His and Hers (4 page)

Chapter Five

Misty Darling.

The pieces clicked into place. The poster at the theater building. No wonder he’d compared the blonde-headed beauty to the film star. They were related, after all.

Her name turned around in his head, like song lyrics. Maybe there was something there. Cain removed his guitar from his back, strumming idly as he walked through the crowd. Every so often, he caught sight of her tawny head, those huge white sunglasses that hid half of her angel’s face. Her slightest smile warmed like sunlight after a long stretch of cloudy days.

Hmm. He fumbled a hasty lyric in his mind, and then under his breath while strumming a few chords with his thumb. With that last riff, he was onto something but needed more inspiration.

Where’d she go? He quick-scanned the crowd until he spotted her slender form. She stood, her back to him, checkbook in hand. He watched as she wrote out a check for a few bottles of olive oil. His olive oil. Oh, this was too good. He ambled his way to the booth, but she’d already gone.

Cain caught Desiree’s gaze, as she finished tucking the check into the money pouch.

His sister pouted. “Nice of you to drop by on the busiest day of the week. Planning on working today?”

“Sorry, Des. I’m volunteering at the senior center. How about I drop that deposit off at the bank for you?” Cain held out a hand, waiting. “Since you’re so busy.”

“What about all those little old people you’re helping?” Suspicion clouded her dark eyes. “Won’t they miss you?”

“Class doesn’t start for another hour.” He let his grin go wider, in hopes she’d believe him. “Can’t a big brother lend a hand once in awhile?”

The next moment, he almost regretted asking. She filled his hands with the bank pouch, sacks of change, and instructions on how to conduct their business. When had Des gone and made herself all responsible?

Five years his junior, she’d only just graduated from film school in Los Angeles. She should have been making movies with her fancy film school degree, not getting sucked back into the family business.

“You got it?” She arched one eyebrow.

Her doubtful tone resonated over the throng of customers. “Yeah.” Cain turned and surveyed the crowd, caught sight of Misty heading toward the bank building on the corner. Thank heaven! “Gotta jam. Thanks, Des.” He set off again, and managed to follow her at a fair clip, keeping her in sight. She hovered by a booth selling bath beads as he raced into the towering brick bank building at the corner.

His steps echoed off marble floors, through the lobby to the red velvet ropes and he tapped his foot as the tellers took their time with each customer. Don’t these people have anything better to do than to chat about the weather? Unzipping the bag, he flipped through to find the check with Misty’s name, and angels be praised! Her address.

He scooped up a deposit slip and pen, marking down numbers for the different accounts as Desiree directed. On a third slip of paper, he jotted down the information he’d been after, her phone number, and slipped it in his pocket.

How on earth would he call her out of the blue? What would he say? Hey, I stalked you through the Farmer’s Market. Stole a check, and found your number? Guilt washed a slight wave. He blinked through it.

His turn! Finally. He all but threw his deposit at the ancient teller, Rose McMurphy, who’d taught him Sunday school as a kid. Cain fired off Desiree’s request, trying not to sound too frantic, and signed where she directed.

“You’re in an awful hurry, Cain Trovato!” Rose raised her brows. “Got a date?”

“Not yet.” He tilted his head to catch sight of Misty out the wide front window. She was leaving the booth. He drummed a rhythm on the counter with anxious thumbs, then gave a guilty glance and hazarded a quick explanation. “I think I just found my muse…outside…”

She folded the receipts in his hands and squeezed. “Go get her before she slips away.”

“Thanks, Mrs. McMurphy!” Cain turned, raced into the mid-day sun, just in time to watch her get in that ancient black and white Buick and drive off.

Of all the dumb luck…

Hand to his back pocket, he frowned at his chicken-scratch writing. The chord of his song tickled the back of his brain, an unfinished melody. He’d see her again. He’d make sure of it.

Chapter Six

“I’m back, I’m back!” Misty called out, muscling her way through the back door into the kitchen.

Grandma sat at the table, sipping lemonade, dressed in her bright blue, square necked dress. “Let me help you with that basket, dear.” She half rose. “Good deals at the market today?”

“Yeah.” Misty quickly shooed her away, glancing at the clock. “Great. Is that class of yours really in half an hour? Sorry I’m so late. I bumped into someone.”

“Someone you know?” Grandma raised her brows. “Or someone you’d like to?”

“Actually, I met him yesterday. He’s handsome. Reckless. Been following me about the streets of Long Valley. And, he’s offered to sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this.” Misty looped the handful of carrot greens around the room.

“No wonder you’re late.” Grandma smiled and played a finger up the condensation on her glass.

Misty noticed the second, empty cup sitting in the kitchen sink. “You’ve had someone over?”

“Posh. Not company. Just the man from the phone service.”

An engine turned over in the front and roared to life. She turned to the window to see a repair vehicle driving away down the hill.

“Was something wrong with the line?” Misty asked, watching the red and white repair truck disappear onto the main road.

“No. I had our internet upgraded or some such thing. They said we could fly around that spider web thingy now.”

“The world wide web, you mean.” Misty’s lips pursed. She swallowed a bubble of laughter. “So we can do nothing with the computer five times as fast?”

“Funny.” Grandma’s lips pursed, veiling obvious amusement. “Now that Adele’s abroad, she’s sending mail across the wires. She doesn’t do anything low-tech—as they say—anymore. I thought it would be nice to keep up with her. I hope you won’t mind teaching me how to use that infernal contraption. Plus, it’ll be good for you to stay in touch with people, too.”

Misty nodded, thinking that this week she’d already seen and spoken to more people than she had in ages. She practically lived like a hermit, pretending it was because of Grandma, when in fact it was Todd’s fault. Todd and his plans. Six months of grieving for shattered dreams and broken trust was long enough. Time to step out into the sun. Maybe with that handsome guitarist. And maybe, just maybe, she’d get the nerve enough to ask him out on a date the next time.

“Computer lesson later.” She absently fussed with her grandmother’s hair, tucking a stray pin curl back into place. “First thing’s first. Let’s get you to that art class at the senior center. Ready?”

Twenty minutes later, Misty walked them up the granite stairs to the Evergreen Senior Center, her arm securely braced around Grandma’s back. The warm California breeze licked her ankles, kicking up her mid-calf length peasant skirt. Misty darted a glance around to see if anyone noticed more than a fair shot of her legs, and gathered the fabric in her free hand so she wouldn’t flash the world.

A suntanned figure leaned against one of the stone columns, guitar at his feet, a stack of papers in his hands, sunglasses perched on his nose. A smile touched the corners of his mouth then broadened, and his head rose in a nod.

“Good grief!” Misty’s heart slammed.

“What is it, child?” Grandma looked up, seeing the handsome man now waving in their direction. “Who is that? Do we know him?”

“That’s the guy I saw at the market today.” Misty gave a slight wave and chewed her lip, her duty to Grandma overriding the urge to go talk to him.

He pushed off the column and took a step toward them, holding out a hand to stop her. “Misty! Wait…”

“Sorry! We’re late.” She tapped her bare wrist, turned, and hurried them toward the senior center doors. “Come on.”

“Do you want to go say hello?” Nona whispered, all but giggling. “I’ll sit here and wait…”

“No.” Her protest too loud, she winced, opened the door, and ushered Grandma through. “It’s fine. Long Valley’s a small town. I’m bound to see him again sometime.”

Misty glanced back at her clutched flyer for the classroom number, and then up to scan the marble hall. Each opaque glass door bore gold-edged black numbers. Theirs was at the end, next to a message-covered bulletin board, a drinking fountain, and the bathrooms.

“Seems to me, the reason you’re not dating is because you’re ignoring handsome young men.” Nona squeezed her hand.

But she kept her gaze fixed on their destination. “Grandma Nona! Please!” Misty rolled her gaze heavenward, shaking her head.

Just then, the retired dean of Long Valley Valley College, Martin Abernathy, and his wife, Vera, came to a halt beside them. He enveloped her grandmother in a bear hug while Vera clutched her purse and giggled like a schoolgirl waiting for an autograph when they discovered they were in the same class.

“Nona. Walk in with us, won’t you?” His smile flashed a million miles wide. “Vera wants to talk to you about the film festival.”

“Yes, of course.” Grandma leveled her gaze.

Misty wanted to squirm under its weight.

“My granddaughter wants to say hello to her friend, anyway.” Pursing her lips, her grandmother walked arm in arm with the couple through the classroom door.

Misty stood, dry mouthed and alone. She looked back to the entrance. Should she go back out to find him? Or maybe, if she waited a minute, he’d come after her? What silly, childish thoughts were these? Almost as silly as blindly hoping she’d cross paths with the wandering musician by accident. This was real life. Not a fairy tale. She rubbed the empty spot in the center of her chest, sighed, and then skulked through the classroom doorway.

Moments later, she found herself perched in front of an easel, art supplies neatly arranged for the painting they would be tackling that day. The room buzzed with senior citizens making small talk.

Head high and voice clear, Nona Darling proudly introduced her granddaughter to everyone in the room. “Misty, you remember Martin and Vera Abernathy.”

They each squeezed her hand in greeting. Misty said her hellos and how-do-you-dos, a rehearsed smile pasted on her face. Being the youngest person in a crowd of seventy-plus citizens might have bothered some, but since coming back, this had been her only social life. Perhaps that explained why finding herself face to face with the handsome stranger had left her tongue tied and jittery.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the classroom sinks, sighed, and tugged her windblown tangle of hair back up into a quick ponytail. She’d barely given a second thought to her appearance, she’d been so late getting Grandma out the door.

Misty ran quick fingers along her cheeks. No need for rouge, that ever-present blush heated from behind a childish spray of freckles. She sucked in her cheeks, deepening her features. Somewhere inside was the granddaughter of the famous Nona Darling. She failed to see any resemblance.

Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath. No more self-berating for trusting the wrong guy. Grandma was right. High time to rejoin the world. Her thoughts drifted to the handsome guitarist. If he’s still outside when class ends, I’ll walk over there. Say something brilliant.

The door opened. He walked right in, this time at the arm of a dark-haired beauty—their art instructor, Misty guessed, judging by the box full of art supplies she carried.

His gaze swept the room and settled upon her.

Misty stared back, her jaw went slack. She snapped her mouth shut before she looked like an idiot. What were the odds? The air solidified around her, as her heart kicked into gear. How can skin go hot and cold all at the same time?

“Looks like you didn’t miss him, after all.” Grandma elbowed.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Diane Laurent, and this is my partner in crime today, Cain Trovato.” Diane gestured toward the center of the room. “Cain, why don’t you get set up?”

Cain strolled to the stool, removing his jacket, his brows raised in amusement.

“Hey, there.” She cleared her throat at how thin her voice sounded. She hoped her smile didn’t falter. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”

“Hello, again.” His mouth curled into a smile as he sat, and tugged at the top button of his shirt.

Was he…undressing? Misty’s stomach knotted. “Grandma,” she whisper-hissed. “You said this was a still life class.”

“I’m quite sure he’ll be very still.” Grandma held her brush up and out before her, toward where Cain stretched his muscular arms.

Misty stood suddenly, her stool wobbling. “I’ll be right back.”

Grandma touched her shaking hand. “Where are you going?”

“I need a water fountain.” Misty backed toward the door. “I mean a drink. From the guitarist.” She turned to Grandma with a pasted smile-turned-grimace. “Be right back.” She left her grandmother sitting alone in front of her easel, and bolted out the door.