Once again, there was no signature, just a smiley face.
He shoved the note in his pocket, and as he closed the door behind him, he realized he was smiling.
He gritted out a curse.
Jules had gotten under his skin in ways nobody ever had, but as good as that felt, he knew he had to nip it in the bud before it got out of hand.
Chapter Five
JULES’S DAY FLEW by in a whirlwind of putting up fall decorations, taking inventory, dealing with customers, and overthinking her adrenaline-pumping run-in with Grant Monday afternoon. She’d pretty much convinced herself that Grant had been thinking about option number three when he’d told her to stop wasting her time on him, and she was a bundle of nerves because of his conflicting messages. He made her want and need in ways that should scare a girl who had never been down the dark, dirty road she wanted to travel with him. She wasn’t scared. She knew Grant. She cared about him deeply, and she trusted him. But she was so caught up in him, she couldn’t think straight. She’d been thinking about his paintings all day, too. She desperately wanted to confide in Bellamy about everything, especially about having those heat-thrumming palpitations their sisters talked about, which were out-of-this-world intense. But Jules wasn’t great at reading guys, and with her luck, she’d completely misread his irritation as interest.
That was an embarrassment she didn’t need to share, even with her trusty bestie.
It was four thirty, and Bellamy was at the register, working until closing. Jules, on the other hand, should have left half an hour ago, when she’d ordered dinner from Trista’s café down the street, but she’d decided to find Grant’s paintings a home first, which was another reason her nerves were frazzled.
She’d tucked them away for safekeeping in a closet in her apartment in case he ever regretted getting rid of them, but that felt all kinds of wrong, like she was hiding pieces of him. She wanted to be able to see them. Actually, it was more of a need, a feeling she couldn’t escape, like she was meant to study them. As if they could somehow help her to understand him better.
It had taken her twenty minutes just to decide where to put them. Since she spent more time in her shop than in her apartment, it made sense to keep them there. She’d leaned them against the wall behind her desk, but she’d felt like she was negating how special they were, and that felt wrong, too. She’d finally decided to hang them across from her desk. Bellamy never went into her office, but she’d come up with a little white lie just in case. If Bellamy asked about them, Jules would tell her they were painted by a new artist she’d discovered online and was considering selling his work in the shop. It wasn’t a total lie. If Grant ever decided to sell his art again, she’d gladly oblige.
She stepped back to admire the darkly emotional paintings that had been haunting her all day. She’d thought they might look out of place in her bright office with the white desk, pink chair, and matching pink accessories, but set against the pale-blue walls and surrounded by a mix of family pictures, glittery gold arrows, and plaques with happy sayings like LAUGH AS MUCH AS YOU BREATHE and LOVE AS MUCH AS YOU LIVE, they didn’t look quite as devastating. In fact, they were painfully beautiful, which was exactly how she’d describe the man who painted them. She had hated when he’d called himself an asshole. He wasn’t an asshole. He was just frustrated, and with any luck, she’d help him find ways to deal with that.
Pleased with the placement of the paintings, she put on her coat, patted her pocket to make sure she had her keys and wallet, and headed out of her office to let Bellamy know she was leaving. Bellamy had signed a contract for a sponsorship deal with a clothing company called Swank earlier in the day. Jules had sent a group text to their friends and sisters congratulating Bellamy, and their phones had gone crazy with fun messages for about two hours. Bellamy and Tara had been texting all afternoon about doing a practice photo shoot tomorrow morning, which worked perfectly since Bellamy was working the late shift again tomorrow.
“Are you finally heading out?” Bellamy glanced up from behind the register, where she’d been looking at her phone.
“Yes. Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you something from Trista’s before I head down to the beach?” Winters were bitter cold on Silver Island, but they’d had an unusually warm fall, and Jules wanted to soak in every second.
“No, thanks. I’m going to Tara’s tonight to work out some ideas for tomorrow’s shoot. Want to stop by later?”
“I think I’m going to turn in early.” She wanted time to study those paintings without feeling rushed.
“Okay. We’ll send you pictures during the shoot.”
“I can’t wait to see them.” Jules headed out the front door, nearly smacking into Grant. “Geez. If we keep meeting like this, people are going to start talking.”
His brows knitted. “I was just coming to talk to you.”
“Oh, good. Walk with me.” Hope soared inside her as she took his arm and headed down the sidewalk, trying to pretend she wasn’t silently cheering and equally nervous. “Mm. You’re nice and warm. I’m on my way to Trista’s. I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Jules, you’re not buying me dinner.”
“Sure I am. I’m a modern girl. I can afford it.”
“Jesus. Absolutely not.”
“Fine, you can share mine. I’m going to eat at Sunset Beach. How was work? Are you and Brant building any boats?”
“Are we…?” His brows slanted like he was trying to make sense of what she’d asked. “No. I’m refitting a boat for a customer.”
“Refitting?”
“Refurbishing it.” His lips curved into a smile. “It means bringing it back to pristine condition.”
“That sounds exciting and difficult. I’d love to see before and after shots.”
“You’d…?” He looked baffled again as he opened the door to the café. They joined the line at the pickup register, and he said, “Listen, Jules, about the doormat. You need to stop leaving things at my place.”
“What doormat?” she asked as innocently as she could. Another little white lie in the name of friendship, and hopefully more, was okay, wasn’t it?
He gave her a deadpan look. “You don’t know anything about a doormat left on my porch with a handwritten note?”
“Sorry, but I don’t.”
“Christ,” he grumbled, but at least he was smiling. “Am I supposed to believe it was a doormat fairy?”
“How should I know? But did you like the doormat?”
“Sure. It was nice, but—”
“Then it doesn’t matter who left it.” They moved forward with the line.
“Of course it matters.”
“Why? You just said you liked it.”
He eyed Trista Barrington, the tall blonde who owned the café, stealing glances at them as she rang up the customer ahead of them. Grant lowered his voice. “Because I told you that I don’t want you wasting your time on me.”
Taking his arm again, Jules leaned closer, speaking quietly. “If I were wasting my time on you, I’d heed your advice.” But you’ve already smiled twice, so my time has not been wasted. “But since I’m not, tell me more about your boat project. How long does it take to rehab a boat?”