Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(8)

I paint until long after lunchtime, when the clouds suddenly part and a streak of sunlight shines down on the water, which shimmers under its touch. I try to capture that, but it’s impossible, and then it’s gone. I decide I have to get something to eat, but I’m nervous that he will be waiting for me. My stomach growls. I pack up my tools and make my way back.

No one is there. The house is alone, like me, and I let myself inside. There are three messages on my machine.

‘Call me when you get in.’ Steve’s voice soothes me, and I relax.

‘Stop by if you get a chance.’ It’s Jeanine. It seems like weeks since I saw her, but it’s only been a day.

‘Someone wants to commission a painting of the North Light. Call me, and I’ll give you the number.’ Veronica, her business-like tone hiding the usual insecurity that hovers beneath her surface. I think of the painting I’ve started today and how I want to finish it soon and get it into the gallery.

I make myself a salad and worry about him. He is not the kind of man who will go away that easily.

He falls in step with me just as I’m about to go into Veronica’s gallery. He touches my lower back lightly, and a fire moves through me before I take a step away. I look up at him as we walk through the door. His eyes are smiling, although his lips are not.

‘Nicole!’ Veronica swoops toward us, dressed in a green cotton pullover and a pair of Levis, Birkenstocks on her feet. Her short hair frames her face, which is straining with her forced smile. ‘And Mr Chapman! I’m so glad you’re here together.’

I am confused, and it must show on my face, because Veronica says then, ‘Mr Chapman is the client I left the message about. He wants to commission a painting of the North Light. He came in earlier and really admires your work.’

A small pilot light inside me ignites with anger, but I force myself to look at him. ‘Is that so?’

‘It’s a beautiful spot, and your paintings are impressive,’ he says, moving around the gallery and stopping at each one to show me how he’s memorized where they are. ‘And the North Light has some sentimental meaning to me. Perhaps you could put a biker in the picture.’

I feel my face flush. ‘When would you want the painting?’

‘How soon can you get it done?’

I think a minute. ‘It could take a few weeks. How long are you on the island?’

‘I’m staying a few more days. I could leave my email address, and you can let me know when it’s ready.’

Veronica laughs, a high, twittery sound. ‘Oh, Mr Chapman, Nicole doesn’t have a computer! I’ve offered to have my nephew design a website for her work – I think she’d do a lot more business with that – but she refuses.’

He studies me with a curious expression, and I know what he’s thinking.

‘No computer?’ he says, the smile tickling his lips. ‘Really?’

‘Oh, I don’t know if she even knows how to turn one on!’ Veronica cannot keep her mouth shut sometimes.

He takes a pen out of his pocket and waves it at Veronica, who finds him a piece of paper. He scribbles on it and hands it to me. ‘Here’s my cell phone number.’

I take it and stare at it a long minute before Veronica pipes up again. ‘We need a deposit.’

‘How much will it cost?’ he asks me.

My eyes stray to a painting behind him of a stonewall and apple trees. It is listed at $500. It’s not one of my better efforts. ‘A thousand,’ I say.

Veronica’s eyebrows shoot up into her forehead. I have never charged a thousand dollars for any painting before. But he is pulling cash out of a billfold and handing it to Veronica. ‘Is five hundred enough for now?’

She spits out something that sounds like ‘That’s plenty’ and takes the money. I am afraid she may not want to part with it, even though I am owed most of it, if not all of it. I am on consignment here, although no one has ever commissioned a painting, so I am uncertain of the protocol. I suppose it could be under the auspices of my consignment contract, but part of me wants all of the money. Especially since it’s from him.

Veronica peels back four of the hundred-dollar bills and gives them to me. I shove them into the front pocket of my jeans.

‘Thank you,’ I say, not meeting his eyes.

‘Since I’m here a few days, how about dinner?’ he asks.

I can feel Veronica’s stare. She has never seen me with a man, even though she’s tried to fix me up with several through the years, and now she’s witnessing someone asking me on a date. I want to tell her that it’s not what she thinks.

‘I’m afraid I have plans.’ It is, fortunately, Friday night and my standing date with Steve. I look at Veronica. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow,’ I say, and turn to leave.

I can feel the heat from his body as he follows me closely. Once outside, he shuts the door. I don’t slow down but begin fumbling with the lock on my bike, my hands shaking. He takes it from me, his eyes again making my heart skip. Together we manage to unlock it, and I wrap the chain around the seat.

‘No computer?’ he asks softly, the chuckle in the back of his throat. This is not the question I’m anticipating, but as I shake my head, I am telling him, in a sense, more of my story.

I mount my bike and pedal away from him, my chest pounding. Once I get home, I lock the door and curl up in bed, the comforter around my neck. When the phone rings, I ignore it, burying my head in the pillows.