Page 53 of Never Fall Again
“It’d be better than that.” Derrick pointed to his own painting, then winked at Landry. “Later, doll.”
Ignacio handed her a folded bill. “Thank you for putting up with them today.”
“They’re perfect gentlemen compared to some of the guests. Be safe in Europe. And Africa. Or Alaska.”
“What would be the fun in that?” He grinned, and she wondered, again, if this was the last time she’d see him.
When the art studio was empty at last, Landry looked at the bill. A crisp hundred. She’d known it would be. Ignacio was a great tipper. She appreciated it, but she suspected it spoke more to his reckless nature than to a generous spirit.
It took her almost an hour to restore the space to her preferred pristine state. Landry always made sure the room was serene and inviting before she left. For the men today, the art had been a way to hang out with friends and have fun. And that was fine. Art should be accessible to everyone for whatever they needed it to be.
But for some people, art was therapy. On Monday she had a guest coming who’d requested a one-on-one lesson and another who’d requested supplies and a private space. The one who wanted the lesson had endured a brutal social media attack earlier in the year. His therapist had suggested art, and he was going to use his time at The Haven wisely. He had some real talent, but that wasn’t why he painted.
The one who wanted the private space was a woman whose voice could—and frequently did—make people weep from the sheer beauty of it. She painted because she knew she was bad at it. She claimed it was freeing to play without any expectation of a beautiful result.
Landry locked the doors behind her and made her way toward the site of the new shop. She was done for the day, and she wanted to see the progress they’d made. SPQ had obtained the permits so quickly that Cal accused Bronwyn of greasing the wheels with food bribery. Bronwyn told him there were no laws forbidding her from making her great-aunt some of her famous peanut butter cookies, and it wasn’t her fault her great-aunt was the one in charge of processing the permits.
Cal told her he’d look the other way if she gave him some peanut butter cookies. Which she did.
The reality was that Bronwyn had bent herself into a pretzel in her attempts to keep everything aboveboard. But small-town life meant there was no way to avoid having your relatives in places of authority. And sometimes those relatives put your project on the top of the list.
The weather had been cool but dry, which had allowed them to do all the grading and foundation work in record time. And even though Bronwyn had a strict policy that forbade Cal’s crew from beginning work before 9:00 a.m., she did allow them to work until dark and they frequently did. They also worked on Saturdays.
The crews were thrilled with the overtime. Bronwyn was thrilled with the progress.
It was a win-win for everyone.
Landry stopped twenty yards from the low fence around the work zone. The women who’d been in her class were now huddled together watching the men work.
Landry said, “Excuse me,” and tried to skirt the group, but Chantal, a Chicago socialite, stopped her. “Do you know those men?”
“Some of them. Why? Is there a problem?”
The women burst into laughter. Jess, Chantal’s sister, spoke up. “The problem is that Chanti’s determined to have herself a mountain man, but she can’t seem to catch one.”
Chantal’s aggrieved expression bordered on tragic. “I told Bronwyn it’s a crime the way she’s hidden these hotties from us. Who knew there were so many gorgeous men in these mountains? I’ve been coming here for five years, and I had no idea this kind of...scenery...existed.”
She pointed through the fence. “Landry, I want to meet that one. The one with the ball cap on backward.”
At least six men had their ball caps on backward, but Landryknew who Chantal was looking at. Maybe that’s why it was easy for her to shoot the woman down. “Chantal, I’m sorry, but the men have been given strict orders to stay away from the guests.”
Chantal pouted. “But what if the guests want them to come say hello?” She flipped her hair. “I’m going to talk to Bronwyn. This is a ridiculous rule. Come on.”
Without another word to Landry, Chantal walked away, her entourage behind her like baby ducks following their mother. Landry waited until they were out of sight before she approached the fence. She watched and waited. About a minute into her surveillance, a man tapped Cal on the shoulder, then pointed in her direction.
Cal’s smile was brilliant against the dust and dirt on his face. He held up two fingers. She nodded and waited.
He climbed down from the ladder he’d been on, wiped his face with a cloth he pulled from his tool belt, and grabbed a bottle of water from a cooler before he made his way to her. “Hey there.”
“Hey yourself.”
Cal chugged the water, his throat moving rhythmically—whoa. Nope. She was not going to think about Cal like that. He was her friend. She focused on the construction crew while he finished drinking.
“Sorry. I haven’t taken a break.”
“No problem.”
“Can we thank you for getting rid of the groupies?” Cal pointed to the trail where she’d come from.