole, and besides… looking at it will remind me of the satisfaction I had by nearly crushing that guy’s windpipe.

“Kyle,” Jane says in exasperation. “It’s ridiculous for you to spend money on a ruined painting.”

I’m not going to sit around and argue with her. However, I do get the distinct impression that despite how sweet and bubbly she is most of the time, she’d be a hellion to argue with if she really got mad. On top of that, I had no intentions of crossing paths with Jane again, and this certainly went against said intentions.

I tuck the painting under my arm, grab my groceries, and turn away from her booth to cross back over to the other side of Main Street.

“Wait,” she calls out.

I stop and look back over my shoulder at her.

“I need to get your change,” she huffs at me in exasperation.

“Keep it,” I tell her, to which I immediately get an eye roll back.

I turn my back on her again and cross the street. She calls out after me again, “Kyle… seriously… it isn’t right for me to take this.”

I don’t respond, and I don’t look back.





CHAPTER 8




Jane


I don’t even bother to unload my car. I leave the leftover paintings I hadn’t sold and my pride sitting in there. Instead, all I take is my purse and the six pack of beer I’d picked up at Ernie’s Grab-N-Go three minutes ago.

My driveway runs east along the side of my house, so after I close my door and lock it, I walk straight past my house and across my front yard. I cross over Cranberry Lane and enter Kyle’s front yard.

But I don’t go up to his front porch. I walk along the side of his little cottage, past the walkway that veers off to the right that leads to the lighthouse door. Before turning left to walk up his back porch steps, I notice that the flowers he planted the other day look really nice. At the top of the porch, he has a small, round wooden table flanked by two Adirondack chairs that face out toward the Atlantic Ocean.

Perfect.

I set my purse down on the porch, the beer on the table, and smooth my hands over my hair. I’d worn a summer dress to the festival today. I paired it with my standard white cardigan, which is appreciated right this moment as a chilly evening breeze is coming off the ocean.

Reaching an arm out, I sharply knock on his back screen door, then immediately clasp my hands behind my back to wait for him.

I hear movement inside and can see his form moving toward the door through the sheer curtain that covers the glass panes. Just like when I disturbed him a few mornings ago with my water pipe catastrophe, he answers without a shirt but in those really, really great-fitting jeans.

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks an eyebrow at me through the screen door.

I tilt my head to the right, indicating the beer on the table. “I’m commandeering your back porch. I’m going to drink a few beers and enjoy the amazing ocean view that’s blocked by your house when I’m on my front porch. Join me if you’d like.”

I don’t wait for an answer, just turn and serenely walk to the furthest Adirondack chair from the door. I ease down into it and perch my feet on the bottom of the porch rail, tucking my skirt in around my ass so it keeps my legs covered.

I have no clue what Kyle will do. If I go on past experience, he’ll shut the door, lock it, and ignore me. But I can’t worry about that. I truly am here to borrow his ocean view and drink a few beers because I fucking deserve them after what happened with Craig earlier.

Reaching into the plastic grocery bag, I nab a beer and twist the top off. I’m not a big beer drinker, and most definitely not a connoisseur, so I went with Miller Lite because it was on sale and I don’t have all the money in the world. I would normally be drinking wine, but in deference to Kyle, who does not seem like a wine drinker, I bought beer.

I’m surprised when I hear the screen door open with a creak. I turn my head to the right to watch Kyle step through. Sadly, he put clothes on his upper body—a white t-shirt with a red-and-gray flannel shirt over it. Same thing he was wearing a little over an hour ago when he rescued me from Craig.