smooth skin of her cheek, kiss her lips.
I should send her away quickly. When she’s looking at me, I can’t lie to myself about being at peace with letting her go.
“I’m here about some rental space? Do you know the owner?”
“Rental space?”
“Yeah.” She raises onto her toes and peeks into the gallery over my shoulder. “God, it’s such a gorgeous place. Do you mind?”
I step back and motion her in. “By all means.”
Her eyes are wide as she surveys the space and studies the art hanging on the walls. First, she approaches a work done in pastels. A child’s face is lit up with laughter as she squeezes a large male hand between both of hers. “Wow.” Cally’s mouth drops into a perfect circle of awe.
“Maggie Thompson did that.”
“Who’s the child?”
“Her name is Zoe. She’s Asher Logan’s daughter.”
“Asher Logan has a daughter?”
“Yeah. She lives in New York with her mom most of the year, but she spent most of July here. She and Maggie were inseparable.” I shake my head, remembering the look of pure contentment in Maggie’s eyes when she brought Zoe around. “Maggie and Zoe might not share any blood, but they were meant to be mother and daughter.”
“She loves her. You can see it on the canvas.” She moves to the next wall and stops at the five-by-two-foot panoramic of the New Hope River.
I’d taken a photograph from the same spot every week for a year, then I’d digitally merged the images together so they appear to be a single photo. The seasons change by the slightest degrees from left to right.
She lifts her fingers to the placard with my name just below the photo. “You made this. It’s amazing.”
My heart is pounding. Cally in my gallery. Cally looking at my photographs. Cally close enough to touch.
She spins toward me and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.
I shove my hands in my pockets, temptation three inches away.
“Good morning?” someone calls from the front door.
Maggie stands just inside the gallery, her brow wrinkled with worry as she takes in Cally and me standing together.
Cally jumps back when she spots Maggie. “I’m just here about a room Lizzy was telling me about.”
I shake my head. I already forgot about that. I was so absorbed in watching Cally appreciate my gallery—so absorbed in watching her —that I lost focus.
I turn to Maggie. “Can you handle things down here for a bit?”
“No problem. I was going to do inventory today while it’s slow, then later I need to talk to you about my schedule for the fall.”
“Of course.” I turn to Cally. “Follow me upstairs?” I head into the loft, where I feel her watching me as I pour myself a mug of coffee. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Cream if you have it.”
Opening the little fridge, I pull out the cream and add a dash to her coffee before handing it to her. “How’s that?”
Her eyes close as the first sip hits her tongue and that soft, mewling sound slips from the back of her throat, reminding me of our night in the restaurant and turning me way the fuck on. “God, that’s good.”
“Jesus, I thought I was special for making you moan like that, but now that I know coffee can render the same results, I might need to check my ego.”
Her cheeks flush and she shoots a look toward the stairs then back to me. “Hush!”
“Maggie doesn’t care.”
“Yes,” Maggie calls from the showroom floor below, “yes, Maggie does care.”
I bite back a grin and motion Cally toward my office, closing the door behind us so we can have some privacy.
“To be fair,” she says, “you make a damn good cup of coffee and I’ve been subsisting on instant crap. Powder creamer and all.”
“Instant? Damn, you must have been hard up.”
Her eyes connect with mine for a minute, and the heat there clears up any doubt in my mind that she was left wanting as much as me after our date.
Let her go , I remind myself.
“I’m looking to rent a room