In an attempt not to be too obvious, Frankie Lawson squeezed her temples to relieve a throbbing headache but masked it by removing the sunglasses from her hair. When she’d entered this meeting, the August sun outside had been blinding, but when it finally adjourned, she would have no further need of the glasses.

“Thank you again, everyone, for being here!” Either Paul was excited for the end of the meeting, or someone had spiked his Coke. “It’s crunch time with only a few weeks left to work,” Paul continued. “Let’s make this year’s Cobble Creek Art Festival the best yet. We want Cobble Creek to be the mecca for crafts and art in western Wyoming, and every one of you is integral to make that happen.”

Frankie tamped down the giggles that threatened to escape as she watched Paul Harris swing his arms as if conducting an orchestra. He’d taken up as festival chair as if he was assuming the presidency. While clearly gung ho, Paul’s motives were a mystery to Frankie. She, on the other hand, had an obvious stake in the event’s success. Her antique store thrived or floundered in direct correlation to the number of upcycle projects sold that weekend every year. Getting those sales was a lot of pressure, but, truth be told, exciting at the same time. If only she could find an additional venue to showcase her furniture makeovers and home décor projects.

“Everyone has their assignments, right?” Paul wrapped up the meeting, and Frankie pulled her bag off the floor and onto her lap under the table. “Don’t forget to spread the word.”

Frankie closed her spiral notebook and stowed it in her bag. Spread the word. As if they weren’t all already doing that. Her part on the committee was mostly taken care of at this point, barring someone new moving in or randomly reaching out to her on the Facebook page. She’d already committed every possible business, crafter, farmer, and local author she could think of who might want to participate, but she attended the committee meetings for voting purposes—and to see if anyone else needed help as the time got closer.

“Hey, Frankie.” Although on the shorter side of six feet, Paul loomed over her chair. She stood up to put them on equal footing, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her down.

The rest of the committee left quickly, as she’d hoped to do. At meeting time, she’d been in the middle of painting a bench she’d made from an old twin bed frame, and the project was calling her. If she got that coat done tonight, she could distress it tomorrow.

Oblivious to her intentions, Paul slid into the chair next to her, and she barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. If he wanted to talk again …

“Hi, Paul.” Frankie’s fake smile felt tight, a grimace after her long day, but she tried. It didn’t hurt to be friendly. After all, she’d known the man since he’d blasted dodge balls at her on the playground in elementary school.

“Looking a little country tonight, are you?” He chuckled wryly, as if she would appreciate his dig about her attire.

Frankie smoothed the lace skirt across her knees. The off-white dress and denim jacket was her favorite outfit when she wanted the comfort of her mother’s black cowboy boots. While it was true that she didn’t dress “country” all the time, she liked to when the mood struck—usually when she missed her mom.

“One of my many eclectic looks.” According to Brooke, anyway. Her best friend joked that Frankie had no consistent style, but that was all part of her personal flair. Either way, it was nice to have the freedom with her job to decide which days were business casual and which were casual business.

“What pieces do you have ready for the festival? Anything photo-worthy for the paper?”

Frankie bounced her shoulders up and down, one at a time. “I have some things ready, of course, but not my big thing yet.”

Paul smiled, revealing off-centered teeth that tended to distract her whenever they talked. “Yes,” he said. “I know you like to have that pièce de résistance. I’m sure it’ll come to you.”

“I hope so.” That was nice of Paul to say. He was a good man when it came down to it, just not good for her. Especially if he was going to dis the boots. “Eventually the muse will strike. At least, that’s the plan.”

“Muses work with a plan, do they? They come at your beck and call?” He could be clever. If she didn’t already know him, she might have considered going out with him … until he inevitably did something to creep her out. But she did know him, and knew it was only going to be a matter of time.

“Okay, I concede that if that were the case, I’d already have a backlog of unique pieces. A plethora of intriguing projects to lure so many customers into the shop that when Benny makes his rounds, he threatens to dig up a fire marshal to throw them all out.”

Conversation sagged in the middle like a boring book that made Frankie want to skip ahead. She started to get up again, but Paul placed a hand on her forearm this time, stopping her. The touch, though benign, made her shrink back. After a few moments of silence, Frankie decided they must be done.

She stood, determined to escape this time. “It’s been a long day, Paul.”

He stood as well, stepping between her and the door. “I could come with you …”

Frankie felt her brows wrinkle in confusion and tried to smooth them away with sheer will.

“At least let me accompany you home for safety. I worry about you living out there all alone in the woods. You never know who might be out there.”

Thank you for that. Every scary teen movie she’d ever watched ran through her head. “Don’t go into the woods!” “Stay out of the basement!” “Not the barn! Anywhere but the barn!”

But Paul wasn’t like that. He probably thought he was being protective. If only he understood it would never be more than in a big-brother kind of way. “I’ll follow you back in my car and watch until you make it inside safely.”

“That’s sweet”—or creepy—“but I’ll be fine, thank you. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your kids any longer than you need to be.”

“They’re with their mom.” He checked his watch. “Even though this would have been one of my nights, I told my ex she could keep them.” Paul and Frankie exited the community center into a beautiful night with a full moon and a lulling breeze. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Absolutely. I’m a big girl.” He didn’t need to know she wasn’t going home right now, anyway. “I have no reason to think anything would happen to me out there. I’ve got more bears than men prowling around my house.” Not that she was inviting him. “You forget, Dad’s only a couple minutes away.”

Frankie wouldn’t need to call him though. She wasn’t a damsel in distress, didn’t need a guy to save her—even her father. Little did Paul know she had a few tricks up her sleeve—and in her purse—if worse came to worst. “Thanks again. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” She pulled her keys from her bag and picked up her pace, hoping that would end the conversation.

“Unless you’d be interested in dinner, say, Friday night?” Paul called after her.

Ugh. Awkward! Blast the boots. Next meeting, she was wearing running shoes. She slowed to a reluctant stop.

“Uh, Paul …” How to say this nicely? He really was an okay guy, but she wasn’t interested. “I just … I’m not looking for a relationship right now.” She shrugged. Plausible but not offensive, right? She needed to work closely with him for the next month or two, not to mention the following year. She couldn’t afford to axe the art festival committee if she wanted to keep her antique shop afloat.

“It’s my kids, isn’t it?” Paul stepped too close and narrowed his eyes, daring her to admit it.

Frankie wanted to roll her eyes, but instead placed a hand on his forearm and chanced a look into his eyes so he would feel her sincerity. “No, Paul. It has nothing to do with them.” It’s me, not them, she wanted to say, but didn’t want to get into it. Not now. Not with him. Not ever. “I’ve really got to go, but I’ll see you next meeting.”