Emilie Rose - The Lottery Winner

Wind ruffled his dark hair and his white, rolled-sleeve button-down shirt accentuated his tan. He resembled one of the rich guys who frequented the yachts parked along the wharf. But she now knew what he looked like in nothing but swim trunks, and that was...a distraction that made her sketching hand twitchy.

She saw the exact second he spotted her, because his posture changed. Looking as alert as a hunter with its next meal in the crosshairs, he watched her cross the street. She covered the automatic urge to tug at the short hem of her uniform skort by blotting her damp palms on her hips. The encounter ahead wouldn’t be fun.

“Where’s the painting?” he demanded.

“I didn’t bring it.” The fire of excitement had fizzled soon after he roared off in his boat. Doubts about putting herself out there had dogged her as she showered and dressed for work. Then she’d realized his demand that she bring the painting wasn’t even about her.

His eyebrows lowered. “Why?”

“While your offer is generous and flattering, it’s Miri’s restaurant. I want to check with her first.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did she call you?”

“No. Why?”

“Never mind. She has to accept that the stuff on the walls needs replacing.”

“That’s your opinion. She might disagree.”

He strode to the door and yanked it open, motioning for Jessie to go first. He loomed behind her like a hovering hawk as she went to the kitchen in search of Miri. On the way, she checked out the current wall art—something she’d only done superficially before because she’d been too busy watching the patrons. Each piece was of good quality. But all needed some TLC.

Miri glanced up from the pie crust in front of her when they entered. Her rolling pin stilled.

“Tell her to bring her painting,” Logan demanded, and Miri’s expression turned uneasy.

Jessie gave Miri a sympathetic smile. “I thought Logan should ask why you’ve never replaced the ones you have.”

A tiny smile curved Miri’s lips. “Jack gave them to me. Each one commemorates a moment of our lives together.”

Jessie shot Logan an I-told-you-so look. “Her art has sentimental value. You can’t just discard it.”

Logan rocked his jaw back and forth. “I’m trying to update this place and make both of you some money.”

“I don’t want it at Miri’s expense.”

Miri laid a hand on Jessie’s forearm and gave her a squeeze. “You’re a dear and I love you for thinking of me, Jessie. But I want to help you. Truly, I do. And if you’re as good an artist as Logan says, this exposure could be good for you—even if I have to buy easels to display them. Please, bring your paintings.”

Miri’s encouragement fanned the ember Logan had lit. How could she make this a win-win situation? “I have an idea. Follow me.”

Jessie grabbed a clean rag, dampened a corner of it, then led them to the oil of one of Key West’s historic Victorian homes that hung behind the cash register. “Tell me about this one.”

Miri’s face softened. “That’s the bed-and-breakfast where Jack and I honeymooned. It’s the first piece of real art he bought me.”

“Then it definitely should stay. It’s a quality piece. But I’m guessing these have been here since the days when smoking was allowed inside restaurants?”

Miri nodded.

Jessie gently rubbed one side of the frame where it wouldn’t be visible to guests, then displayed the sooty residue for Miri to see. “All it needs to revive the original colors is a professional cleaning. I could hang one of mine while yours is out for restoration. I’ll help you find someone reputable to do the job, at minimal cost. It’ll come back as good as new.”

She knew how to do it because she’d interned at an estate auction house her senior year of high school, but she couldn’t volunteer to do the job without giving too much away.

Looking sad, Miri shook her head. “I never even noticed the grime. All I see is the memory. Thank you, Jessie. That’s a grand suggestion.”

“Miri, the alcohol delivery’s here,” one of the kitchen workers called.

Miri held up a finger. “Be right there. I’ll take this one down tonight after we close if you’ll bring one of yours in tomorrow morning for our weekend crowd to enjoy.”

Jessie’s heart quickened. “I’ll do it.”

Then Miri left Jessie alone with Logan’s blue gaze lasered on her. “How did you know about the soot?”

“My dad used to be a smoker.” True, but not the whole truth. “Excuse me. I need to set up for opening.”

“Why can’t we clean them?”

“Because restoration takes skill, patience and the right chemicals. Doing it wrong will irrevocably damage the work. The process varies with the condition of each piece and type of paint.”

When his eyes narrowed, she wanted to slap a hand over her mouth for revealing too much, but teaching was as natural to her as breathing. She made her escape before he could ask more and hoped Logan didn’t pick up her slip.

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