Page 2 of Outside the Lines
Shit. Well, it was Wednesday, so I had the weekend. “A week. Seven days. This time next week.”
She nodded. “I think we can live with that.” Some tension eased in her shoulders, and her razor-sharp expression softened. “I know this wasn’t your fault. I’ll have a talk with the crew and remind them to be careful around the sets.”
I really,reallydidn’t want to be there for that. “Thanks.”
We parted ways; her to scare the pants off someone else, and me, after gathering the sad wreckage of the grove into a box, back to my shop.
Didn’t take long to pull out the reusable bits from the detritus—pretty much only the stuff I’d sculpted out of polymer clay. At least that was good—those had been a pain to get right.
What wasn’t good was the level of supplies in my shop—I was more or less out ofeverything. I’d used so much shit making this model that I’d burned through the bulk of my stock. I had supplies on order, but who knew when that would show up in this little backwater town.
I huffed out a breath. Bluewater Bay wasn’tthatbad, but shipping shit here tookforeverfor some reason.
And I’d told Anna I’d have the model built in a week.Oh, God. Ian Meyers, you are well and truly screwed.
Desperate times and all that. I parked my car along Main Street in lovely downtown Bluewater Bay and tapped my fingers against the steering wheel. Usually when I came to Main, I went two blocks down to Stomping Grounds for some caffeine. I tended to avoid this part because it was home to Howling Moon, the mother of all Wolf’s Landing merchandise shops. The tourists were plentiful around here. Down at Stomping Grounds, the townsfolk ran interference for us, especially when we were wearing our crew jackets or hats. Kept the gawkers from doing more than gawking—like that time when a guy tried to swipe a grip’s badge.
Unfortunately, Howling Moon was next door to where I needed to go: End o’ Earth Comics and Games. I’d already come up bust at the local craft stores. I’d managed to secure some items—mostly balsa wood—at the art-supply place, but I needed model paint. For that, you had to go where they sold models and miniatures.
Only one place in town had what I needed—End o’ Earth, unless I wanted to buy official Wolf’s Landing miniatures. Hell, maybe Howling Moon had a freaking Sacred Grove™ set. Plopthatdown for Anna to use.
I giggled. She’dkillme. Probably for real.
Right. I’d left everything that could possibly signal I worked onWolf’s Landingat home. Should be safe enough to head into End o’ Earth. Up and out. Lock the car. Slink past the visiting tourists. Through the door and bang straight into my youth.
Oh my God. The colors. The glint of bags. The collectors’ issues carefully hanging on the wall. All of it sent a tingle up my spine. There was the swooping thrill in my chest at the sight of the racks. I gravitated toward the new comics. I was so out of the loop, I didn’t recognize many of the titles—and half of those I did sported unfamiliar faces.
But the shop as a whole? Like an old boyfriend standing there at the corner.Hey, sweetheart, where ya been?
I stared at the covers.I’m seeing someone now. No time for old loves.I’d get lost in too many other stories and aesthetics. I barely had enough time to keep up with my own sculpture, and it was hard keeping the Wolf’s Landing aesthetic from seeping into my own creative work.
Itsmelledlike a comics and games shop, though. All ink and paper and . . . paint. Specifically, miniature paint.
The guy behind the counter was youngish, maybe in his early twenties, and had several piercings in his ear. Given the pinkYay for GayT-shirt and lacy scarf ensemble, he clearly wasn’t afraid of his feminine side at all.
He let me browse for a bit, but eventually coughed to catch my attention. “Let me know if you need any help.”
What I wanted, for an insane moment, was one of everything on the racks. But I didn’t have that kind of cash, and I certainly didn’t have that kind of time. I tore my attention away from the new issues. “Actually, what I need are miniature supplies.”
The clerk nodded to the right. “They’re in the back, behind the board games. Simon’s there and he’s the man for miniatures—he’ll give you a hand.” A nice professional smile. “Follow your nose.”
“Thanks.” When I walked past the graphic novels and games, I understood what the guy had meant. The familiar delightfully pungent smell of paint wafted from deeper in the store. At the back was a man painting a model at a table, and for the second time, I was struck by color and light. Not from the starship in his hand or the one next to it, but from the man himself.
If I’d known they grew them likehimin Bluewater Bay, I’d have spent a hell of a lot more time on this end of Main Street. Mahogany hair, thin elegant fingers that held the brushjust so, cheekbones that went on forever, and pale-blue eyes, like the sky sometimes got out here—when you could see it.
I must have made some sort of undignified noise, because his intense focus shifted and pinned me to the ground.
As did his wide smile. “Hey, hi! Give me a sec to finish this, and I’ll be right with you.”
Simon. The clerk had said his name was Simon.
“Yeah, okay.” Stunning first line, that.
With trepidation, I moved closer and followed the flow of his fingers to his brush, to the model. It was better than staringatSimon, but not by much.
Because his painting? Superlative. Maybe better than mine. Yeah, he was using a magnifier, but I did that too. His hands were so very steady and the line he drew—utterly straight. Perfect. That starship could easily have been at home in a prop shop.
How had I missed a guy like this? I’d been in Bluewater Bay almost a year and hadneverseen him. Before I started making any additional strange noises, I stepped away as quietly as I could, and took stock of the area around me. Tons of supplies. My geeky little artist heart flipped over—what was left that wasn’t already tumbling from watching Simon. Yeah, they had a lot of what I needed.
