squishy sourdough bread that managed to sneak its siren call into my studio and drag me away from my latest painting.
The hazards of living downwind from a bakery.
“So.” Hamish sets down his bottle and picks up his own sandwich. “What’s up with you and Indigo?”
I eye him over the coffee that I didn’t order. “Bug someone else for your daily hit of gossip. I’m boring.”
He snorts. “Famous artist hides out in small town and signs extension on his lease while mooning over the sexy lady across the street. Yup. Nothing to see there.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m only famous in really small circles.”
He grins. “You aren’t denying the mooning part.”
There would be no point. At least half a dozen people saw us walking back from our moonlight stroll after movie night, and all of them got to the coffee shop before I did. “I like her. She has good taste in Thai soup, office filing systems, and friends.”
Hamish’s lips quirk. “That’s an interesting list.”
It’s been an interesting couple of weeks. “It’s all you’re getting.”
He leans back. “Fair enough. How do we steady her on Saturday? Mars said that Violet sounds a little worried.”
Mars is brisk and volatile and has a hint of whatever lives in Violet. I consider Hamish’s question, surprised to find that I have some answers for him. “Be honest and give her something to work with. Lots of questions and opinions. Real ones.”
His nod is easy. “We can manage that.”
That would be why he has a seat at the workshop’s table. I’m less sure why I have one, but Violet just smiled and kissed my cheek when I asked her. “Indigo is good at what she does. I think she’ll be fine when it’s anonymous tourists who will be here one day and gone the next. People you’re going to see the next time you go for a walk or pick up a loaf of bread are trickier.”
A slow nod. “The three of them are setting down roots here. The permanent kind.”
I haven’t heard a hint of anything different—and I’ve been listening. “I think that’s some of the point of the workshop.” Violet’s take on it, anyhow. This isn’t meant to be a trial run. Blue and Violet are finding their places here. Indigo still thinks hers is supporting the two of them.
Hamish shrugs. “Fine. We’ll be a table full of friends with plenty of opinions and an emergency beer stash on the boat if it ends in fisticuffs.”
I grin at him. “What are those, anyhow?”
“Fisticuffs?” He chuckles and takes another swig of his cider. “No idea, but it sounds like fun.”
Violet bends down and kisses Hamish’s cheek. “If you bleed on my new pillows, you won’t get invited back. And I’ll absolutely go sailing with you, thank you.”
His lips quirk. “I hadn’t actually asked that out loud yet.”
She steals a sliced pickle off his plate. “You were going to. And I’m in a hurry. We want a few more local bits and pieces for the shop. Some of your carvings, to start, and I was hoping you could point me at a few of the other stealth artisans in town. I haven’t sniffed them all out yet.”
This one is apparently astonished that she found him. “Those are just a hobby.”
She grins at him. “That’s fine. You can just set whatever you make during your hobby time on top of your fridge and I’ll pick them up when I come to collect more cider.”
Of the three of them, she’s the easiest with entering his home and participating in the casual barter economy that centers there. Blue wants to fix things to earn her way. Indigo is still trying to figure out all of the currencies that work in a small town.
Violet glances my way, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I’d like something small from you, as well. Cards or prints, maybe?”
I don’t bother arguing. I have a person for that. This will likely give him conniptions. He likes to keep my fame to small circles. “I have an agent. He’s annoying, but he answers his emails.”
The two of them glare at me. That’s the wrong answer. They wait in silent unison for me to find the right one.
I sigh. The slope between traveling through a place and living there has never felt this slippery. One day I’m an itinerant artist who can manage to find himself the essentials in town. The next, I’m digging into my paint supplies for a puking kid and ensconced in a window