Ghosts of Romances Past by Laura Briggs

Author:Laura Briggs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pelican Ventures Book Group

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“Lucky for you, I gave up sleep about a year ago.”

Jamie greeted her with a sleepy smile, his short brown hair tousled in every direction. Not necessarily a sign she’d woken him, considering his trademark casual appearance. But then old pajama bottoms and a paint-stained shirt were a little too laid back even for a starving artist type.

“I know it’s incredibly late.” She tucked hair behind her ear, suddenly embarrassed by her predicament. “But you’re the only person besides my mom with a copy of my apartment key. The one I gave you that time so you could pick up those sketches while I was on vacation.” Her voice assumed a pleading tone. “Would you rather I sleep on the sidewalk?”

“It would’ve been more considerate.” But his gaze sported a teasing glint. “Better come in and hang out while I get my coat and shoes.” He turned and stalked towards the apartment’s other room, leaving Alice to wander the cluttered living space.

She glanced over the rows of paint bottles, piles of sketch pads, and jars of bold colored pens and markers. Old newspapers spilled from the coffee table and a pair of reading glass peeked over the rim of a potted fern.

“Your place is even worse than mine,” she joked, straightening a framed print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

A fluttering motion caught her eye and for an instant her heart stood still. But it was only a series of notes pinned to a cork board, the pages stirred by the motion of the ceiling fan.

“I’m a big believer in carefree decorating,” Jamie called. This statement was accompanied by the sound of shoes and other small objects being tossed around.

She spotted two coffee mugs on his table amidst sketches and papers. Had Jamie had a guest? Or were they both his, left over from a series of mornings?

“Did you have company recently in this pigsty?” Her gaze scanned the rim of each one, looking for traces of lipstick. And there was a raspberry-colored stain that definitely qualified.

“Yes, but they’re not nearly as picky about the decor as you,” he called back.

Alice bit her lip, fighting the curiosity to ask more. She heard the muffled sound of fabric being shaken out. “You do know where the key is right?” she asked. “I mean, I don’t want you to pick a lock or break a window or something.”

“Are you kidding?” His tone was indignant. “Of course I know where it is. I have to, given your travel itinerary. Half our assignments would be late if I didn’t have full time access to your work.”

“Well, at least I take a break occasionally,” she fired back, flustered by the implication that Warren’s plans cut into her work. An accusation made by someone she knew would spend every moment backpacking across Europe if it were possible.

Who would he choose for a traveling companion, she wondered, given the well-kept secret that was his dating life?

Her eyes fell on a covered canvas, its easel propped open in front of the window.

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