The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(33)

“Bye, Beck!” Liya called after him.

I waved as he left before spinning to face Wyatt. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” He shifted, still crossing his arms.

“I thought Beck was your friend.”

“He is.” He cleared his throat.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why are you being so weird?”

He reached for his pocket and pulled out his phone, buzzing in his hand. “Sorry, it’s Holden. One second. Hello?” He answered before he glanced at me. “Yeah, she’s here.” He handed it to me. “It’s for you.”

“Holden?”

“Hannah.” There were noises in the background. A beeping noise as a truck backed up, people calling to each other. Water rushing? An alarm going off. “A contractor hit a water line at one of my sites.” He had to shout over the noise. “I’m stuck here until it’s finished.”

“Oh.” I glanced up at Wyatt, watching with a curious expression. “So I guess we’re off for today.”

“Looks like it. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “It’s fine. I understand.”

Relief settled in my stomach. Not that I didn’t like Holden. I did. He was fine. I didn’t really know him. But the market was going so well and we were selling so many books that I didn’t want to leave Liya to deal with it herself.

“I’d ask for a rain check but today is the last day of the exhibit.”

“I didn’t know that.” My mouth twisted. “It’s okay. It’ll come back, I’m sure.”

“Ah, no, not there!” he called to someone on the other end. “I gotta go. Sorry again.”

“It’s okay. Bye.”

I ended the call and handed the phone back to Wyatt.

His gaze skimmed over my face with concern. “All good?”

I shrugged. “All good.” A woman with a little girl who looked about five wandered up to the booth. “Hi.”

The woman smiled down at the little girl. “We were hoping you had some books with either princesses or penguins in them.” The girl smiled at me before tucking her face into her mom’s shirt and peeking out.

My heart flopped. The little girl and her mom were so cute. “We have books on both those things.” I pulled a few options and showed them.

The next couple hours passed in a blur. At one point, we sold so many books that I was sending Wyatt back to the store to grab whatever he could find.

“Doesn’t the surf shop need you?” I asked as he returned with another load from the romance section. “It’s okay if you need to leave. You’ve helped us so much.”

He shook his head. “They’re fully staffed today. They got it handled.”

When afternoon rolled around, the booths around us began to close up.

I turned to Liya and Wyatt. “Shall we pack it in? The market is over and we’ve sold a week’s worth of books.” I couldn’t help the smile that grew on my face. We were so doing this again next weekend.

Compared to the bright sunlight outside, the shop was so dark. It took my eyes a moment to adjust before I re-shelved the few books we didn’t sell. Wyatt leaned on the counter and I shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks for your help today. You’re free to go.”

He pointed at Liya. “Are you okay here on your own until closing?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. That was already the plan because Hannah was going to the gallery.”

“Great.” He straightened and gestured at me. “She still is. Come on, bookworm.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to the gallery. You shouldn’t miss out because my brother’s a workaholic.”

Happiness flooded my chest and I grinned at him. “Okay. Let’s go.”





Wyatt tilted his head at the painting of a French countryside. “I thought her paintings were of forests around here.”

“She spent most of her life in Vancouver and Victoria and that’s what she’s most known for, but she also studied art in San Francisco, London, and Paris.” We studied the painting for a moment longer, all bright oranges and yellows, before moving on to the next. “People have the image of her being a reclusive artist in the woods with her pet monkey but she spent fifteen years not really painting after she finished school. Then she met a bunch of painters who inspired her, The Group of Seven, and it became her most prolific period.”

I pointed at the painting in front of us, all lush greens, towering trees and swirling skies in the saturated, psychedelic style Emily Carr was most known for.

“That’s when she began creating work like this.” I stared at the painting, tracing the lines with my gaze. “It’s amazing how you can meet people who bring something out in you.” I caught Wyatt’s gaze, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Why sorry?” A little smile played on his features.

“I’m talking too much. I’m a bad date. I mean, not that this is a date or anything.”

Hannah, shut up, I told myself. Stop talking and making this worse.

“I like it when you tell me about this stuff.” He nudged me. “Talking about things you’re passionate about on a date is a good thing.”