Susan Mallery - You Say It First

“Give me your hand,” he commanded.

The eight-year-old inside of her silently murmured “but then I’ll only have one,” which totally explained why she really wasn’t ready to work anywhere serious like a bank.

She did as he’d asked. Nick pressed her hand to the panel and placed his on top of hers. The combination of cool, smooth wood and warm male skin was unexpected. And kind of nice. Especially when she felt a little tingle start low in her belly. It had been a long time between tingles.

“Can you feel it?”

She had no idea what he was talking about. Him or the wood? Because if he meant the tingles, that was a big ole yes.

Before she could fake an answer, he moved her hand across the relief. “The work is exquisite. So detailed, so rich. The birds look ready to fly off and the plants should still be growing. This isn’t just a panel or even art. It’s life. Whoever did this was a master artist. They’re something you should treasure. But if things ever really get bad, you can sell them, Pallas. For a lot of money.”

That got her attention even more than the tingles. “Like how much?”

“Hundreds of thousands.”

“Of dollars? Are you kidding me? For these?”

“Not really an art major, huh?”

She shook her head. “Okay, then. I have more respect for them now. Not that I can pay you any more than I offered.”

“I believe you. Don’t worry about it. Just know that they’re here if you need them.” He flashed her a grin. “Like money in the bank.”

* * *

ALAN GLARED AT the panel. “I prefer skinny brides who haven’t eaten in three weeks. That sucker was heavy.”

It had taken Nick, his two brothers, Joseph, Jonathan and Alan to wrestle a single panel onto the supports Nick had put in place. Everyone else had already left but Alan lingered to complain.

“Is it inappropriate for me to say man up?” Nick asked.

Alan chuckled. “No. But next time I’m going to be busy and unable to help.”

“Fair enough. At least we know they’re solid wood.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“Not really.”

Nick walked around the single panel, studying it from all angles. He would take pictures and start his research when he got back to his brother’s place. For now he simply wanted to take in the piece, to get to know it so he could figure out where to begin.

“Have you done this sort of thing before?” Alan asked. “Restoration work?”

“No, but I understand the process.”

“No wonder Pallas got you for cheap. You’re not going to ruin it, are you?”

Nick looked at the other man. “I give you my word. I know what I’m doing. I’ve worked with wood for a decade now. I’m not going to screw these up.”

Alan didn’t look convinced. “I guess I don’t have a choice. Pallas trusts you.” His tone indicated that might not be a good thing.

For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Nick wanted to win the other man over. Maybe because he was someone Pallas trusted.

“Thanks for your help with the heavy lifting.”

“You’re welcome. At least I don’t have to go to the gym today.” Alan walked around the panel. “I should check on some of the costumes. They’re getting a little ratty. I don’t suppose you know how to sew?”

“Not my thing.”

“Too bad. It’s not mine, either. Pallas has a friend, Violet, who repairs the costumes when they need it. I know it would be better to simply replace them, but there’s the cash flow issue. Keeping this old place going isn’t cheap.”

Nick would imagine there was a lot of outflow—moneywise. “Moving the panels in place would take time. I wonder why she doesn’t replace them with lightweight frames with paper panels that could be changed out for different types of weddings? That would lessen the manpower needed.”

“An interesting idea. You should share it with Pallas.”

“I just might. How long have you known her?”

“Years. Nine or ten. Ever since she came to work for Gerald.” He smiled. “She was so earnest. He liked that about her. She also worked hard and enjoyed what she did. That can be hard to find.”

“Do you live in Happily Inc?”

Alan wrinkled his nose. “God, no. I did for a while, when I moved here.” His expression turned mischievous. “I’ll save you the trouble of the subtle questioning. Yes, I came here for Gerald. He was my mentor and then my lover. We were together five years, and when it ended, we stayed friends. I miss him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. Dying sucks, or so I’ve been told. Now I live in LA and come out on the occasional weekend to help out Pallas.”

Nick put the pieces together. “She’s like family.”

“She is. Gerald and I had Pallas in common, as well. We needed her and she needed us.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ve only met her brother once and he seemed decent enough, but her mother... Have you met Libby?”

“Not yet.”

“Brace yourself. On the surface she’s oh-so proper, but underneath, she’s a total bitch. At least to her daughter. I mean seriously, what’s up with all the rules? I keep telling Pallas to stand up to her. That once she does, all will be well, but she doesn’t believe me. Not a surprise. It’s easy to tell someone else what to do and more difficult when you’re the one who has to do it.”

“Families are complicated,” Nick said, thinking of his own troubled relationship with his famous father.

“They are. What I can’t figure out is why Libby resents Pallas so much.”

“You think that’s why she’s always on her?”

“It’s the only explanation. That or Libby hates her own daughter and trust me, no one wants to go there. My guess is there’s some deep dark secret in Libby’s past. Maybe her mother resented her and she’s just passing it on. We’ll probably never know. Gerald and I would run interference when we could.”

“I’m sure it helped.”

“I hope so.” He glanced at Nick. “So what’s your story?”

“I’m waiting to hear on a commission in Dubai. If I get it, I’ll work there for two years.”

“I wonder if I’d like Dubai.” He considered the thought for a moment. “If you move there, I’ll come visit and decide for myself.”

Nick had no idea what to say to that. “Ah, sure. Great.”

Alan winked. “If you could see your face. All right, my little woodcarver friend. I’ll leave you to it. And if you see Libby approaching, throw water. I’m fairly confident she’ll melt.”

* * *

WEDNESDAY PALLAS LEFT work early as she did every week. It was her night to get together with her friends. In a town that catered to weddings, no one had weekends off. With the exception of high school football games and Sunday morning church services, almost nothing social happened Thursday through Sunday. Everyone was too busy supporting the weddings that kept the town coffers full.

She drove north to the Rio de los Sueños and across the Transfer Bridge. Not only was the rhythm of the town affected by the dominant industry, but so were most of the local businesses and even street names. She lived in a neighborhood referred to as The Arcs. To the west was Honor Arc, to the east, Love Arc. There were streets named Serenity Boulevard and Hope Chest Drive. And if anyone found that really, really annoying, she could cheerfully inform them it was her grandfather’s fault.

She was still smiling when she turned onto her street. She lived in a small Spanish-style bungalow. When she’d first come back to Happily Inc after her college failure, she’d had to find a permanent place to live. Moving home with Mom had been out of the question. Along with a job offer, Gerald had told her about the bungalow and she’d become both his employee and his tenant. When he’d died last January, in addition to the business, he’d left her the small property.