Page 6 of Take the Blame (Seaside Mergers #3)

So not a virgin then. I wouldn’t have guessed, but now the knowledge had me wanting to retroactively meet and kick whoever it was she’d been with last. It was a strange thought, I chalked it up to the fact that over these months of working with her twice a week I’d gotten to know her a little, and from what I knew she probably wasn’t one to give it up to just anyone.

Which meant whoever had gotten that privilege had seen a side of her I haven’t.

Would never. Not with her hating me like she did.

Feeling my gaze heavy on her, Alta looked up at me again.

Her flaming cheeks and neck were no less red and her embarrassment no less apparent.

But she couldn’t hide the fact that her eyes were wide and searching, so she skirted them away hastily a second later, wiping her hands along her pants to busy herself.

I scoffed quietly. Okay .

Pointing to my band of idiots, I said, “Hey, knock it off. None of that around the princess.”

Her eyes snapped back up toward mine, and damn if she didn’t actually look offended. “I’m not a princess.”

“Sorry,” I said. “A saint then.”

Her eyes narrowed, giving me that look again. That, ‘ I hate you as much as I could ever hate anything ,’ look I knew so well as the sole recipient of it. But it was broken by the sound of a phone ringing. Mine.

Jarred by the noise, Alta’s attention caught onto her watch .

“Shoot,” she said, lifting out of the chair. “I have to run. Sorry I didn’t get much done today guys.”

The crew just grunted, uninterested as she began to pack up. I barely paid attention as I stared at the area code lighting up my phone screen.

A Connecticut number.

Home.

What once was home, anyway. Now I didn’t claim anything from Connecticut or that world.

Not after leaving it when my sister disappeared.

The only reason I even entertained keeping my old phone number—the last tie to the world I’d come from—was the fact that my sister might need it one day.

It was the same reason that stalled me as I looked at the inbound call now.

Could it be her? After all this time, could it really be my sister running back after running away?

I doubted she’d still have a Connecticut number, though it wasn’t impossible. But I also didn’t want to answer just to be wrong and end up having to talk to my mom or dad or god forbid anyone else.

No, if this was truly Mar, I would know… right?

Doubt slipped in on the last ring, but just as I moved my thumb to answer the call, I noticed the front door opening and our very own Saint Alta slipping away without saying goodbye.

When I looked back down, the call had ended.

Pocketing the phone, I jogged after her. She was halfway to her car by the time I caught up, opening the back door to slide her bags in a few moments later. When she shut her belongings in and finally turned around, she startled at the sight of me.

My eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you knew I was behind you.”

“I… did,” she said defensively, her arms folding over her chest and her back going up against the side of her car to put some space between us. “Do you need something?”

Jesus . I get that she was spaced out, but it was dangerous to be completely clueless “Shape up, Boss. A nice girl like you will get snatched up if you’re not paying attention.”

Her arms folded tighter around herself. “Any girl could get snatched up, not just nice ones.”

“Did you really think that was a good comeback?” I asked.

“Yeah, I thought it was pretty good,” she said.

I couldn’t help it. I swear I didn’t laugh so much with anyone else. This girl was just… something else. “That was rhetorical. I know it wasn’t a good comeback.”

“Oh,” she pouted. “Well, whatever. I have to get back to the office. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Feeling any better?” I asked, before she could get in her car.

“Better than…”

“Than when you tried to strangle that plant,” I said, nodding in the direction of the victim.

She winced. Yeah there was no way I was forgetting about that. She knew it too. Which is probably why she sighed and went for the truth. “Yeah, actually I am. Seeing that you guys are working on your art for the festival calmed me down a little. So… thank you.”

“I told you they would worry,” I said. “They’re used to seeing Saint Alta. If only they knew what you were really like.”

She looked at me, her expression open and honest. “I’m not a saint you know?”

“No?” I asked, looking her over slowly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

That expression closed right down again. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Harper.”

Ah, the “Mr. Harper.” She was pissed again. I couldn’t help but laugh. So testy this one, but only with the right touch. Mine. For everyone else she was a dream.

“Are you going to tell me what was bothering you?” I asked.

“Probably not,” she answered truthfully.

“Are you going to tell me what you thought about my sketch, then? Everyone else got a response. Not me,” I said, suddenly wanting to know.

Her expression went thoughtful, her eyes skating up as if she was seeing the photo right there in front of her again. Then she looked at me. “If you tell me what it means, exactly, then yes. I’ll tell you what I think.”

I sighed, my hands sliding into my pockets as I thought about it. “I don’t think it means any one thing in particular.” Her eyebrows knit together, confused, so I continued. “Like, you know how Quis’s drawing reminded you of your sister? Well, that one reminds me of mine.”

“Your sister?” she asked, her voice soft. “Did something happen to her?”

I swallowed. That was a loaded question I didn’t want to answer. And interesting enough, that tone of voice was not one I wanted to hear. Yes, I wanted to know a time when Alta could be soft with me, but not at the sympathy of my family. That seemed cheap and fake.

So, leaning forward and around her, I opened her car door, urging her in, and asking. “Thoughts?”

Honest as ever, Alta contemplated it before she said. “Truthfully, it was kind of eerie. Kind of strange, but really, really beautiful. I’ll find a good word to match it. I promise.”

And much like that first time she’d walked into my shop, I didn’t doubt her for a second.