Page 64 of Trusting You

I plop into a seat. “I haven’t had much time to stay in touch with whatever’s trending.”

“Clearly.”

I sigh but accept the double espresso Cameron, cute in a red plaid shirt, black slacks and suspenders, places in front of me.

“Thanks, hun,” Pierce says to him.

I glance between the two of them, notice they each wear wedding rings and make the deduction.

Even better to tease Locke with.

But I can’t be thinking of Locke at the moment, or how he saw me half-naked. Or how close I came to dropping the towel entirely if it weren’t for Lily making noises nearby.

Instead, I must focus on what a QR code is.

“It’s a quick response code,” Pierce says, reading my mind. “You know, the square barcodes you see everywhere on ads and products? Can be captured by people’s phone cameras? That sort of thing. It immediately takes them to your website so you can grab their info. Sell your stuff via the internet, because no one does face-to-face persuasion these days.” He leans back. “In my day, we exchanged cash and checks. By hand.”

“Oh. I know what that is. I’ve seen it.” I pull out my phone. “I don’t have a website, but I have an Instagram account; I just haven’t used it in a long while. Could that work?”

“It’s something, at least.” Pierce sips his espresso, his eyes drawing shut as he tastes. “Perfect, as usual. Go on, drink. Cameron drops some cream in for people he likes.”

I smile and do as he asks. Pierce is right. I’ll never have espresso without a dollop of cream again.

“Back to business,” Pierce continues. “Now that we’ve discovered you have a business. Or at least the start of one, so people can tag you even if they choose not to buy. Social media is all the rage for advertising because it’s free.”

I listen intently to Pierce, but internally wonder why it took me this long to make the first move. And like the traitor it usually is, my mind lists all the logical conclusions as to why I haven’t jumped into the deep end.

Money.

Job security.

Paige.

Lily.

Cancer.

“My chance has finally arrived,” I say aloud. “I’m ready for this.”

“Good,” Pierce says. “I’m no city art gallery, but this is a start. And I’ll begin by taking a fifteen percent commission on anything you sell. Usually, I also charge a flat fee for the artist to display for four weeks, but I’ll make an exception for you. Your work…it really is stunning.” His tone rises at the end like he’s truly surprised my generation can put paintbrush to canvas and create such beauty.

I hadn’t expected he’d go so low. “That’s…that’d be great.”

Pierce’s eyes soften. “There’s something about you, kid. A sweet eagerness that this city would devour the minute the sun sets behind these buildings. Many people would, in fact, eat you for dinner, forget about breakfast. But not me. I’m from Alabama.” Pierce tips his head to include Cameron, whose dark curls are bent as he crafts lattes. “He’s from Louisiana. We’re small-town boys chasing big dreams.” He pauses for another drink and says over the rim, “Like recognizes like.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, other than to become a regular patron and buy double espressos on the regular.”

Pierce laughs. “And to have the excuse to watch people look at your work, see how you’re coming across. I know the moves.”

I shrug. “I live next door almost. It’ll be tempting.”

“If you bring that golden chunk of man in every now and again, I won’t tell.”

We share a grin. Then I shake my head and attempt to hide behind my mug, except it’s a ceramic toy made for baby hands.

“There’s no hiding your blush, dear one.”

“We’re just…”

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