Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(32)

“No glassblowing, though?”

Lucy shook her head. “That would require the kind of substantial furnace that you would have to keep hot all the time. And although I did some glassblowing in the past, it’s not my forte. I like working on windows more than anything.”

“Why?”

“It’s … creating art with light. A way of sharing how you look at the world. Emotion made visible.”

Sam nodded toward a set of speakers on the worktable. “Do you usually play music while you work?”

“Most of the time. If I’m doing some intricate glass cutting, I need it to be quiet. But other times, I’ll put on whatever I’m in the mood for.”

Sam continued to explore, browsing among jars of colored glass canes and rods. “When did you first get interested in glass?”

“Second grade. My father took me to visit a glassblowing studio. From then on, I was obsessed. When I’m away from my work too long, I start to crave it. It’s sort of like meditation—it keeps me centered.”

Sam went to her table and looked down at a sketch she had made. “Is glass feminine or masculine?”

Lucy gave a surprised laugh, having never been asked such a question before. She considered it carefully. You had to let glass do what it would, partner it rather than control it, handle it with gentleness and strength. “Feminine,” she said. “What about wine? Is it feminine or masculine?”

“The French word for wine—vin—is masculine. But to me, it depends on the wine. Of course”—Sam flashed a grin at her—“there are objections to using sexist language in the wine world. Like describing a Chardonnay as feminine if it’s light and delicate, or saying a big Cabernet is masculine. But sometimes there’s no other way to describe it.” He resumed his study of the sketch. “Do you ever have problems letting one of your pieces go?”

“I have problems letting everything go,” Lucy said with a self-deprecating laugh. “But I’m getting better at it.”

Eventually they left the studio and headed to the condo, walking along the streets of Friday Harbor. Old-fashioned ice-cream parlors and coffee shops were tucked between glossy art galleries and trendy restaurants. The occasional blast from an approaching ferry did nothing to disrupt the humid, lazy atmosphere. Rich smells of sunblock and fried seafood overlaid the mixture of seawater and marine diesel.

The condo was part of a multiuse development on West Street, with a terraced pedestrian walk down to Front Street. A rooftop deck and huge windows contributed to the sleek and modern design. Lucy didn’t even try to conceal her awe as they entered the residence. It was furnished with a few contemporary pieces, the rooms trimmed with natural wood and sky-and-earth colors.

“What do you think?” Sam asked, watching as Lucy tested the view from every window in the main room.

“I love it,” she said wistfully. “But there’s no way I can afford it.”

“How do you know? We haven’t talked numbers yet.”

“Because this is nicer than any apartment I’ve ever lived in, and I couldn’t even afford those places.”

“Mark’s pretty eager to get someone in here. And this place wouldn’t work for just anyone.”

“Who wouldn’t love it?”

“People who don’t like stairs. People who want a lot more privacy than all these windows would allow.”

“I think it’s perfect.”

“Then we’ll figure something out.”

“What does that mean?” Lucy asked, instantly wary.

“It means I’ll make sure the rent is a number you can live with.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be obligated to you.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“Of course I would, if I let you start doing favors for me. Especially financial favors.”

Sam’s brows lowered. “You think I would try to take advantage of you?” He approached her, and Lucy backed away reflexively until she felt the edge of the granite countertop against her back. “You expect me to show up someday twirling a mustache and wearing a black top hat, demanding sex instead of rent money?”

“Of course I don’t expect that.” Lucy fidgeted as he put his hands on either side of her, his palms braced on the counter. “It’s just … this isn’t a situation I feel comfortable with.”

Sam leaned over her without quite touching her. He was close enough that she found herself staring at his smooth tanned throat.

“Lucy,” he said, “you’re acting like I’m trying to push you into something. I’m not. If it turns out you’re interested in something more than friendship, I’ll be as happy as a damn bird with a French fry. But in the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t put me in the same category as ass**les like Kevin Pearson.”

Lucy blinked in astonishment. Each breath started knocking into the next, like a line of dominoes. “H-how did you know his name?”

“He came to the vineyard yesterday and said he had a favor to ask me. It was about you.”

“He … about … you know Kevin?”

“Of course I know him. I did his science homework all through seventh grade to keep him from beating the crap out of me in the school parking lot.”