Hooks?â she said, reading the label.
âThe best.â
âAll right. I trust your judgment.â
He handed her another pack. âOn the house.â
âOh, no. I couldnât possibly.â She began digging through her handbag for her wallet.
âCall it a welcoming gift.â
She hoped she wasnât blushing. âIâm Katrina,â she said, holding out her hand.
He shook. Strong yet gentle. âJack Reeves.â
Outside, the evening sun was setting, splattering the sky with a dazzling blend of amethyst purple and ruby red. A breeze carried the fresh, green scent of pine needles. Katrina started west, admiring the Victorian Tudors with false half-timbering lining the street, the scalloped trim on the pointed rooflines, the folk-art cutouts on the balconies, the wall frescoes. Window boxes and barrels were everywhere, overflowing with colorful flowers that perfumed the air. She passed shops filled with nutcrackers, dolls, beer steins, music boxes, toys, and other collectables. Take away the touristy aspect, and she could almost believe she was walking through a living, breathing German village from centuries past. Maybe something out of an old Brothers Grimm fairytale. She was happy, content. It was the best sheâd felt in a long time. And she knew why too.
Jack Reeves.
Sheâd always believed when, or if, she met another man, the first after Shawn, it would begin as a friendship, progress slowly, and eventually grow into something that was meaningful and complex. Sheâd never imagined it would occur with a burst of magnetism and desireâ
Now, now, Kat
, she thought, chiding herself, and feeling extremely embarrassed at having to do that.
You âre acting like a love-struck schoolgirl. Like this was love at first sight
. Which was ridiculous. He gave her two packs of hooks. That was all. He didnât ask for her number. Didnât invite her to dinner. Hell, she didnât even know if he was available or not.
There was no ring on his finger
.
She stopped in her tracks, surprised with herself for noticing that fact. She looked back the way sheâd come. She could still see the cast-iron lantern that hung above the door to the hardware shop. The lightbulb inside it was on, burning a soft yellow. No one entered or exited the shopâno one, in fact, was on this section of streetâand Katrina was caught by the bizarre fantasy she had imagined the entire encounter. But that was only natural, she figured. It still felt dreamy, uncanny even, her entire psychologyâa psychology sheâd built brick by brick so it would protect her, protect her from being hurt, devastated, ever againâcould be so quickly and dramatically knocked down. But thatâs exactly what happened. Knocked down and flipped on its head.
And in the space of minutes.
âWho are you, Jack Reeves?â she said quietly to herself.
Once home Katrina slipped a
Queenâs Greatest Hits
CD into the Sony stereo system sitting on the floor, then started hanging some pictures sheâd brought with her from Seattle. The hooks Jack recommended were incredible. Poke, twist, voilà . Sturdy too. She could probably hang a small flat-screen TV on a couple of them.
She was in the middle of leveling an oil painting by a funky contemporary artist sheâd picked up at one of the galleries she used to visit when her cell phone rang. It was the first call sheâd received since the unnamed someone rang the landline the other day and hung up. She turned down the volume on âAnother One Bites the Dustâ and snatched up her phone. She checked the display. It was her younger sister, Crystal.
âChris!â Katrina said.
âIs that Queen?â Her voice was slightly sarcastic and impersonal, like a late-night radio DJâs. Katrina thought this every time they spoke, and she decided they needed to spend more time together. Your sister shouldnât sound like a
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes