Secrets in a Still Life, Kari Ganske [best fiction books to read .TXT] 📗

When I disconnected my lens to put it in the side pocket, I felt a sharp prick on the side of my finger. I pulled my hand away to study the spot. A thin line of blood appeared—like a paper cut.

Weird. I didn't usually keep loose paper in that part of my bag. I stored my notebook in a different pocket.

Carefully I reached in again and extracted a wrinkled envelope. Then I remembered: the estimate for the sign. I sighed. Might as well rip off this Band-Aid before I put a new one on my cut finger. I stuck the injured digit in my mouth and held my breath while I opened the envelope.

My eyes darted immediately to the bottom line; I whooshed out the breath I'd been holding. It was much, much less than I anticipated. Thank the lucky stars! Then another line caught my eye, the signature at the bottom for the woodsmith.

Lincoln Livestrong.

What the actual towncar was happening?

As though summoned by my thoughts, Linc appeared in the doorway holding a bowl of cereal. He leaned against the frame and studied me, hair tousled from sleep.

"Are you expecting company?" he asked. "I think someone is knocking on your door."

"That's just Nugget," I said absently. "What's this?" I held the estimate out to him.

He took a quick look. "Looks like the estimate for the sign repair."

"Obviously. Why does it have your name on it?"

"Because I'm the one who will be repairing the sign." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the entire world.

"But Bobby Bachman said that the sign-repair guy was the same person who helped him renovate this loft."

"Yup," he said, taking a bite of cereal.

"But you're a firefighter!" I exclaimed.

"Even firefighters have hobbies. Mine happens to be woodwork."

"Since when?" I'd never known him to be into woodwork when we were younger. In fact, he had even gotten special permission to take an extra gym class instead of shop in high school.

He shrugged. "I guess about a year after we graduated. I got stuck in a class in college and it turns out I had a knack for it."

"A knack? A knack!? Linc, this place"—I gestured to the room around me—"is freaking gorgeous! I'd say it's more than a knack."

"That knack grew into a hobby which grew into quite a lucrative side hustle. Being a firefighter in Piney Ridge doesn't really pay the bills."

"I had no idea." I looked at him again with new interest. Who was this strange man that used to be my best friend?

"I'm sure there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Alex. You left town and never looked back. Never even tried to keep in touch," he said, suddenly finding something very interesting about his cereal bowl.

I had a sarcastic comeback on the tip of my tongue—something about the phone working both ways—but he lifted his eyes to mine for just a moment, stopping the words before they could form. They were not full of anger or bitterness like I expected; instead, they held hurt. I'd hurt him. Somehow, awkward, introverted Alex Lightwood had hurt popular, strong Lincoln Livestrong. If I hadn't seen it for myself, I'd never believe it. By the time he looked back down, the pain I'd seen there vanished.

"I know. I'm sorry. I was... unsure of what to say to you," I admitted. "I didn't even think you'd notice."

"How about 'Hi, Linc. I'm in New York. How are you?'" he suggested.

"You make it sound so simple."

"Why couldn't it have been? Colleen visited you."

Was he obtuse? He really thought that after the disaster of a kiss in his truck I'd ever be able to face him again. Especially after he completely ignored me the next day and hung out with the Snob Blob instead. He probably told them all about my awkward slobbery attempt. I'd wished it could be that simple. I wished I'd been able to forget all about the kiss instead of persevering over it for—well, I was still thinking about it, wasn't I?

"Who's Nugget?" he asked when I didn't respond.

"What?"

"Nugget? You said Nugget was at the door. Should we let them in?" he asked.

"No." I shook my head and laughed, thankful for the change in subject. "Nugget does not come in. Grab the bag of bread from the kitchen and meet me by the door."

He gave me a wary look, but obliged. He came back carrying the bread but not his bowl. I took a piece of bread, opened the door, and knelt down. Nugget immediately jumped onto my knee for her morning treat.

"Huh. I wouldn't have guessed that scenario in a million years," Linc said.

Chapter 28

Linc's cell phone sounding from somewhere in the loft broke up our cuddle fest with the chicken. He was still shaking his head as he disappeared down the hallway to find the ringing phone. I smirked at the Star Wars-themed ringtone. Then frowned remembering our earlier conversation.

I looked down at the chicken pecking by my bare feet.

"What am I going to do about him?" I asked Nugget.

Nugget pecked my toe.

"Well, you're no help," I said, standing. I gave the bird one more pat on its feathered back and then wandered back inside. Linc's muffled voice drifted down the hallway from the kitchen. Not wanting to interrupt, I went to the bathroom instead. I wanted to wash my hands and face and brush my teeth. And I had zero idea what my hair looked like.

I groaned when I looked in the mirror. My mascara had puddled under my eyes and run down my cheeks creating an Alice Cooper Meets Rocket Raccoon look that wouldn't even be attractive on a Kardashian. My hair, usually