He shook his head, as if he couldn’t understand.
Her smile remained, though sharing even that much with him felt like it cost her something. “I’m okay with it. Really. I prefer quiet holidays.”
“You better not let word get out that you’re on your own. The town will adopt you and make you their project.”
“Then I’ll trust you not to say anything.”
He looked at her sideways. “I don’t know. I’m the current project. Might take the spotlight off me.”
She suppressed a laugh, and he smiled.
After a few moments, he graciously changed the subject. “I meant it when I said you paint like my mom. Not exactly like her, of course. But I’m not wrong.”
She nodded at the photos. Most artists would cringe hearing someone tell them they painted like someone else, but from Mark it was a high compliment. “Thank you,” she said. And she meant it.
She’d take this challenge. She’d keep it together, keep it strictly business, get the house fixed up, and be done. All the while working closely on a Christmas project with Mark Rivers, who’d told her she belonged . . .
He handed her his drawings. “We can refine these on the graph paper for better scale.”
She sorted through the rough images he’d penciled out. “They’re not bad.”
“They’re no Riley Madigans.”
“You can stop with the flattery, I already took the job.”
He grinned, and she remembered the touch of his lips high on her cheek. The knot in her chest flipped.
That’s trouble.
They went back into the dining room and spent the next couple of hours sketching out figures on graph paper, keeping to Mark’s dimensions. Joseph stood. Mary knelt. The baby nestled in a manger. A shepherd knelt, too, cradling a lamb. Another lamb stood on its own. Then there was the star.
“What about the stable?” She picked up a photo and squinted at the simple frame arching over the figures.
“I’m making that.” He pulled a sketch from the pile. “It won’t be exactly the same, but I’m thinking I can make it sturdier than the last one.” He handed her the drawing of a simple wood frame faced with natural branches, the star at its peak.
She nodded. “When did you work construction?”
He shrugged. “Out here, summer jobs are either orchard work, construction, or working at the IGA. I was always working the orchard, but my dad made sure we got some other experience under our belts. He believed if we were busy working, we’d stay out of trouble.”
“Was he right?”
“For the most part. He still thinks that way, unfortunately.”
She smiled. “When did you decide to become a firefighter?”
His expression dimmed, and he slid the plans for the stable from her fingers. He stared at the page for a few seconds. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t remember not wanting to be a firefighter. I saw a fire truck in a parade when I was a kid, and I knew that’s where I needed to be.” He set the page down. Then he lifted his head. “I’ll go get the boards and meet you back in the laundry room. It would be better if we were out there in case my dad comes home. Like I said, if we can get the silhouettes drawn tonight, then I can cut them out whenever he’s not around.”
“Do you need help?”
“I got it.”
His sudden departure left an emptiness in the room. Obviously, the demons Mark fought didn’t end with the scars on his face. How would it be to excel at something you loved, only to have it so violently snatched away?
Things needed to lighten up.
On the way out to the laundry room, Riley checked her phone. At some point, Dalton had called and left a message.
“A few of us are heading over to Seattle next weekend before the passes get dicey again. Hoping to celebrate winning regionals. Also hoping you’d like to come along. Think about it.”
A couple of days in the city sounded great right now. Cool restaurants, great shopping, attending the symphony or maybe hitting a club. Wearing real shoes. Or maybe not, because of the rain. Did people wear Jimmy Choos in the rain? But crowds and city lights, food and the music of the streets—
With Dalton.
She laughed at herself. Dalton probably shouldn’t have been an afterthought on that list.
She texted back. Got your message. Just took on a commissioned art piece with a deadline. Gotta pay the bills. Maybe next time?
He answered immediately. Your loss. Definitely next time.
Mark arrived, shouldering a stack of heavy-looking boards like they were nothing. He knelt down and dropped them with a smack. “This should cover the smaller figures.”
“Do you go to Seattle often?” she asked as she put her phone away.
“Used to.” He slid the pile more toward the center of the room. “It’s been a while.”
“Is it as rainy as they say?”
He paused. “You haven’t been to Seattle yet?”
She shook her head. “You sound like your dad. Dalton just asked me to go next weekend. I told him I had a commission to work on.”
“You didn’t tell him what it was, did you?”
“No. It’s a secret, right?”
He nodded. “Small town. Word gets around.” He stood and walked over to the desk, grabbing the stack of sketches. He dropped four of them down on the wood: Mary, the baby, the star, and the lamb.
“It rains a lot in Seattle,” he said. “Mostly during the winter. But there’s a lot to do, no matter the weather. If you go, take a rain jacket.”
She considered that and knelt down next to the stack of wood, picking up a pencil. She’d start with the star. Get down the simple symmetrical piece and move on to the more organic figures. “What are the dimensions for this one again?”
He glanced at the graphed sketch and grabbed the yardstick. “Two and a half by three feet.” He knelt across from her and measured it out while she made the marks on the board.
“Are
