Page 8 of The Muse
Callie returns the hint of a smile, then leads the way out the door.
“When’s the last time someone took you shopping?” she asks as I set the painting in the back of the car.
“Legally?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes. Legally.”
“Can’t remember. Maybe never.”
“Follow me.” She takes off in the opposite direction. Her short legs move pretty fast for her age.
Is she okay leaving her painting in the back of her car where someone could steal it? I know a few people who would have that out of there in no time. Not so long ago, I was one of those people.
Chapter Three
Flynn
Mrs. Rawlings leadsme to a high-end clothing store. I’m not a shopper, but I’m sure the inside of this place is much nicer than the inside of a jail cell. So I open the door and glance down the street as she steps inside.
“I’ll be right back,” I mumble, eyeing the end of the block, where June is taking a photo of her tour group in front of a sculpture. “I promise,” I add without waiting for Callie’s permission before I sprint down the sidewalk and cross the street, holding out my hand to give an apologetic wave to the man in the BMW who has to slam on his brakes so he doesn’t hit me.
“Let me take it,” I say to June as she holds up her phone to take pictures of the group posing with their bikes.
She squints at me.
“Then you can be in the photo too,” I say, taking her phone and nodding for her to get in the picture.
“I don’t need to be in—” she starts to say.
“Just say thank you and get over there.” I grin with way more confidence than I had at the gallery.
She slides into the middle, and I take several shots. Then one of the tourists asks her about a nearby restaurant, so I quicklyadd myself to her contacts, including a goofy selfie, then I set a reminder on her phone for eight o’clock tonight:Call Flynn, the sexy guy from the gallery.
“Thanks,” she says with a laugh when I hand her phone back to her. “I was going to take a selfie with them in the background. It’s the customary tour photo. You ruined that.”
I shrug. “This one will be more memorable.”
“Why is that?” She slides her phone into her crossbody bag.
“Because you’ll always remember who took it.”
“Is that so?”
I glance toward the clothing store and mumble, “Yeah. Listen, I’m Flynn, by the way. And I have to go, but I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Don’t count on it. The Twin Cities have close to four million people.”
I jog across the street before looking back at her. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
June bites her lower lip and grins.I’m back!The temporary glitch in my brain from the gallery has vanished.
Callie is nowhere in sight when I step into the store filled with boring music, a pungent cologne stench, and displays of men’s clothes that look entirely too layered. Who wears two shirts and a jacket at the same time with shorts and leather loafers?
“Can I help you?” A bald guy with a measuring tape draped around his neck eyes me over his reading glasses low on his bulbous nose.
“I’m looking for a woman about this tall.” I gesture with my hand at my shoulder. “Blondish-gray hair, and—oh, there she is. Never mind,” I say, stepping past him toward Callie, who’s next to a display with her arms full of clothes.
She eyes me with an unasked question. I’m getting really good at reading her, and this is only my first day.
