We reach the sand, and Murphy takes off like a shot down the beach.
“Oh, should we put him on a leash?” she asks.
“He would think he’s being punished.” I laugh and lead her down the beach in the direction where Murphy ran. “There’s no one about, Anastasia. He won’t hurt anything, and he’s smart enough to not drown himself.”
“I have to admit, I have a crush on your dog.”
I raise a brow. “Is that the way of it, then? You’ve a thing for Murphy.”
“I always wanted a dog,” she admits. “We always had animals in the house when we were growing up, but then I left home, and living in an apartment in San Francisco wasn’t the right place for a dog.”
I want to know everything, all at once. I want to know why she was in California, what really made her move back to Seattle. I want to know everything.
“He was in bed with me when I woke up.”
My head comes up in surprise. “Who was?”
“Murphy.”
My shoulders relax.
“He was quite pleased with himself.”
“I’m sure he was since he’s not allowed on the bed, that mangy mutt.”
Her head falls back with a laugh. “I thought that might be the case. He was pleased as punch.”
“My own dog, trying to charm my girl.”
Anastasia simply laughs and then points. “What’s that?”
“Rocks. This whole area is volcanic, or it was anyway. There are lots of places along the coast with large rocks coming up through the sand. It’s especially true along the Oregon coast.”
“You’re quite the traveler.”
I nod. “I like the sea. The tide’s out now, and Murphy and I like to come down and see what the water left behind.”
“Fun,” she says as we approach the tide pools. Murphy’s already there, his tail wagging, barking at something just under the surface of the shallow water.
“He found a crab,” I say with a laugh. “And if he’s not careful, it’ll get his nose.”
“I’ll protect you, sweet Murphy,” Anastasia croons, rubbing the dog’s ears. Never in my life have I been jealous of an animal. Or anyone, for that matter.
But I feel it in my belly now.
I shake my head at the absurdity of it all, and we spend the next hour walking the beach.
“This is where your muse lives,” Anastasia says as we walk back.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m honored.”
“You told me about finding your inspiration in my museum.” We stop on the wet sand, and I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb across the soft skin there. “And if that’s not an honor, I don’t know what is, Anastasia. I do get some of my best ideas on this beach, that’s the truth of it.”
“Have you thought of anything new today?”
“I have.” I kiss her nose and then begin walking again, but she doesn’t move with me. “Are you coming?”
“You’re not going to tell me what you thought of?”
“No. I’m not.” I soften the words with a smile. “You may see soon enough.”
“What were you working on this morning?”
I swallow and look out at the sea. “It used to be that I fired my glass the way I wanted and didn’t take direction or requests from anyone. I didn’t want to be told how I should make my art.”
“I understand that.”
“But then things changed. The fame, the recognition, it’s something. I have nothing to complain about. Nothing at all.”
“You’re not complaining,” she says and smiles. “You’re talking.”
I brush my fingers through her silky, blond hair and wonder what I did right in my life to have her in it.
“I’ve a good job,” I say at last. “It’s given me more than any one man should have. More than anyone in my family could have dreamed of. It’s a poor family that I come from, Anastasia. And the glass has changed that.”
“I’m sure they’re very proud of you.”
“But it means that very little of what I do in my barn is for the liking of it, and more for the duty of it. I make what I’m asked to make. Today, it was a piece for the president.”
Her eyes widen, as big as saucers. “Of the United States?”
“Well, in all honesty, he’s a former president, but yes.”
“No wonder I can’t afford you,” she mutters and shuffles her feet. “But what did you think of down here on the beach?”
“What did you mean by that?”
“By what?”
“That you can’t afford me?”
She smiles, slowly. “Kane, your art is expensive. I would love to add a piece to my collection, but when they’re up for auction or come up for sale, I just can’t do it. Someday, I will. I’ll keep selling cakes and save my pennies.”
“Feck that, I’ll make you whatever you want.”
She shakes her head. “No, you won’t. I’m not here to get a free gift out of you.”
I don’t say anything in reply. I’ll not argue about this. And I know exactly what I’ll be working on in the barn tomorrow, no matter what she says.