Page 33 of Lost in the Moonlight

“I don’t want to tell you. You’ll say no before you even see it.”

I stifled a groan. “I haven’t found a vibe for this place yet.”

“Even better. This might push you toward one.”

Irritation wafted through me. I didn’t want to be pushed. I wanted to find my way to it. But as I wasn’t going in any direction right now except the fantastical of my own paintings, I wasn’t sure I could argue. “Fine,” I bit out. “Send me some shots.”

“No.”

“Lyrica—”

“You need to see it in real life. The images just don’t do it justice. The way she bends light and brings things to life—Look, I don’t want to say too much. I don’t want you to have any of those preconceived notions of yours and dig your heels in.”

“Me? Dig my heels in?”

“Stubbornest man I know. Look at how long you carried around undeserved guilt for what happened to me.”

I still carried it around. I simply stopped showing it to her once she’d broken up with me. I wasn’t sure if it was my hovering after the shooting that had forced her to call it quits, or if she’d realized what I had even before she’d been hurt—that we loved each other, but we weren’t in love with each other.

When I didn’t respond, she sighed. “Just call her and set up a meeting. You won’t be sorry.”

“Is this like the time you said I wouldn’t be sorry and a guy showed up pedaling his caricatures as the newest wave of portraitures?”

Lyrica's snarl ripping through the phone made my lips tip upward. “One time. I got drunk, let amazing sex befuddle my brain one time, and you’ve never let me live it down.”

I chuckled. “We’ve all had alcohol and sex goggles at one time or another.”

“Yours was named Felicity Bradshaw.”

That wiped away my laughter. Ihadbeen momentarily blinded by her. She’d played on my desire to protect the women in my life, using those world-class acting abilities to make me think she needed a strong pair of shoulders around while she avoided the media. For a while, I’d thought she really was America’s sweetheart instead of a fame-seeking manipulator and slightly unhinged stalker.

“Whole different ball game, Lyrica.”

“Too bad the tabloids believed her story.”

“The tabloids always believe every side of the story but mine. That isn’t anything new. Thankfully, they haven’t found me here.”

“Merci told me you showed up on a college kid’s social media account. You were at some coffee shop. She had it taken down.”

Well hell. The kid from the coffee shop must have gotten a shot of me the day before when I’d been hatless, and here I was again without any disguise. I’d barely remembered my phone and a jacket as I’d hurried out the door this morning with Willow on my mind.

“I guess I owe Merci a bottle of that wine she’s addicted to.”

Merci was my mom’s communications director. She and Lyrica had been dancing around a relationship for at least a year now. They fit in ways Lyrica and I never had. Sure, we’d had things in common—art, dancing. But we’d never truly blended the way I had with Sienna and the way she seemed to with Merci.

“The press is going to find you eventually, you know,” Lyrica said. “Especially after you open the gallery. Is that sleepy little ’burb ready for it?”

It twisted through my stomach sharply. When I’d done the market research on opening an upscale gallery in Cherry Bay, the numbers had more than supported it, and I’d even considered my unwanted celebrity status as something that would benefit it and the other businesses along Main Street. But would the locals really want the crowds and attention that came once my whereabouts were known and shared amongst the paparazzi? I hadn’t even given them a choice.

Regret flew through me. A feeling I was all too familiar with.

But the thoughts, the scare with the picture, hit home about why Willow was reluctant to be around me. It was clear she was hiding, and I was a beacon for news and tabloids. I was an idiot for not seeing it sooner. I could leave her be. I could hire a bodyguard to walk her back and forth to work, but every fiber ofmy being hated that idea. I wanted to be at her side. I wanted to get to know her.

But how could I do that if just being next to her put her in danger?

I had to know what she was running from, and then I could make a more informed decision. What I’d told Hardy was right—information was king.

“Earth to Lincoln. Where’d you go?” Lyrica jerked me from my thoughts.

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