She waited until Tessa was manning the shop on a Wednesday and zipped into the city to pick up clear glass balls. She bought a single box of fourteen to start, and then packed up a selection of candles in holders that she’d already made. And then she headed to Rick’s house. If she couldn’t get him out of his cave, maybe at least she could prompt him to become active in his community again.
She rang his doorbell, balancing the cardboard box of supplies in her arms.
He came to the door, eyeing her suspiciously as he stood in the entryway. “Jess,” he greeted, his voice guarded. “What brings you by?”
His hair was a bit too long, slightly mussed, and a day’s worth of stubble shadowed his face. He wore a gray hoodie and faded jeans that had a tear across one knee, and he was in his bare feet.
The look shouldn’t have worked, but it did. Ultra-casual Rick was at once both dangerous and cozy, a lethal combination that made Jess unable to speak for a few seconds.
“Jess?” he prompted again, frowning.
“I have a favor to ask,” she said, getting a grip. She tried a smile. “Can I come in?”
“I guess.”
He stepped aside and let her in.
The change in Rick’s house was profound. The last time she’d been here, it had been as neat as a pin. Today dirty dishes were piled in the sink and on the counter, and a laundry basket piled with clothes lay askew on the floor. Three days of newspapers were scattered on the table with coffee cup rings on top. She paused. “Someone fire the maid?”
Rick just kept walking to the back of the house. “Something like that,” he said.
She followed him through. The living room to the left looked neglected and unused, a layer of dust on the furniture. Good heavens, when had he last cleaned? Roberta Sullivan would have a canary, seeing her house in such a state.
The porch—Rick’s studio—however, was clean and precisely organized. He stopped in front of his current project and picked up his brush. “Whatever you’ve got to say, say it while I work,” he stated. “I’m trying to finish this section and don’t want to stop halfway through. The paint needs to be even.”
She put the box on top of a supply cupboard, stepped forward, and simply stared at the door where Rick worked his magic.
The door itself was solid wood and stained the rich color of a toasted pecan. A rectangle of glass was set in the center of the door, and she watched as Rick touched his brush to a bit of creamy white paint and expertly shaped a petal on a blackberry blossom. The green climbing stems were already painted, along with some plump, purply blackberries.
“That is beautiful.”
“I’ve been trying to finish it in a hurry. It’s the sun-porch door to Tom and Abby’s place. Tom was going to refinish it and I offered to do it.” He stood back and looked at the flower, gave it another small touch with the brush, and nodded. “I figured I’d surprise them with this. In some ways that house will always be the house on Blackberry Hill, you know? So I matched the stain as best I could to the floor, stripped it, refinished it, and I’m trying to get the painting done by Saturday.”
“Does this mean you’re going public?”
Consternation twisted his lips. “I didn’t say that.”
“So what are you going to do? Lie? Not take the credit? Jeez, Rick.” She didn’t know why he was so bent on hiding his talent. Or showing it to the world but staying so adamantly anonymous. He should be proud.
“When they ask, I’ll just say, ‘Do you really think I could do something like that?’ And that’ll be the end of it. Look how surprised you were.”
He was probably right. Dammit.
She rested her hips against the edge of the cupboard. “So this is what’s been keeping you locked away the last two weeks?”
He finished another petal and grinned. “Miss me?”
“Hmph,” she huffed, determined not to be charmed by his sideways grin. “No.”
“Not even just a little bit?”
“Not even.”
“Come on, Jess. You know you love irritating me and pointing out my faults.”
Her cheeks flamed, because she knew that’s exactly what she’d done. “If I was … am … hard on you, it’s because…”
He put down the brush and faced her. “Because…”