“He wanted you here for more than the shop, didn’t he?”
I lifted a bare shoulder and let it fall. “Sometimes it takes someone from the outside to notice what is missing. Phil was really good at that.”
Nash grunted his agreement and lifted a hand to wave his client over as he entered the shop.
“He was.” He took a step around me and then paused and looked down at me. “The store was all Rowdy’s idea. The concept, the idea to branch out, was all him. I think I’ll give him a call and tell him he can be your point person on getting up and going. Rule and I have too much other stuff to deal with right now.”
It was there in those fabulous eyes, the same kind of compassion and need for the people around him to be happy that glowed out of his father’s eyes. He was Phil’s son—no doubt about it. I laughed and turned back to the desk so I could help Cora manage the still-growing crowd of potential clients.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
IT WASN’T UNTIL HOURS and hours later that I finally got to my brownie. It had been a packed day for appointments, and there were two late walk-ins that a couple of the new artists agreed to stick around and do, so it was almost nine at night by the time I got around to doing the cash-out for the day and locking everything up. Even on a busy day here it didn’t come close to the chaos I was used to at the shop in the casino. That place had almost fifteen artists on staff and was open until two in the morning. The shops in Denver were successful and busy but they felt way less like a spectacle than my previous job had. I was surprised how much I liked the closer-knit, more mellow feel of my new gig and I appreciated that they were really cranking out amazing works of art versus cookie-cutter, flash tattoos that tourists picked off a wall.
I was the type of person that got bored and hated routine. I think that was one of the reasons I was always on the move so much. I never wanted to be predictable. I never wanted to know what was in store for me from one day to the next. I’m sure it had to do with growing up in a house where routine was everything, where not one second passed that wasn’t accounted for and planned down to the minute detail. My dad lived and died by rules and regulations, so it made sense that as soon as I was able I decided to never have a plan. I was always content to just land wherever the wind took me—only now that had changed. I felt grounded here. Felt like I could wake up to the mountains, fresh air, and crazy weather for an endless number of days and never get tired of it.
I also knew without question that I could stare into Rowdy St. James’s cerulean eyes for an eternity and never see anything prettier—even when he was looking at me like I was something toxic and dangerous.
I was munching on the brownie and called Poppy again, this time leaving a message where I chewed her out and threatened to get on the next plane out of Denver if she didn’t call me back tomorrow. I was putting the cash from the day’s deposit in the safe that was in Cora’s office and making sure all the doors were locked upstairs when I caught sight of myself in one of the crazy fun-house mirrors the contractor had put up here to tie the boardwalk theme of the shop together.
It was the mirror that stretched me out and made me look like a giraffe. It also reflected that I had thick black smudges of eyeliner under each eye and that my normally sleek and styled hair was a frizzy mess from the rain. I couldn’t believe I had worked the entire last part of the day looking so rumpled and messy. I shook my head at the silly reflection and went to turn the lights off when I heard footsteps on the floor below me.
The only people with keys to either shop were the guys and Cora, so I just assumed it was one of them and waited to see if the footsteps were going to hit the stairs. They did, and when I heard the distinctive click that could only belong to a pair of well-worn cowboy boots, I felt my heart start to pick up speed.
Rowdy’s slicked-up hair cleared the top landing and his bright gaze landed on me. He didn’t smile or grin. He didn’t quip one of his fast responses at me; he just stared at me steadily as he closed the space between us until he was standing in front of me. He towered over me and I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. Flirty-fun Rowdy seemed reserved for any female that wasn’t me and I didn’t know if I liked that or if it annoyed me just yet.
“Hey.”
His eyes flared hot at the center and I saw the corners of his mouth tense in a frown as he continued to just stare at me without speaking.
It took a solid five minutes before he decided to open his mouth. “Nash called me and told me to swing by and see if you were still here. He wants me to talk to you about the store.”
I lifted an eyebrow at him and took a step back. When I did so he took a minute to breathe the space in and run his thumb along the edge of one of his ruthlessly trimmed sideburns. His eyes also swept over me and landed back on my face with his frown still in place.
“Why are you such a mess?”
I snorted and flipped my tangled hair over my shoulder. “I got caught in the rain on my lunch break and almost ran some poor woman over in my haste to get back to work. I can’t believe no one told me I looked like a drowned rat all day.” I rolled my eyes and went to move another step or two back from him but he caught my wrist in his hand and tugged me closer.
My lungs stopped working and my heart fell out of my chest and landed at his feet when he took his free hand and ran his thumb along the delicate curve below one of my eyes where all my eyeliner had retreated to.
“This actually looks familiar. I remember the first time you snuck makeup from one of your girlfriends at school and couldn’t get it off.” He repeated the process on the other eye and I had to suck in a breath out of desperation because his face was starting to get blurry from lack of oxygen to my brain. “You didn’t know the stuff was waterproof and spent an hour trying to scrub it off with the hose in the backyard because you knew your dad would lose his shit if he caught you with it on. You just ended up looking like a soggy raccoon.”
I remembered the incident just as clearly as he seemed to, only I was having a hard time thinking straight because his thumb was now dancing across the high arch of my cheekbone and skipped even lower to glance across the ruby I wore right above my lip.
“You ran home and asked Maria what to do. She sent you back with olive oil and saved the day.” I gave him a lopsided grin. “It wasn’t too long after that that I started wearing as much makeup as I could cake on my face just to get under his skin. Some habits stuck with me, I guess.”