“Can’t complain.”
He nods toward the house. “Beer? I have a few growlers from that brewery I told you about last time you drove down.”
“You know I can’t say no to that.” I follow him inside to the kitchen. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“I grew up in Oz, so your rules of propriety don’t apply.” Chance spent so many years in Australia his accent stuck, along with the belief that any time is a good time for drinks. He pulls the beer from the fridge, filling two glasses before handing one over. He nods for me to follow him out back to his studio—a converted detached garage that allows him space to make a mess—or art, as he calls it. Right now the object in question looks more like a hunk of junk, but I’ve no doubt in a matter of weeks it’ll be show-stopping.
“So what do you think?”
Before me is the bones of what looks to be three headless mermaids—sunning themselves on the hood of an old Impala. At least that’s the only item of value I spot amongst the art piece as it stands. “Why don’t they have heads?”
“They will.” Chance points to one of the headless creatures. “I decided to use plastic water bottles for the hair. It’s a process melting them down and then shredding the material to resemble hair, but I think I’m on the right path. That, and collecting enough cans and metal bottle caps to get the scales right.”
I nod, noticing now how the mermaid tails will glint and shine in the full light. Chance is brilliant, though I don’t inflate his ego by telling him so. Only an artist would be able to take all this trash and turn it into something beautiful.
“Aubrey and I walk the beach in the morning and collect what’s washed up, but it’s slow going.”
“If scheduling is a problem, get a few cases of water and soda from the store and empty them down the drain?”
“That’d kind of defeat the point of it being made from repurposed materials, yeah?”
I open my mouth to answer, but before I can, a loud bleat sounds from behind. I practically jump out of my shoes and beer sloshes from my glass. “Jesus, Pixy.”
The pet wanders by as if he didn’t take a few years off my life.
I wipe my hand on the rag Chance offers. “Your goat scared the shit out of me.”
“That’s what, a dozen times now?” Chance laughs and rubs the animal behind his ear. “He’s better than any guard dog.”
“Then get a pup. Should be easy enough with your wife’s job.” Aubrey runs a local animal shelter, and you’d think they’d be a normal couple and adopt dogs and cats. Goats scare the shit out of me. It’s the eyes. Wide, giant, glassy things that might as well be possessed.
“Aren’t you an animal lover?”
I eye Pixy warily, and take a step out of the goat’s view. “I’m more a dog guy.”
“You aren’t scared of ol’ Pix, here?”
“What? No!”
“Sure, mate.” Chance chuckles and stands, retrieving his beer to take a long sip and propping his back against the doorway.
Aubrey enters the studio doorway and hands the baby monitor to Chance, her yoga mat tucked under her other arm. “Baby’s asleep. I’m heading out.” Her gaze finds mine, and her smile brightens. “Hi, Jude. I didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“Had to get a preview of your husband’s next masterpiece.”
“It’s brilliant.” She beams at Chance as if he painted the Sistine Chapel. Or holds the stars. He looks back with the same devotion and desire. Completely, totally in love. That. That, right there is something I wouldn’t mind at all. There’s nothing fake or fabricated about the affection these two share.
“But you already know my husband is always right on schedule.” Aubrey lifts her brow when I bring my beer to my lips for a sip. “You aren’t fooling me, Jude. You stop by to shoot the shit. And for the free beer.”
Busted. Fuck, am I that obvious? Does she think it’s pathetic I resort to unnecessary vendor meetings when I get too bored or restless? More importantly, is that what Chance thinks?
“Princess, you’re the one telling me I need more friends. Don’t chase this one off.” Chance loops his arm around her waist, dropping a kiss to her lips and whispering something in her ear to make her eyes light. Knowing Chance, probably something filthy. I tip back my beer to give them a tiny thread of privacy.
“Enough of that. I’ll be late.” Aubrey giggles and shoves Chance away with a grin. She lifts her hand to wave. “Jude, always good seeing you. Next time you pop by, why don’t you stay for dinner? Bring a lady friend, or let me set you up with someone.” She waggles her brows suggestively.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off with a chuckle, but I don’t want to be set up with one of Aubrey’s friends. I’ve had enough awkward blind dates to last a lifetime. Unless . . . “Do you have a sister?”
“No.” Chance glares, his brow creased with irritation. “And find your own princess, my wife is taken.”
“Not moving in on your woman.” I hold my hands up. I am not a cheater, despite what some might think. “Just searching for someone as beautiful and smart as her.”
He shakes his head, but a chuckle escapes his mouth. “I should hit you for that, but she’s the best thing to happen to me, so I get it.” Their road to happily ever after wasn’t an easy one, but it was paved with fate. He’s told me the story so many times, and I’d be lying if I didn’t wish for the same instant connection. A sign from the universe to make things clear.
“Wait.” My brows shoot up. “Don’t you have a sister? Is she single?”
“No.” He really does punch me this time, his fist making contact with my shoulder with enough momentum it stings. “Hands off
