“It’s a personal matter.” Dylan clears his throat. “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him when I speak to him.”
“I can always take down a message for him.” Joyce rushes to my side with a pad of paper and a pen in her hands.
I don’t know why this is grating on my last nerve, but it is. Griffin and I spent a couple of fun nights together, it’s not as if we pledged our unending devotion to each other.
Maybe I should have read between the lines of his last message to me. ‘We need to talk’ suddenly seems ominous considering the fact that he’s checked out of his life for a few days.
I shake my head in frustration and my eyes catch on the wall across the office. My sketch is gone. All that’s left is a nail where the frame once was.
“That’s not necessary,” I say without directing my words at either of them. “I’ll talk to Griffin myself when he decides to get ahold of me.”
It sounds petulant. I’m embarrassed. I rushed down here expecting to find the man who asked me if I felt the same things he did the other night. Now, I’m leaving unsure if I’ll see him again.
Chapter 38
Piper
“It’s good to meet you, Piper.” Dane Beckett hands me a glass filled with lemonade. “My wife can’t stop talking about you.”
I look over to where Bridget is pushing one of her boys on a tire swing.
She lives in a quaint house in Queens with Dane and her two sons, Seth and Shayne. It was an easy ride on the subway here.
“She’s been really supportive,” I offer back. “She’s a wonderful person.”
“She’s the best,” he agrees with a nod of his chin. “She said you were bringing someone with you. Are they on their way?”
I wish. Bridget didn’t ask about Griffin when I first arrived. She didn’t need to. I had sent her a text early this morning telling her that I’d be arriving solo. She replied with a sad face emoji. It was appropriate because it was exactly how I felt at that moment.
I finally got a text from Griffin on Friday afternoon. It was to the point.
Griffin: Sorry about the café. I’ll be in touch next week.
I didn’t bother to reply.
“He can’t make it,” I don’t elaborate before I change the subject. “Bridget says you’re a fireman. That has to be an intense job.”
He studies my face with his deep brown eyes. “Some days I love it. Other days I swear I’m ready to quit, but it’s in my blood. I can’t walk away from it.”
I can sense that about him. Bridget has told me how loyal he is to the people he loves. It’s the same with his job.
“Did you get a chance to meet everyone?” He motions to a small patio area set up near the swing set.
I glance over to where my co-workers have all gathered. I spoke to them briefly before I excused myself to use the washroom. They were all introducing me to their significant others. I needed a break so I sought out the place I knew I could be alone. After I adjusted the belt on my pink sundress, I came back out here to find Dane waiting for me.
“I did.” I wave to Bridget when she lifts her hand toward us motioning for Dane and me to leave the deck to join her. “Callan seems like a blast.”
Callan Kincaid leads a beginner sculpture class on Saturday afternoons. He’s older than I am with a passion for art that rivals my own. After he told me who he was, he launched into a longwinded account of his journey from a small boy who used modeling clay to create animal figures to an award-winning sculptor.
Kristy Molten and Carol Rempel, the other two teachers here, rolled their eyes behind his back, as he waxed poetic about his accomplishments.
“He’s full of himself,” Dane whispers before he takes a drink from his glass of lemonade. “There’s no mistaking his talent, but he’s been a handful for Bridget. He thinks he’s cruising at the same speed as Beck. It wouldn’t hurt if someone knocked him down a notch or two.”
I la
ugh, enjoying how easy it is to talk to Dane. “My very first art teacher told me that there’s greatness in humility.”
“That person was a genius.” He starts to move toward the three wooden steps that lead down to the yard. “Let’s go join the party. Beck and his family will be here soon and then I’ll grill some burgers and ribs.”