Page 97 of River Wild

“No?”

“No.”

“But I just saw her leaving your place.”

Some light, unnamed emotion takes up residence in his eyes. “After I locked up last night, I brought home the stockroom key with me by accident. She came to pick it up on her way into the store.”

“Oh. So, she’s not your girlfriend?”

His brows draw together. “No, Red,” he says slowly, holding my eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not my anything.”

Well played, Macy. Well played.

She sure had me convinced.

I realize I’m still staring into his eyes, so I look away. “How come you were working at the store?”

“Ellie was unwell. I was helping out.”

“I hope nothing serious.”

“She had a fall, sprained her ankle. I was helping out until she was back on her feet.”

“Was?”

“She called last night, said she was getting back to work today. That’s when I realized I had the store key. She asked Macy to come collect it from me.”

I nod, and it’s my turn to shift on my feet. “I probably should confess something.”

“What?”

I don’t miss the note of wariness in his voice.

I look into his eyes again. “I know you made the Christmas train ornament.”

“Oh,” he says.

“Macy told me at the store yesterday. I was looking at your vase and those gorgeous glass balloons, and she said you were the artist. Why didn’t you tell me they were yours?”

“I don’t tell anyone.”

“Macy knows.”

He frowns. “She works at the store, and she knows better than to tell people.”

“Why keep it a secret? You’re incredibly talented, River.”

“Because I want to sell them, and people around here wouldn’t buy them if they knew I’d created them.”

It’s my turn to say, “Oh.” Because I know exactly what he’s not saying. They wouldn’t buy the art because of what his mom did all those years ago. “Well, they’re idiots. Your art is beautiful.”

He shrugs dismissively. I can tell he’s embarrassed by my compliment.

“Do you sell them elsewhere, aside from Thistleberry Farm?” I ask him.

“I sell to a few stores in the city—San Antonio,” he clarifies.

He turns his face to the side, staring at my car. I know this conversation is over. Well, about that subject anyway.