Waterfront Weddings (40 page)

Alanna stifled the groan that rose at the thought of more battles with him.

“Ready, Tabitha?”

“Not yet. I think I want this one.” The blond, who looked a bit like a poodle with her bouncy, curly hair, pointed at one of her mom’s largest paintings. “This would look amazing behind the dining room table, don’t you think?”

Bennett rolled his eyes. “If that’s what you want. . .”

“You promised I could have anything. This is it.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the explosion of color. “The fall shades are perfect.”

“Fine.” He turned to Alanna. “So how much is that beauty?”

Alanna forced back a grin. This could be the perfect payback for all the trouble he inflicted. “Let me look it up for you.” She clicked a few keys on the keyboard to pull up the database. “Could you tell me the name?”

“Watercolor Sunsets.”

“Really?” Interesting title since Mom only used oils.

Tabitha leaned closer to the small block of card stock next to the painting. “Yes.”

“All right.” Alanna clicked on F
IND
then entered the name. When the information popped up, she added five hundred dollars to the amount. “Five thousand five hundred dollars.”

Bennett flinched. “For that piece of canvas and a bit of paint? I could make that in my sleep.”

“You’re welcome to try, but this artist’s work sells quickly. I wouldn’t wait too long, or it might disappear.”

He led Tabitha into the corner and chatted for a moment, but by the set of the woman’s jaw, Alanna knew the painting would leave with them. Five minutes later, she wrapped the painting like a mummy in bubble wrap before sliding it into an oversized box. “Be careful carrying this. The paintings are always heavier than you expect.”

“My wallet’s certainly lighter. We’ll send a courier. Come on, Tabitha.”

The woman sidled up next to him and practically purred. Alanna released the joy that had built inside. A sale—and to a man like that. She couldn’t believe it.

“Thank You, Lord!” She breathed the words as she disappeared into the storage room to find a replacement. A few minutes later, she returned lugging a new painting. Jonathan scanned a wall of paintings. A picnic basket sat at his feet.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“No problem. I brought the picnic to you.” The smell of something sweet yet spicy wafted from the basket.

“It smells great.” Alanna drew in a breath and smiled. She wouldn’t hide her hunger, but the way she suddenly longed for time with Jonathan surprised her. She couldn’t be swayed simply by a great-smelling picnic. “I can’t tell you how glad I am I stayed. I just sold my first large painting. Since I was a teen anyway.”

“Congratulations. Need help hanging that one?”

“Sure.” In an effortless movement, Jonathan hefted it onto the hanger. “Thanks.”

Jonathan brushed his hands on his jeans then glanced at the floor. “Do you have anything we can sit on? I forgot to grab a blanket.”

Really? He didn’t plan to mention Jaclyn? Fine, she’d play along for the moment. “I don’t know. Let me check the studio.”

The first time Alanna had walked back there, the lack of mess surprised her. It used to overflow with half-painted canvases and piles of sketches and tubes of half-used paint. Now it felt almost sterile with only splatters of paint dotting the cement floor and empty easels. Her mother must have done a deep clean before leaving Mackinac. But Mom never dealt with stress and uncertainty that way before. Instead, the house and back areas of the studio would get more chaotic as her stress increased.

Jonathan would follow her back here in a minute if she didn’t find something and get out front. She opened the closet door and pulled out a folded canvas tarp. Bright paint splotches dotted it, making it a colorful swirl. Her low heels clicked against the floor as she hurried back to the front room. She slowed and watched Jonathan stroll the edge of the room. He seemed to carry a burden as he trailed from painting to painting. When she stopped, he turned toward her.

“Will this work?”

“As long as you promise me the paint’s dry.” He rubbed his thumbs down his jeans.

“I promise I haven’t used it.”

“Good enough for me.” He walked over and took the bundle from her. A shiver slipped up her arms where his hands glanced against her. He stilled and looked deeply into her eyes. Could he read her thoughts? She hoped not as they ricocheted like colliding atoms without any order. He cleared his throat and stepped back. He flicked his wrists, and the tarp ballooned before parachuting to the floor. “How’s this?”

“Good.” The only good thing about having a picnic in the studio was anybody passing by could see. Alanna could only imagine the electricity that would leap between them if they were secluded in his little cabin. She’d spent years convincing herself there was nothing special between them. Now in minutes he’d eradicated that idea.

Jonathan crouched next to the basket and opened the lid. In a minute, he’d pulled out a tub of fried chicken and the fixings. Her stomach growled as the wonderful aromas filled the space. Then he pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and a pair of champagne flutes. Her heart thudded as he set them on the tarp.

Rebound. That’s all this was. If Spencer hadn’t told her a couple of weeks ago he didn’t plan to buy a ring, she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable. So needy for love. She must stiffen her defenses. Fortify her resolve. Remember Jaclyn’s slate eyes as she watched Jonathan.

“Is this okay?” Questions carved lines into the corners of his eyes.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had fried chicken.”

“You used to love it.”

“Still do,” she assured him as she wondered if they’d keep things so surface.

“You got so quiet, I wondered.”

“Just thinking.”

“As long as it was good thoughts.”

She nodded then sank to the edge of the cloth. “How long have you been on the island?”

“Since Gram and Pops decided the winters were too much for them. I usually abandon this area for the worst months of winter. But I love it here. Always have.”

A shiver tickled her spine at the thought of the long, harsh winters. “Nothing like riding snowmobiles to get to school.”

“Never did that, but you always said you liked it.”

“When I was young and didn’t know better.” Winters in Grand Rapids might have tempered her. Now she couldn’t imagine spending the winter in a place with as much snow as Mackinac Island endured.

Jonathan reached into the basket and pulled out a plastic plate and set of silverware. After a quick prayer, he handed them to her. “Dig in.”

Silence settled over them as they filled their plates and ate. Alanna wondered if she should force conversation but didn’t feel up to the challenge. Then Jonathan started asking questions. He probed what college had been like, shared some of his crazy college stories, then asked about the churches she’d attended. It seemed his faith had grown as hers had while they were apart.

“So what has God taught you lately?” Jonathan pushed his plate to the side and focused on her as he waited for her answer.

She shifted and picked at a piece of lint on her slacks. “That’s a good question. One I’ll need to think about. I know He’s working but not sure I can articulate how on the spot.”

Jonathan nodded. “Fair enough. It’s a question one of my roommates in college still likes to ask. Always makes me think hard.” A comfortable silence settled over them.

Could Jonathan become a trusted friend again, or should she keep him at arm’s length? If only her parents’ home didn’t sit next door to his. The island was too small to avoid him anyway.

He wiped his fingers with a napkin and set it on top of his empty plate then leaned back on his hands and studied her. She swiped a strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear, fighting the urge to blush under his scrutiny. “What?”

“Would you have returned if your dad hadn’t gotten sick?”

Alanna looked at a point beyond his shoulder, unable to meet his intensity. “Probably not. I got pretty good at avoiding it. Everything I loved died with that stupid party.”

“You always talked about coming back after college. You wanted to be part of the future here.”

Not anymore. Not after they betrayed her brother. Her posture tightened as she felt the familiar anger return. Someday she needed to move on, but being here on the island brought it all back to stark reality. She clutched it to her like a protective shield.

“Do you see Trevor often?” Jonathan’s quiet question jerked her from her thoughts.

“He’s my brother.”

Jonathan shrugged. “Sure, but I know lots of siblings who never see each other.”

“That’s not us. Or it shouldn’t be. I always imagined that at some point he’d quit being my twerpy brother and become one of my best friends. Then we both left, and it felt like any time we spent together threw us both back to Grady’s death. It was less painful to just not see each other.” The relaxing, romantic evening spiraled downward with the trend of her thoughts. Romantic? She had no right to think in those terms—not with Jonathan.

“Have him come here.”

“Back to Mackinac?” Alanna snorted, not caring what kind of impression that made. “He wants to be here even less than me.”

“That night was more than a decade ago. How long will it control you?”

“Control me?” Her voice rose. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jonathan. Believe it or not, everyone brushed me with the same brush they applied to Trevor.” Tears clogged the back of her throat, and she launched to her feet. “Thank you for bringing dinner, but I need to lock up and get home.” If only that meant her apartment in Grand Rapids. Especially since the reporters probably had abandoned their nightly stakeouts.

Even if they haunted her doorway, anything would be better than staying one more moment on this island with the shadows of the past.

J
onathan had known the past distorted Alanna’s vision, but he hadn’t expected her to order him out. The ease of their earlier conversation had surprised him. Now he’d collided with her erected barriers.

She stopped long enough to shove plates and containers filled with remnants of their meal back in the basket. Moisture filled her eyes and threatened to overflow. The ohso-tough Alanna Stone looked ready to break.

It couldn’t be simply what happened to Trevor. There had to be something more adding to the stress. Jaclyn? He wished he could have stuck around for their conversation. He’d explore that later, because now it was abundantly clear she wanted him out. Gone. Disappearing.

He touched her hand, felt it tremble under his. “I’ll get this. You do whatever else you need to.” As soon as she nodded, he stifled a yawn. He couldn’t afford fatigue, not when he had several hours of work waiting when he got home.

In less time than he expected, he followed Alanna out the door and waited as she locked it. “I’ll bike home with you.”

“I have a stop.” Her words were tight, almost strangled.

The island might be safe, but there was no way he was going to leave her to make her way on the roads by herself. It would be dark soon, and in the wooded areas it would already feel like night had fallen. Besides, the tourists had arrived, and with them came the typical round of drunk and disorderlies. In her frame of mind, she might forget how the island could be at night.

“I don’t mind waiting.” He’d make supercharged coffee in the morning.

She glanced at him a moment then threw her purse strap across her shoulder. “Whatever you like. You always did what you wanted anyway.”

The way she said the words had a bite that made him almost change his mind. Yet his mother had drilled into him the need to be a gentleman when it came to ladies. Always. Regardless of how they treat you. He’d extend grace for now. He pulled back at that thought. Grace shouldn’t be extended in dribs and drabs.

“Really, Jonathan. Go home. I’m fine.” As if to punctuate the comment, Alanna threw a leg over the bike and pedaled into traffic.

The
clop-clop
of dray horses’ hooves against the asphalt didn’t distract him. He shoved the handles of the picnic basket over the handlebars and pumped to follow Alanna. If she didn’t want him, fine. He’d stay behind, still her silent guardian.

Raucous music filtered out the open doors of the Man O’ War. A young man stumbled out and right into Alanna’s path. She swerved the bike, narrowly missing a woman on foot in her efforts to avoid the drunk. She pulled to the side in front of I’m Not Sharing Fudge Shop.

Jonathan eased to a stop next to her. “Want some dessert?”

Her hair flipped across her face as she turned toward him. “Go away, Jonathan.”

“Not happening. Last time you disappeared for eleven years.”

“I need to ask Mr. Hoffmeister a question.”

“That old guy? He’s nice enough. . . .” But why ditch him for Mr. H.?

“Really, Jonathan, go ahead. You’ve got better things to do than watch my bike. Where’s it going?”

Her insistence made him want to demand he tag along. She was up to something, and he wanted to know what. Guess he was ultra-nosy at the moment.

“Come on, Lanna. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“No.” She pushed at his handlebars, and he wobbled as the basket slid to the side. “I’ll see you
later.”

How much rejection should he endure before he acquiesced? “If you’re sure. . .”

“I can find my way home. Good night, Jonathan.”

“All right then.” No matter what his mom had told him, you couldn’t be a gentleman if the woman refused.