“Ohhhhh,” she said, all breathy and speculative. “I see.”

See? What did she see? “Ma’am?”

She didn’t answer him, turning back to face Tucker instead. “It’s definitely a woman thing.”

Grady blinked. What?

Tucker grinned. “Okay now, Miss Winona, what do you know?”

“You remember me telling you my friend from New York was coming to stay for a little while over the holidays?”

Tucker nodded. “Sure. She’s an artist.”

“Yes.” Winona nodded enthusiastically. “A painter. Well…” She tipped her head sideways to indicate Grady. “She’s staying in his cottage.”

“Ah.” Tucker’s gaze returned to meet Grady’s. So did Winona’s. He was beginning to understand how one of those bugs pinned to a board felt. “That does explain it.” He glanced at Winona again. “What’s she like?”

“She’s awesome. She forges art—legally—for a living. Her work is amazing, so accurate, and museums and galleries and private collectors pay her boatloads of money for it.”

A legal art forger? That was a thing? He couldn’t even wrap his head around that one. But at least it explained the accuracy and the professionalism of those paintings. Apart from one or two major deviations, of course…

“But she’s grown up in the shadow of her very famous mother, who’s probably the country’s most prominent sculptor. Between the pressure of that and her job of reproducing other people’s art, she’s lost her way a little. I’ve been telling her for months she should take a break and come to Credence for some inspiration.”

“And has she found it?” Tucker asked.

Winona glanced in Grady’s direction, a little gleam in her eyes. “I think she has.”

Tucker’s gaze also swung over him, and Grady felt hot and then cold all over. “You know I’m right here, yeah?”

This was why he lived alone and drank alone. He didn’t have time for high school bullshit in his life. And he didn’t want to be anyone’s inspiration.

The music changed to Justin Bieber, and Grady figured that was a sign.

“Well…” He threw back the rest of his beer, placed the bottle on the bar, and slid off the stool. “That’s my cue to leave.”

He should have stayed at home. People could be a distraction, but they could also be pains in the ass. He forgot that sometimes when he was away from them for a while. These two were a classic example. He didn’t need to spend his Sunday afternoon being tag-teamed by the psychological equivalent of Laurel and Hardy.

“Methinks he doth protest too much,” Winona said to Tucker.

Christ, they were breaking out the Shakespeare—definitely time to leave. Grady shot them both a grim smile as he threw a ten dollar bill on the bar. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he said as he turned and walked away.

Chapter Six

Suzanne woke late the next day not in a lather of excitement about what she was going to paint but with a lump of dread feeling like a cement block tied to her feet. Her muse was nowhere to be found. Just as she had been nowhere yesterday after Grady had slammed out of the cottage.