“You have someplace with more room?” he asked, looking at her crowded countertop that held the cash register, a rack of magnets, hand-crafted bookmarks, and a jar of saltwater taffy—not to mention the huge bundle of yellow knitting she was working on. “What are you knitting?”
“Oh, that?” She lifted a shoulder and touched the pale yarn. “It’s a blanket. I started it when we found out Sarah was pregnant. I couldn’t bear to take it all out, so I’m finishing it. I’ll find a use for it somewhere.”
“Is there anything you can’t do, Saint Jess?”
The nickname came out before he could stop it, but to his surprise she didn’t get her back up about it. She just laughed a little as she looked up at him.
“I can’t paint on glass. So let’s go back into the workroom where there’s lots more space and you can show me what you’ve done.”
* * *
Jess tried to calm the rapid beat of her heart. She’d been sitting at the counter, knitting away—the weather was so atrocious chances were she’d go without a customer all afternoon. She usually enjoyed looking out the wide windows, even in bad weather—the changing moods of the sea were so wild and unpredictable. But not today. Today she’d been restless and without the focus needed to do anything that required too much attention. So she’d pulled out the blanket, made a pot of tea, and settled in, letting the rhythm of the pattern lull her to a more comfortable mind-set.
And then the door had opened and Rick had come through it in a bluster of wind and rain. And what was boring and ordinary was suddenly brought to life. That was not good news.
Neither was it good that when she looked into his eyes she felt the jolt right down to the soles of her feet.
But when Rick lifted the flaps of the cardboard box, she forgot about everything else and just stared in amazement.
“The ornaments first.” He reached in and took out the first box—and then took out two more boxes. Forty-two glass balls in total, each one individual and stunning.
“You bought more.”
“I was having fun. And I had more ideas than ornaments, so I made a trip to the department store.”
She lifted the lid and gently examined the first ornaments. This box held the clear glass ones painted all in red and green designs. The globe in her hand had delicate trails of holly and berries. Another was painted with cascades of poinsettias and green-and-gold ribbon. There were several Santas—near chimneys, holding presents, stuffing stockings. Then he’d taken iridescent shredded paper and stuffed the clear balls full and painted adorable snowmen and penguin scenes. The next boxes were even better—they were painted on colored balls and looked amazing. The red ornaments were lavishly decorated with pyramids of Christmas trees, presents, Bethlehem stars, and cedar boughs with gold ribbon. The frosted white ones made a perfect background for snow scenes, and Rick had used blue tones to paint a night sky, a church scene, more snowmen, and tiny skaters spinning around a pond.
Jess put a hand to her mouth, swamped with emotion. It defied logic. Rick had been the outdoorsy, smart-ass jock growing up. He’d been a tough Marine. But this—this was more than cute holiday scenes. She could see his heart in his work. In the simplicity, in the comfort of the traditions, in the beauty. There was a gentleness to them—to him—that she’d never seen before. Her eyes began to sting and she blinked quickly to rid them of the tears that welled up.
“Jess? What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”
She carefully put the ornament in her hand back in the box and told herself to get a grip. Nothing had changed. He still could have the power to break her heart. She couldn’t let herself fall under his spell.
But then she met his eyes and she saw the vulnerability there as he waited for her verdict. She reached out and grabbed his right hand.
“Don’t like them? They’re gorgeous. They’re perfect. I don’t know how you … it’s just that…”
“You? At a loss for words?”
She gave a little laugh. “I know. You’ve rendered me speechless.”
“And you haven’t even seen the candles yet.”
He let go of her hand and reached into the bottom of the box.
They were better t
han the ornaments. One tall pillar holder was painted with a scrolled Santa’s list. There were wreaths and holly boughs and flowers and one Mason jar that was simply stunning coated in a fall of delicate snowflakes. Then he’d taken some of her taper candles and painted them in candy-cane stripes. A thick creamy pillar candle that had been sitting on a special plate was now wreathed with tiny holly leaves and berries and the plate had been painted a solid, sparkly gold.
“You painted the candles.”
“I told you I had ideas.”
“This is incredible. Rick, there’s more than enough here for the bazaar. Will you let me carry your work? Even if it’s not your bigger designs, I’d love to stock this stuff for the holidays. Do you think you could do a few more?”
She looked up at him hopefully.
He tilted his head, looked at the mess on the table, and back to her face again. “You really like them that much? I thought they might be a little … I don’t know, juvenile.”