Spray Paint Kisses Read online

  Gage forced himself to stay quiet, working instead on taking the burgers off the grill. The reason for his distraction lay solely in the blonde haired, blue-eyed beauty he met earlier in the day. Her name still rung heavily in his mind and rolled on his tongue like sweetened molasses.

  Who was she?

  That’s what he wanted to know the most.

  “We’re what, like an hour from the main highway that leads to anywhere?” Gage asked.

  Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Well, yeah. Besides the Renous, but no one in their right mind travels that unless they want to be hit by a goddamn moose. It’s not a main highway, anyway. It’s the old one and tourists don’t usually know about it like locals do.”

  True, Gage mused silently.

  Damn, that didn’t help much. Summer likely wasn’t a traveller who missed a turn off and ended up in the middle of nowhere, Canada.

  “Is this about that new girl people were talking about?” Dean asked.

  Now, it was Gage’s turn to eye his friend. “What about her?”

  Dean shrugged, a knowing smile playing on his mouth. “Heard the old ladies gossiping about a newbie staying at the Inn while I gassed up the truck after work. They were in a right fit, what with not even knowing her name.”

  “Summer.” Gage’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as the name slipped out on its own.

  “Huh?” Dean tossed his friend a glance. “What was that?”

  “Her name is Summer.”

  Chapter Three

  Summer Davey was always an odd girl.

  A gypsy soul, her mother said.

  Finicky and trouble, her father liked to tease.

  Even her brother, the steady, always dependable of the two siblings, never could quite get a grasp on his sister’s wandering desire. Because that’s exactly what it was, a desire. A need she couldn’t quite seem to fulfil. At only twenty-one-years-old, Summer couldn’t find rest in anything.

  In the dark of night, she wanted light.

  In the light of day, she wanted quiet.

  The low thrumming music whining from a car radio made her dance. The sun shining in through a windshield made her smile. When she drove away at eighteen, just to see where she could go in a day, it was the first time Summer ever felt settled.

  Maybe there was something wrong with her like her aunt once told her parents. After all, what kind of girl never had the most basic answers to questions about her own life? What did she want to be when she grew up? Was college in her dreams? Did she ever want a husband, or kids?

  Summer didn’t know.

  What she did know, above all else, was that she couldn’t stay. At least, not for long.

  People often mistook her random appearance and fast disappearance as a sign she was a girl in trouble. As if she was running from something, or someone. That wasn’t the case. Instead, Summer simply stayed long enough to feel the need to move on again.

  Small towns always provided her with easy jobs that were usually stipulated as temporary right from the start. Pocket cash to pay for the occasional motel, and even better if she could find a room for cheap rent. Along with temporary employment, no one demanded much in the way of notice when she left.

  It certainly helped that Summer’s grandmother had left both her and her brother a sizeable inheritance when she passed. Of course, her grandmother probably hadn’t intended for Summer to use the money in the way she was. But, there had been no instructions or rules regarding the money other than she expected her only grandchildren to enjoy it, and use it for what they needed.

  No matter what anyone else thought, Summer needed to keep moving on to somewhere new more than she wanted to stay. On her travels, she’d met the most interesting and nicest of people. She’d worked in places she probably never would have before. Every time she stopped to stay, she was filled more. Maybe one day, she wouldn’t have to keep moving on.

  “How’re you doing, crazy girl?” her brother asked.

  Summer smiled at the soft tone. It was always the way with any of her family, as if they were scared should they cause any distress or argue with her, Summer might not call once a week like she always did ever since she left home.

  “Fine,” Summer said, dipping her bare toes into the Tobique River. “Enjoying the heat.”

  “Where are you at, now?”

  Two months ago, she’d spent some time in Sidney, Nova Scotia. That time, her stay hadn’t lasted longer than a month and a half. There wasn’t much there to hold her attention, though the people were great. People were always great; that wasn’t the real problem.

  “New Brunswick, brother mine,” she quipped with a grin. “I’ll give you a hint about where exactly, and see if you can figure it out.”

  “Shoot,” Timothy responded.

  “There is literally one road that goes through this town. Start to finish, just one. It’s two hours from the province’s capital.”

  Timothy hummed under his breath. The rustling sound of paper told Summer her brother had pulled out a map, or maybe an atlas. It had become a game of sorts between them. She would give him hints about her location and he would pull out tidbits of the useless knowledge he’d stored over the years about their country to figure it out.

  Smart was a bit of an understatement when it came to Timothy. At least he was putting his brain to use by working on becoming a doctor. That photographic memory of his came in handy, apparently.

  “Anything else?”

  “The town is famous for a couple of things,” Summer answered, smiling slyly.

  This was the kind of information her brother really wanted.

  “Like what?”

  “There’s a giant wooden carving in the middle of town in the shape of a fiddlehead.”

  “A fiddle’s head?” Timothy asked, chuckling.

  “No, a fiddlehead. A green you eat. Look it up. Apparently this place grows the biggest in Canada.”

  “Anything else?”

  “How about … World Pond Hockey—”

  “Plaster Rock, New Brunswick,” her brother interrupted almost instantly. “Damn it, why couldn’t you go there in the winter when you could see the championship played out?”

  “Winter isn’t really my thing,” Summer replied. “Besides, it’s nice now, too.”

  “I’m sure it is.” Timothy sighed quietly and Summer knew he was trying not to ask if she was coming home any time soon. Being two years older than her, he was always worrying as an older brother should. He simply had to do it from a farther distance than other brothers. “How long have you been there?”

  “Just rolled into town yesterday. Came in from the exit off Grand Falls. The falls are pretty, but that particular town is really French. I’m thinking I should learn some of the language, or try to. The Maritimes are full of French and English. I’m losing the bet here trying to keep up.”

  “You’re smart,” Timothy said, not missing a beat. “You can pick it up quick. Or at least enough to get you by.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So …”

  “Ask, Tim,” Summer said, her gaze catching a canoe carrying two people across the river.

  “Mom misses you. Dad, too.”

  “And you.”

  “Well, sort of,” Timothy joked. “As much as a brother can miss their annoying, younger sibling. Come home.”

  “I was home for Christmas,” Summer pointed out. “I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.”

  “But then you’ll go again.”

  Summer shrugged even though her brother couldn’t see it. “I like to go, Tim. That’s just me. I work, like anyone else. Take care of myself without help. Make sure my business is handled. I don’t have debt, or issues. I’m almost twenty-two. How many other people can say that at my age? What’s wrong with me wanting to travel?”

  “Because you never stay in one place long enough to make roots, crazy girl. Don’t you want a place to only be yours someday?”

  “Someday,” she echoed, frowning. �
�Probably not today.”

  “I met somebody,” her brother blurted out.

  Summer froze in place. Timothy wasn’t a player, so he hadn’t had many relationships but the ones he did have, they were serious. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, a few months ago. I didn’t say anything before because I wasn’t sure if it was going to be anything, you know? Anyway, I think it is. I’d really like for you to meet her.”

  “’ll be home for Thanksgiving,” she repeated. “What’s her name?”

  “Cara.”

  “Is she a know-it-all like you, too?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Timothy said, laughing. “You’ll hate her.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Summer?”

  “What, Tim?”

  “How’re you really?”

  “Good,” she answered honestly. “Really, really good. I met a new friend yesterday.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mmhmm. A guy, actually. Super cute, and even better, a graffiti artist. I’ve never met one of those before.”

  Timothy growled under his breath, giving Summer the reaction she wanted. No matter what, he would always be her older brother.

  “Gotta go, brother mine. People to meet, townsfolk gossip to stir up!”

  “Summer, I swear—”

  She hung up the cell phone before he could say another word.

  Chapter Four

  Many colors of spray paint dotted along the side of his hand and wrist. The long sleeve shirt he wore was rolled up around his elbows, the black bandana tight around his lower face. Over and over, he tapped the aerosol can against his thigh, the clinking sound of the metal ball inside the can echoing throughout the alley.

  There was something about his indifferent, easy stance that spoke of his confidence without giving away an air of laziness. The bits of white paint sticking to the tips of his dark hair said he’d been running his fingers through the strands for a while. Maybe from stress. From the tightness of his grey shirt to the way his dark wash jeans fit, Summer couldn’t help but stare.

  Gage was a good-looking man. That was a bit of an understatement, but she didn’t trust her mind to think on it further.

  Summer had been watching Gage work for ten minutes and he still hadn’t noticed her arrival. Maybe he’d expected her to show earlier in the day, but he didn’t give her a specific time, so she walked around the town for most of the morning, ate at the only restaurant in town at dinner, and then made her way back to the high school after.

  Watching this man, though, it was … amazing. Fascinating.

  A zone really wasn’t a good enough word for it. Gage seemed lost in an invisible space Summer couldn’t see. There was a certain focus hardening the profile of his face as he tilted his head to the side, seeing the artwork on the wall from a different angle.

  Every time he added a new line to the piece, it took on a better form. It became clearer. No matter what he did add, it all seemed perfectly planned and purposely put. Just so.

  But, he hadn’t done a thing to the mural in over five minutes.

  Finally, Summer had taken enough of being quiet in the corner. “Why spray paint?”

  Gage didn’t start at her words, but he turned enough to flash her with a brilliant smile that screamed male confidence. “Tit for tat, girl. If you get a question, so do I.”

  So he had known she was there. Interesting.

  “Fine by me.”

  “Let’s start with something easier, then,” Gage replied. “Favorite color?”

  “That’s because you’re an artist, right?” Summer shook her head, rolling her eyes at his question. “If I say one color, I bet you’ll think it means something it doesn’t. Artists are sensitive like that.”

  Gage snorted. “Right. No, actually, I’m just curious.”

  “Fine, blue. For the sky. Yours?”

  “Black and white. It’s my basic start up for everything, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart. The endearment fell from his mouth so innocently. Summer liked it.

  “Pizza or pie?” Gage asked, his tone light.

  “Seriously?” When he nodded, Summer made a face. “Neither. Poutine. There’s this little place outside of the Quebec border that makes the honest to goodness best poutine I have ever tasted in my life. I’ve had the pleasure and privilege of tasting poutine from all over Canada. None compared to that one.”

  Done with the joking questions, Summer went back to her original one. “Why spray paint?”

  Gage didn’t even blink at the change. “I actually started with Sharpies, pens, and pencils. Penning graffiti on lockers or desks. Bus seats or mailboxes. Wherever I could. One day I grabbed a can of black spray paint from my father’s toolbox and took at a piece of plywood in the back yard, just curious. It wasn’t the same—my medium had changed. It took a different kind of concentration.”

  “But you liked it,” she assumed.

  Gage shrugged. “It was like relearning a talent in a new way. So yeah, you could say that. It’s still different, every time. Every piece takes a special kind of focus, or attention. Some canvases need different paint. It might seem similar, but it’s new to me.”

  “What’d you paint on the plywood?”

  The turn of his cheek gave her just enough of a view to see his cocky smirk. “Ah, my turn.”

  “Fine. Shoot.”

  “Why Plaster Rock?” Gage asked. “There’s not much to see.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. You’ve got the fiddleheads, the Fiddlers on the Tobique, as I learned today. And in the winter, you’ve got that big hockey thing. People come from all over the world for that, right?”

  “They do,” Gage agreed. “But it’s still Plaster Rock. We have a police station with one car and two cops. A high school that houses both the middle school and the upper grades with a graduating class of on average, maybe fifty to sixty students. Our population is too small to count.”

  Summer smiled at his attempt to run down the tiny town. “Also, they sport a pretty cool graffiti artist who does some great work.”

  “Not anymore. I only come back to visit.”

  “Oh, why’s that?”

  Gage turned on his heel, smiling. “That’s your third question, Summer. I’ve only gotten one.”

  The way her name rolled from his full lips took her aback. Never had someone said her name so quietly, but surely. As if they’d been repeating it over and over, thinking about how the letters would sound or the way it felt on the tongue. Gage seemed to notice the reaction her name in his mouth had, given his sharp green eyes caught hers and didn’t let go of the odd hold they had.

  For a moment, she was speechless.

  “Take two more. It’s fine, tell me,” Summer managed to say.

  “I painted a mess of nothing on the plywood. The nozzle was plugged because my father hadn’t used it in a year. The paint wasn’t properly stored or shaken, so it was in awful condition. Not a thing—a mess. The next day I stole a couple of cans from the hardware store and made my first tag under the bridge that leads to the Renous.”

  Summer tried to remember if she’d seen any graffiti under the bridge earlier. “There’s nothing there, now.”

  “No, they removed it after I was caught. It was just one of the many pieces I was charged with. Destruction of public property and all that bullshit.” Gage tossed the can in his hand to a cardboard box, not even looking where it landed. In fact, his gaze didn’t leave Summer as he asked, “Where are you from?”

  “Saskatchewan.”

  “Easy to draw, hard to spell,” Gage teased.

  Summer’s laugh tinkled into the alley. It felt good to laugh, like maybe it’d been too long since she did so. “Something like that.”

  “You didn’t answer my first question. Why Plaster Rock?”

  “I don’t know. I took a turn off and ended up here. Sometimes that’s how it works. I just … end up, and stay for a while.”

  Gage began picking up the mess
on the ground, tossing it all to the box as well. “Doesn’t that get tiring, though?”

  Now, it was Summer’s turn to smirk. “That’s your third question.”

  “It’s a good one.”

  It was.

  “Sometimes. But I like to see new things. Meet new people. I’ve never felt settled before.”

  Oddly, this man made her feel more comfortable and centered than anything ever had. It frightened Summer a bit to think about, or consider why. It wasn’t like she hadn’t met a dozen gorgeous, interesting men before in her travels. She’d met nice guys, and a whole different set. Like the kind of guys who thought the only way she could pay for a drive was in ass, gas, or grass. There’d been the smart ones, the stupid ones, and the in-betweens.

  Sure, she’d met men.

  Not Gage, though.

  “My turn,” Summer quipped, sipping from the pop she’d bought earlier. “What is that?”

  “Hmm?” Gage glanced up, confused.

  “The mural. I can’t figure out what it is.”

  That confident grin of his returned, flashing straight, white teeth. “That’s because I haven’t fully decided on the end picture yet. I have an idea, but it’s changed since I first started.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Two for me,” Gage warned, earning him a shrug from Summer. “My muse has changed. I wasn’t expecting it to.”

  Strangely, without him outright saying it, Summer knew he was talking about her.

  Ignoring the heat building in her stomach, and the lightness fluttering around in her chest, she shifted from one foot to the other and leaned back to the wall. It was her one attempt at seeming unbothered by the man across from her, as if his close proximity and knowing gaze didn’t have the weird affect it did on her. It didn’t work. She still felt entirely unnerved by Gage.

  “No boyfriend back home?” Gage asked quietly.

  Summer’s lips quirked upwards at his crappy vagueness. “No.”

  “One more for me,” Gage said, turning to meet her gaze head on again. “Can I take you out tonight?”

  What?

  Summer blinked away her surprise, biting her lip to consider his offer. Funny thing was, she didn’t even want to say no.