Page 4 of Hargrave Artistry (Brookwell Island)

Chapter Three

Minutes later, Natalie parked her bike near the kitchen sliding glass door, where it wouldn’t be seen from the street. Letting herself inside, she pulled the clipboard with its exhaustive checklist from the supply closet.

Honestly, whenever she looked at this list, she figured Celeste had somehow inherited every organizational and responsible gene in the Hargrave family tree. She’d reached superhero status with this stuff.

Sure, Nat knew to count the dishes and restock the toilet paper.

She knew to double-check clean linens were on every bed with a second set in every closet.

That certainly came with an additional dose of gratitude that she was no longer a permanent part of the housekeeping crew.

Business had been good enough that they could hire out most of those tasks.

But only Celeste would think about sharpening knives and checking to make sure there were full sets of measuring cups and spoons in the drawer, along with at least one corkscrew.

Natalie suspected this was the source of most of their five-star reviews.

The pictures on the website emphasized the amazing kitchen.

Designed by their mother during that last remodel before she’d gotten sick, the kitchen drew people in.

And when they arrived, Celeste and her checklist ensured they were not disappointed with a haphazard catch-all of tools that may or may not be in optimal condition.

She obediently adhered to the process, checking each line item as she examined one cabinet and drawer at a time. For her, the kitchen was the most tedious part. She was always relieved to move on to rest of the house, inspecting furnishings, board games, and all the other details.

One of the vases was missing. Natalie made a note and moved on. It hadn’t been an heirloom and would be quickly replaced with the floral delivery on the schedule for tomorrow before the new arrivals checked in.

With the downstairs complete, she went back to the kitchen for the bottle of water she brought with her. She’d learned the hard way not to create any messes she had to clean up before leaving. She believed in working smarter wherever it was possible.

She might not be alone out at the Hideaway, but she didn’t want to stick around and press her luck. In a perfect world her ex would give up on whatever had brought him here and go on his merry way without ever seeing or speaking to her.

After her water break she cleared the upstairs, confirming all the linens were in place and double-checking the hair dryers once she realized one bathroom was missing a dryer. Quickly finding the wandering appliance and returning it to its rightful place, she was finally done.

It was early enough she had time to sketch out a few ideas that had sparked her imagination during her walk this morning.

Unbidden, the image of Trent’s jawline filled her mind.

Suddenly, she was eager to get to the beach and sketch out his face and profile, where she would be the only one to enjoy them.

She found a strange satisfaction creating sketches in the sand that would never last long enough for anyone to judge or pick apart.

Or make fun of her various infatuations.

College had been a challenge for her in that regard.

She’d struggled with classes where professors insisted on not only keeping a sketch pad journal but sharing it throughout the semester.

The only thing worse had been the requirement to critique her fellow students’ sketch journals.

She resisted making biting or harsh comments, and although Veronica would be shocked by her sensitivity, Natalie always tried to couch any criticism in a constructive manner.

It had been a hard life lesson to find her approach was the exception rather than the norm.

She walked down to the beach, toed out of her canvas sneakers, and sloshed through the ebbing tide, letting her thoughts wander.

The foamy edge of the waves sucked the sand from under her feet over and over.

She’d always loved the feeling, digging her toes in and trying to hold on, not caring that it was a futile effort.

Her mother always said she was the wonderer, the daughter who had never outgrown simple curiosities. Natalie lived and breathed that observation like the highest compliment. Curiosity made her a stronger person and artist.

“I miss you, Mom,” she whispered to the wind, letting it sweep away her words. Part of her hoped that somehow her mother would hear her.

These last few weeks had been a study in perpetual upheaval.

From the nearly devastating arson to implementing the new business model to finishing the three sculptures for the town.

She didn’t consider it a blur as much as a fascinating rapid-fire shift.

She liked the new direction and figured it would hold them for a good long time.

Which meant she had even more time to explore what she wanted to do.

Backing away from the water’s edge, she found a sturdy stick and a palm frond. Using both, she started drawing in the sand. Simple shapes at first, curves and angles. The soft arc of an eyebrow, the hard edge of a specific, fascinating jaw.

When she realized she had finished a profile of Trent, she sat back on her heels and laughed. Following temptation, she used her phone to take a picture of her temporary masterpiece.

Should she send it? How silly and out of character. She’d delete it before she made that mistake. What was it about the man that pressed her to share her creative bursts?

She’d enjoyed coffee with a pleasant stranger. Anytime she wanted to bring him back she only needed to close her eyes and think of his face. Maybe even sketch it again in the sand—when she was alone.

She began blurring the edges of her sketch with her own footprints.

It would be hours yet before the tide rolled back in.

Although this was a private beach, she wouldn’t risk anyone else getting a glimpse of her whimsy.

Tucking her hands into her pockets, her fingers caught the edge of the business card.

Pulling it out, she read the three lines: Trent Blakely, Consultant. And his phone number.

No address or email. No company name. She flipped the card back and forth. The paper was good quality, the printing engraved.

“What exactly do you consult on, Trent Blakely?” she murmured.

Calling would be the easiest way to find out. Or maybe she should send him a cheesy little text. She considered sending a text with the photo of the sketch she had done.

Again, a little voice in her head urged her to do it.

Why did the idea hold such an appeal today, when normally she’d cringe?

She reached for the stick to refine the area she had walked through, determined to follow her hunches.

Maybe she should take a selfie with this sand portrait and up the cheesy-factor.

“Well, my goodness,” a familiar voice called out from behind her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Natalie.”

She shivered, hating herself for it.

Jackson Griggs should not have this much sway over her. She was no longer the starry-eyed co-ed he’d fooled so easily. “You’re not welcome here, Jackson.” She didn’t even pretend to be polite. “Leave now.”

“I swung by earlier,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “Since I’m in town on business, I thought I’d see if you wanted to grab dinner.”

She ignored the obnoxious invite. Jackson lied—always.

“What business could you possibly have here?” Who was he conning now?

As soon as he gave her a hint she would go warn them.

Probably more efficient to post a wide broadcast to the community business association.

Or take out an ad in the Brookwell Bugle.

When it came to Jackson, subtlety was useless.

“Come on, Natalie.” He spread his arms wide. “The past is over. Let’s start fresh. As friends.”

“No.”

For a moment, she felt trapped with the ocean behind her and Jackson blocking the only exit.

Swimming away from him seemed dramatic, but she was considering it.

Then she took a closer look. He was dressed for the golf course in lightweight slacks and a polo shirt, but he had on loafers.

No doubt expensive loafers. He wouldn’t risk coming closer for fear of scuffing his shoes in the sand.

She didn’t need to worry unless he took off the footwear.

She folded her arms, keeping a good hold on the stick, just in case. “Go away, Jackson.”

“Let’s talk.” He waved her closer. “Come on up.”

Exactly as she suspected. He wasn’t about to damage his precious shoes. “Go on to your golf date,” she called out. “And may your mark see right through your scam,” she added under her breath.

“Nat, please. Looks like we’re both in real estate now and?—”

That did it. They were nothing alike and never would be. Before she realized what she was doing, she stalked up the beach, her hand tightening on the stick. She would make him leave. Deep down in some dark part of her soul, she hoped he gave her a reason to whack him at least once in the process.

“ We are nothing,” she snapped when she was closer. They never had been. It had always been Jackson and his schemes. “Last chance to leave before I call the cops.”

“You’re overreacting. As usual.” His gaze slithered over her, head to toe and back again. “How are you getting so many great reviews on this place with such a short fuse?”

She took a step back, just to be sure he couldn’t reach her easily, and sent a text to the security team.

Pocketing the phone, confident back up would arrive shortly, she stared him down.

“I’m not going to dinner.” She would not allow him to spin such an event in his favor.

“Good luck with your business in Brookwell.”

He planted his hands on his hips. “Now, see, that doesn’t sound sincere. I’m legit now.”

“Not a chance.”

He sighed, as if she had always been the problem. “I came by as a courtesy.”

She tapped the stick against her palm, hoping she looked threatening.

His boy-next-door friendliness flicked off, a downright ugly defiance coming over him. “If you say anything negative about me, I will sue you for slander.”

“I have only ever spoken the truth,” she reminded him. In court and everywhere else—though she preferred not speaking his name at all.

She’d taken herself to therapy, gotten her head screwed back on straight, and had no intention of letting him mess her up again. Though she held his gaze, she saw the movement behind him. She wasn’t alone, no longer easy-pickings. “You’re trespassing, Jackson.”

Brayden Leggett, Veronica’s best friend and currently part of their security team, jogged up behind Jackson. “Nat! Hey! I’m glad I caught you.” He skidded to a stop. “Oh, gosh. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” she said, smiling despite Jackson’s protest. “What’s up?”

Brayden was giving off an excellent all-innocence vibe, though he couldn’t hide his fit, intimidating bearing. She couldn’t wait to tell Roni about this.

“We’ve got more firewood coming. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t be in the way.”

“Perfect timing,” she said. “Thanks.”

Jackson stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Natalie’s husband.”

“ Ex -husband,” she corrected him. Talk about slander! She shifted her attention to Brayden. “He doesn’t remember me talking about you way back in the day. His poor listening skills are only one reason we divorced.”

“Oh, Jackson .” Brayden repeated the name as if it finally clicked. “I thought he was in jail.”

Her ex glared at them. “I’m right here.”

“As if it matters,” Natalie huffed. “You came by. Noted.” Tossing the stick, she shooed him away. “You can go.”

With Brayden there, Jackson couldn’t try anything stupid. He didn’t even toss out any threats about stopping by later, though she was sure he would try.

“Want to talk about it?” Brayden asked when Jackson drove off in his fancy car. “The team got the update that he isn’t welcome here.”

She threw her arms around him, suddenly trembling. “Thanks. Sorry.” She stepped back. “Thanks for rushing to the rescue.”

Brayden studied her with sympathy. “He’s trouble?”

“Mostly just to me. He’s a con man. A good one,” she admitted. “I can’t imagine why he’d even try to pull something here.” She lifted her chin.

“What did he want?”

She shrugged. “To warn me, I guess. Involve me somehow. He promised to sue me for slander if I bad-mouth him.”

“You should tell Jess all of that,” Brayden suggested. “It’ll help her build a file.”

“Right. Okay.” Nat sniffed. “She’ll want to know he came back. Thanks again.”

She reached for her phone as he walked away, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the call. Why did it feel so challenging? She’d done more difficult things than give good people a warning about Jackson’s bad behavior.

Probably because this time he was being a jerk in the place she called home. Seeing him near the house where they’d built so many wonderful family memories stirred up her fury. She couldn’t let him contaminate this place she loved.

With a series of deep breaths, she calmed herself down. This incident was a blip on the radar, not a hardship ready to drop on her. She gave herself a pep talk that it was natural to feel emotional and out of control as some of that old baggage bubbled up.

One more layer to release.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she tapped the screen and was rewarded with the sand sketch of Trent’s face. Now that yummy handsomeness was worth her attention.