Page 17 of Old Flame

Brick glanced up from some paperwork he had been looking over and smiled at me with a knowing smirk.

Shut up, Brick, and keep your lecherous eyes off her.

“Enjoy the ride,” he called out. I could hear the amusement in his voice.

Slowing my stride, I glanced back to make sure she was behind me. Her eyes met mine, and the instant punch that came with it had me jerking my gaze back to my bike.

She’s only sixteen, she’s only sixteen, she’s only sixteen. I repeated those words the entire ride to my mom’s.

But as I did it, I was well aware that I really fucking loved the way she felt behind me on my bike.

7

Salem

Present Day

Stepping inside the gallery five minutes before my scheduled meeting, I was thankful for under-eye concealer and the coffee shop that was across the road from my hotel. Pausing, I glanced around and did another sniff. This place smelled fantastic. What was that scent? I scanned the area for a candle or diffuser of some sort, thinking it was highly unlikely for them to have either inside the gallery. A candle was a flame, and that was dangerous. The diffuser maybe…

The click of heels on the rather unique floor caught my attention. I studied the ground, trying to decide if that was scored concrete flooring or actual bricks that had an epoxy resin coating to make it look smooth. I couldn’t imagine a layer of coating could make bricks appear so slick though.

“Salem Murphy, I hope,” a bright and too-chipper-for-nine-in-the-morning voice said.

I lifted my gaze to see a tall, slim blonde woman with a pair of bright orange-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Her hair was more golden than ash and cut short in a choppy, multilayered style. It fit the place. She oozed artistic in her appearance, unlike me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Perfect. You’re punctual. That will be one out of four aroundhere,” she said with a mock grimace. Stopping in front of me, she held out her hand. “I’m Marlana Newbury, administrator, manager, whatever you want to label me. You’ll find it’s a zoo and I’m the keeper. How was your flight?”

She talked fast and used her hands. Perhaps she could bottle some of that energy and pass it around. I needed a large dose. I wasn’t sure of her age, but she did look younger than me, but I wouldn’t say by much.

“Fine,” I replied.

But the evening had blown up in a way that meant I probably wouldn’t be taking this job.

“That’s a type of pen,” she quipped, then scrunched her nose as her eyes danced with amusement. “Sorry. Things just fly out of my mouth. It can get awkward sometimes. You’ve been warned,” she said, and then she held out her arms. “Welcome to The Urban Art Canvas. The owner, Kendrix Jett, opened it eleven years ago with the vision to present and display art that was funky, edgy, and appealing. You worked at a gallery in Boston?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Kendrix was more impressed with your résumé than the other two who had made his final cut,” she informed me. “I used this meeting as an excuse to have my favorite bakery cater breakfast this morning. The cupcakes are my weakness, so don’t judge. They can be a breakfast food too.”

My lips curled. It was literally impossible not to smile around this woman.

“I can get on board with that,” I agreed.

“Right? A cup of coffee with that sweet, creamy goodness,” she replied. “My office is up this way to the right. Kendrix’s office is on the second floor and takes up the majority of it. He isn’t here all the time though. It’s asurprise, here I amkinda thing with him.”

As I followed her and tried to keep up with her fast chatter, Ikept looking for the cause of that luscious smell.

When she seemed to be taking a break from talking, I asked, “What is it I am smelling?”

She stopped and spun around to beam at me. “That’s a Kendrix thing. He has it pumped through the vents at the entrance. It’s amazing, right? I want to bathe in the stuff. It’s a blend of aloe, clover, patchouli, and melon. It’s got this sweet floral with a hint of spice mix that I can’t seem to re-create at my house. No matter how hard I try.

“Up here to the left is a hidden door. That funky street art mural isn’t on a wall. That is the door. You push it, then step inside a small space, where there is a normal door that requires a code. Every employee has one, and you press yours in, and then you are allowed access into the lounge. It’s really impressive, but I will save that for last. Just in case I need to add a little extra incentive.”

She continued to ramble on, and I found I was enjoying myself. Last night didn’t seem so bad anymore, and Miami was a big city. I didn’t have to go back to that bar. Eventually, the memory of seeing Rome again would fade—or at least become less painful.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to miss New England winters or not. Leaving the cool, air-conditioned building to the sunny, humid, mid-seventies outdoors in late January was different. When I’d boarded the plane yesterday morning, there had been a fresh three inches of snow overnight, and more was forecasted for this weekend. Here, it was expected to reach almost eighty degrees today.

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