She paused just inside the doorway and drew a deep breath. Hartes and Madisons handled this kind of stuff routinely. Aunt Claudia wouldn't have so much as flinched. If they could do it, so could she.
She gave the small crowd a polite smile and moved forward, weaving a path through the gauntlet of tables. It seemed a very long way to the counter, but she made it eventually.
"Good morning," she said to the brightly robed Herald who waited to take her order. "Coffee with cream, please."
"May the light of the future be with you today." The Herald's ankhs and scarab jewelry clanked gently when she raised her palm in greeting. "Your coffee will be ready in a moment."
The door opened again just as Octavia handed her money to the Herald. She did not need to glance over her shoulder to see who had walked into the bakery. The fresh buzz of excitement said it all.
"Hi, Miss Brightwell," Carson called from the far end of the room. "Dad said he saw you in here."
She turned, cup in hand. A deep sense of wistful longing welled up inside her at the sight of Nick and his son together. In his matching black windbreaker, jeans, tee shirt, and running shoes, Carson was a sartorial miniature of his father. But the resemblance went so much deeper, she thought. You could already see in Carson the beginnings of the strength of will, the savvy intelligence, and the cool awareness that were Nick's hallmarks. There was something more there, too. Carson would grow up to be the kind of man whose word was his bond because integrity was bred in the bone in the Harte family.
Like father, like son.
She squelched the sudden rush of emotion with a ruthless act of willpower. Nick and Carson had everything they needed in the way of a family. And she would be leaving at the end of the summer.
"Good morning," she said to Carson. She looked at Nick and felt the heat in his gaze go straight to her nerve endings, setting off little explosions. "Hello."
"'Morning," he said.
There was an unmistakable intimacy in the low greeting, a dark, heavy warmth that she was certain everyone in the bakery had picked up on. She knew, with a certainty that was so strong she wondered if she'd developed telepathic powers, that he was thinking about that good-night kiss on her front porch.
Not that she had any right to complain. She was thinking about it, too.
Actually, she'd spent far too much of the night recalling it, analyzing it, contemplating every nuance and cataloging her own responses. She had examined that kiss the way she would have examined a painting that had the power to capture her attention and force her to look beneath the surface.
Her reaction had been over the top and she knew it. In fact, the all-night obsession with the details of that encounter on the porch had made her very uneasy this morning. You'd have thought it was her first serious kiss. And that made no sense at all. This was what came of being relationship-free for nearly two years. A woman tended to overreact when the long drought finally ended. She needed to get some perspective here.
Nick and Carson arrived at the counter. There was more than just amusement in Nick's eyes. There was some sympathy, too.
He glanced around with mild interest. "Don't worry about this. The news is out that you're related to Claudia
Banner and that we were seen together in my car last night."
"Yes, I know. Hannah called me first thing this morning to warn me."
"It'll all blow over in a couple of days."
She wasn't so sure about that, but she decided this was not the time or place to argue the point. "Sure."
"Give me a minute to grab some coffee for myself and some hot chocolate for Carson," he said. "Then we'll walk you over to the gallery."
Before she could object or agree, he started to give his order to the Herald.
Carson looked up at her while they waited for the coffee and chocolate. "Have you framed my picture yet?"
"I'm going to do it this morning." She smiled down at him. "Want to help?"
Excitement bubbled through him. "Yes."
Nick collected the cups and a paper sack from the Herald and gave the bakery one sweeping glance as he started toward the door.
"Okay, you two," he said out of the side of his mouth in the stone-cold accents of an Old West marshal. "Let's get the heck out of Dodge."
"Miss Brightwell's gonna frame Winston today," Carson announced. "I'm gonna help."
"Cool," Nick said.
Carson whirled and dashed ahead, completely oblivious to the thinly veiled curiosity that permeated the room.
"A Harte to his toes," Octavia murmured.
"Oh, yeah."
Outside, the remnants of the morning cloud cover were starting to dissipate. The day promised warmth and sunshine by noon.
The shops across from the pier had begun to open for the day. Octavia noticed that the lights were on inside Bay Souvenirs, House of Candy, and Seaton's Antiques.
"Looks like I'm running a little late this morning." She stopped in front of the door of Bright Visions and slid her key into the lock.
Carson and Nick followed her into the gallery and waited while she deactivated the alarm and switched on the lights.
"Where's my picture?" Carson asked.
"In the back room with the others," Octavia said. "But we have to finish our chocolate and coffee first before we start framing. Don't want to risk spilling anything on the pictures."
"Okay." Carson went to work on his chocolate. He seemed intent on downing the contents of his cup in record time.
"Easy," Nick said quietly.
There was no threatening edge to the tone of his voice, Octavia noted; no boring lecture on good manners. Just a simple instruction spoken with calm, masculine authority.
Octavia waited until all three cups were in the waste-basket before she opened the door of the back room.
"All right," she said, "let's see about getting Winston into a suitable frame."
Nick followed as far as the doorway of the back room. He glanced at his watch. "The mail should be in by now. I'll run down to the post office while you two work on the picture. See you in a few minutes, okay?"
"Okay." Carson did not look around. His attention was concentrated on the matting and framing materials that Octavia was arranging on the workbench. "Are you gonna use a gold frame for my picture, Miss Brightwell? I think Winston would look good in a gold frame."
"We'll try gold and black and see which looks best," she said.
"Obviously I'm not needed here," Nick said. "See you later."