gear and pulled out, pausing once she’d cleared the bay and lowered her window.
He walked to the edge of the open bay door.
“Thank you, Dylan.”
He lifted his hand in a half wave, smiling briefly. “You’ll get my bill.”
She smiled, too . . . then drove off.
He watched until the taillights disappeared around the corner at the end of the alley and wondered if either one of them had believed her. “Good-bye, sugar,” he murmured. Just in case.
Chapter 19
Honey used a wooden dowel to press a vent hole in the bottom of the snail body, then propped it back on her worktable and gave it a critical once over. Her favorite pieces incorporated real wood, whether it was a foundation she’d hand carved or a natural piece of wood—a small tree stump or limb. Hollowed out, then formed into a planter with either real or man-made moss, live plants, or life-like silk flowers and foliage, her clay creations were usually tucked in here or peeking out from there.
The snail she was working on would sit under a large red and white polka dot capped toadstool house she’d already completed. A series of smaller, fat little mushrooms would eventually be wedged in a great piece of dried wood limb she’d collected ages ago, but hadn’t worked with yet.
She sighed and looked around at the bare basics of her new work studio. The larger rear storage room had been designated for her personal workshop. Reassembled metal racks lined the walls, all of which would eventually hold newly created product. Her kilns and small polymer ovens had been relegated to the smaller storage room. Now that she had fully functioning air-conditioning and ventilation fans in the rear workrooms, she’d moved her living space into what she privately referred to as the mezzanine level office. It was still a bit stuffy up there, so she’d supplemented with a few floor fans. She’d have to consider forced air ventilation at some point, but that wasn’t anywhere in her budget at the moment.
Her stock had arrived from Oregon and was sitting in many boxes stacked in the front of the store. She wished there had been built-in shelving on the main floor like there was around the balcony level, but a few second-hand tables could display her wares in the front window. If she spent a little more on some interesting pieces she’d more or less have the bare bones to get going.
“Who are you kidding,?” she muttered. She’d painted only half the space and knew she needed professional help to reach the high central ceiling. She wanted to paper the walls and add other décor, wainscoting maybe, but until she figured out display setups, that would have to wait so she could incorporate all of it together.
Even keeping everything bare bones, and using all local labor, who had worked for as close to dirt cheap as she could have hoped for, she wasn’t marginally close to opening. Without so much as a peep of interest in her farm property as yet, she knew the smartest thing to do was open up her online store again. By taking orders, working on new product, and getting that part under way again, she could use the income to finance the rest of the shop rehab. Running her online business was pretty much a full-time occupation and would leave little time for her to work on getting the shop going. While there was no actual deadline on opening, the longer it took, the longer she was taking advantage of Dylan’s generosity.
If he thought she was worried about that, he’d be pissed off. Of course, he was probably none too happy with her, anyway. It had been a week since their conversation the night she’d gotten her car back. They’d exchanged greetings every morning since then, when he came to the garage—small talk, mostly updates about how the shop was going, discussions on work that needed to be done next, recommendations on who to use . . . business, essentially. He hadn’t tried to so much as touch her, much less kiss her, nor had he made any effort to pick up the discussion where it had left off. He was giving her the time and space she’d asked for.
She was grateful for it, more than he knew . . . but she wasn’t any closer to an answer. Her belongings had begun arriving the day after their chat, and she’d shamelessly buried herself in unpacking, and looked for solace and