Page 59 of The Scarab's Game
‘It’s not fear,’ I’d said.
And what did he do? Left to take a call again. He’d never seemed like a workaholic, but the last two days painted a different image of him. Serious, focused, and more interested in his work than me.
Drop it, Jenn.
Two hours, tops, and I could finish the cleaning. Next, check for structural issues with the stretcher and remount the canvas. Then varnishing, drying overnight… I did some quick mental math.
Cutting it close, but doable.
I adjusted my goggles and reached for a thin wooden stick and cotton wad, rolling another fresh swab.Dip in the solvent. Roll over the section under the UV. Wait while the varnish swelled. Clean it off with another swab.
This was my favorite part about the job—the repetitive, almost meditative work, watching the painting return to life. I moved through instinct, my mind a jumble of thoughts. More than anything, I kept revisiting my memory of waking up next to Emmett, his arm draped over me, his bare chest rising and falling against my back.
Such a good memory.
I dropped a dirty swab into the disposal jar and examined the painting, finding another tiny spot in the clouds. “Freaking clouds.”
“Buongiorno.” Dante’s voice carried through the closed door, making me jump. He knocked and opened the door. “You’re in early this morning. And in the dark again.”
“Occupational hazard.” I clicked off the light bar as he turned on the overhead. “I wanted to ensure I finished everything on time for the auction.”
“Need any help?” He walked around the table, coming close enough to kiss my cheek, as though we were old friends.
I hesitated, torn between my desire to prove myself and accepting his company. “No, thanks. I’ve got this.”
“Bene.” He bowed his head slightly. “How did our wager turn out last night?”
I wasnothaving a discussion with Dante about Emmett. “I have a lot of work to do.”
He tilted his head, as though hoping I’d open up. When I didn’t respond, he nodded instead of prying. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you need help or wish to chat. I’ll be working on the ledgers again today, so I’ll be nearby.”
“Thanks.”
After I had the ultraviolet light back on, he left me in the near dark. The clouds called to me, and I took care of three more spots I’d missed yesterday.
The longer I worked, the more Emmett invaded my thoughts. The memory of our single, stolen kiss fifteen years ago flashed through my mind. I’d waited for a repeat that never came. His taste, a mix of mint and the popcorn we’d had at his house, lingered in my imagination.
Time had undoubtedly distorted those memories, but I held onto them.
How many men had I dated since then? How many sexual experiences had I had? Why did my brain keep circling back tohim? Not only during my trip to Monaco, but ever since he dumped me. Not that he actually even dumped me. He just stopped talking to me.
And last night?
Again.
Again!
He turned me down, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
“He cares about me,” I grumbled to myself, immediately checking the door to be sure Dante had shut it all the way.Cares enough to take me to bed for a good night’s rest.
My phone pinged, the cheerful sound mercifully pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. A call from Dr. Ferraro at this hour? I peeled off my gloves, pulled down my mask, and retreated further into the room to avoid disturbing Dante.
“Jenn Thatcher speaking.”
“Ahh, Jenn,” said Dr. Ferraro, his Italian accent thicker than Dante’s. “I hope it’s not too early?”
“Not at all.” Time had passed quickly. It was already eleven o’clock in Monaco—five a.m. in Michigan, where he lived. “You?”