Sand Jewels (The Wishes Series) (6 page)

“No,” he replied, daring to grin at my theatrics. “How?”

“Because that’s where we end up – usually after dinner, sometimes before,” I replied, dropping the choler and killing his smile. “And then he leaves me and goes back to whatever the hell he was doing before he came here and pretended to be mine for a while.”

I’d made it sound like such a pathetic story. Anyone who didn’t know better would think I was referring to another woman rather than a problematic teenage sister.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

I could tell he was at a complete loss. He also looked worried. The next words out of my mouth did nothing to calm him. “I think you should tell Charli about us.”

He was shaking his head before I’d even finished my sentence. “I don’t think – ”

“We’ve been together for months, Alex,” I reminded. “You said you wanted to be sure we were going to work. We’ve held it together through everything. Why must we keep it a secret?”

His brown eyes bored into me while he nervously chewed his bottom lip. “Once it’s out everyone will know. Gossip in this town is terrible. You’ve seen what she’s been through.”

“She’ll handle it, Alex,” I assured.

“It’s not even Charli’s issue, Gabs,” he replied. “I’ve tried very hard to keep things constant for her. This is going to change everything.”

I nudged him aside while I dealt with dinner. “She’s not the impressionable little kid you seem to think she is,” I insisted.

I felt qualified to say it because I’d spent almost as much time with her as he had lately, and I reminded him of it.

“Detention today?” He sounded surprised. “She never told me.”

I took two plates out of the cupboard and set them down on the counter. “What were you expecting to happen after her little episode with Lily? By rights, you should’ve been sitting at the desk next to her.”

Alex leaned his back against the counter and folded his arms. I quickly glanced across at him as I threw open the drawer next to him. He looked completely perplexed.

“
Le pain
, Alex – the bread,” I reminded, grabbing a serving spoon. “You gave it to her. That makes you an accomplice.”

He was quiet for a long moment. I used the time to mutter under my breath about the horrid state of my overcooked fish dish.

“Gabrielle, what did she do with the bread?”

I stopped what I was doing to look at him. “You really don’t know? She said you gave it to her.”

His short explanation was laced with ire. Floss Davis has a pet Cape Barren goose called Kevin. The sister from hell had sweetly offered to stop in and feed it the two loaves of stale café bread Alex was planning to throw out that morning. Obviously, she’d found a better use for it.

“Floss has a goose called Kevin?” I asked, getting off subject.

“And a handful of cats,” he replied. “Geoffrey is my favourite.”

I giggled so hard that I had to put the spoon down on the bench. Alex didn’t laugh. He was more interested in getting me back on subject.

“Tell me what she did with the bread,” he demanded.

I quickly told him the story. “It was ugly,” I said pulling a face. “Especially the way it squelched when Lily put her hand into the bag.”

Alex furiously shook his head. “So what am I supposed to do with her?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

“Just let it slide?” he asked doubtfully.

“Yes. Don’t even mention it. It was an act of vengeance, not malice,” I explained. “You must understand the difference.”

I turned around, picked up our plates and made my way over to the dining table. Alex followed closely behind.

“Vengeance for what?”

I made sure he was seated before telling him. Even then, I hesitated.

“Lily wrote something crass on Charli’s locker door,” I revealed.

He practically growled out the question. “What was it?”

“Charlotte the harlot,” I mumbled.

Alex’s mouth formed a grim line. “And how did she know it was Lily?”

I smiled, figuring he was going to enjoy my answer. “A couple of reasons. It was written in bright pink lipstick and it was spelt wrong.”

His shoulders dropped as he relaxed. I reached for his hand across the table. “She stands up for herself perfectly well, Alex,” I assured. “Not always in the right way but believe me when I tell you that no one gets the better of her.”

He nodded and looked down at the plate in front of him. “What kind of chicken stew is this?”

“It’s fish.”

He looked up at me, flashing me a cheeky smile. “Are you sure?”

“Shut up and eat your dinner,” I grumbled. “Then you can take me to bed.”

11. ART

Despite what I’d told him, Alex didn’t let bread-gate slide. He locked everything that meant anything to Charli in the shed and grounded her. His only hope for survival after that involved getting out of the house.

He found sanctuary at mine, lazing around while we read the weekend papers. His lazy mood didn’t last very long. Alex wasn’t exactly renowned for sitting around doing nothing.

He dropped the folded newspaper down on the coffee table, stood up and walked over to my easel set up in the corner of the room. After a quick minute of studying the painting, he turned back to face me. “Where is this?”

“It’s a place in France called Dieppe,” I replied. “There’s a grand old castle that sits high up on a cliff.”

He restudied the half-finished painting. “You’ve been there?”

I walked over and stood beside him. “Not for a long time.”

“And you remember this kind of detail?”

“Not all of it,” I conceded. “I had to reference a few books.”

“It’s amazing, Gabs,” he praised.

“It’s no Claude Monet. His painting of the Dieppe cliffs was so good that it was stolen – twice.”

Alex glanced across at me and smiled. “I think this is worth stealing. As soon as you’re done, I’m going to swipe it, just so you’ll know how good it is.”

A small giggle escaped me. “Thank you. I’d be honoured to have you steal my work.”

“Why aren’t you painting a place you can see?” he asked curiously. “There are plenty of places around here worth painting.”

“I know, but after a year of being here, I think I’ve covered the best ones.”

He glanced at me as if I’d just sworn at him. “Impossible.”

“It’s true. I’ve painted the cliffs, the beach, the fields, the ocean, all of it.”

Alex reached down and picked up and handful of brushes off the side table. “Pack you bags, sweetheart. We’re going on a road trip.”

I grinned widely, doing nothing to hide my excitement. “What do I need to take?”

“Paint, canvas and sensible shoes.”

***

He wasn’t kidding about the sensible shoes. If I’d known that our road trip would involve an hour of uphill hiking through a national park, I might have reconsidered agreeing to go.

“How much further?” I panted, trudging along behind him.

I really had no right to complain. Alex was the one carrying my bag of art supplies. All I had to carry was myself.

I’d decided against taking paint. My setup wasn’t exactly mobile. If by chance we ended up somewhere inspirational, I’d draw it and paint it later.

“Be quiet and keep walking.” Alex stopped walking for the hundredth time to let me catch up. “You wouldn’t be so out of breath if you weren’t using it all to complain.”

“This place had better be magnificent, Alex,” I grumbled.

He grinned back at me. “The harder the access, the sweeter the find, Gabs.”

The access was definitely hard. I’d lost my bearings half an hour earlier when the bush became too thick to see through. I took heart in the fact that we still seemed to be walking along a fairly well worn trail and Alex didn’t look scared or lost.

When we finally broke through to a clearing, I realised he was right. The find was sweet. From where we stood, we could see the whole town, and the ocean beyond it. I’d looked up at the massive hill behind the town many times. I’d even painted it – but I never imagined climbing it. Until today, I didn’t even think it was possible. Even from a distance, the bush looked impenetrable. And we’d just conquered it.

“What do you think?” Alex asked, dumping my bag on the ground.

I kept my focus ahead. “I think I want to beat my chest and let out a triumphant cry.”

He huffed out a quick laugh. “Settle down, Tarzan,” he teased. “Paint me a picture instead.”

I crouched down, unzipped my bag and took out the two sketchpads I’d packed. “We’re drawing today. I’ll share my pencils with you,” I offered.

Alex shook his head. “I can’t draw.”

“And I couldn’t swim,” I retorted. But thanks to him, I’d finally learned. We’d been back to the black fairy lake many times. Once it got too cold to swim naked, Alex presented me with my very own wetsuit. It was bright pink and according to him, very unfashionable.

“Never wear it on a public beach,” he warned me. “They’ll slay you and I won’t save you.”

I didn’t care. I thought it was fabulous. My swimming ability had become fabulous too. I was now an accomplished dogpaddler. Like my wetsuit, it wasn’t sexy to look at but at least I could now save my own life if I ever fell into deep water.

I handed him a sketchpad and two pencils.

“Why two?” he asked naively.

“One is lighter than the other,” I explained. “You might want to do some shading.”

He huffed out a sharp laugh. “Stickmen don’t need shading.”

“Draw what you can see, Alex.” I threw out my arms. “Look out there. You see the beauty in it, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He smiled. “That’s why I brought you here.”

I glanced around, trying to find somewhere to sit down. “Sit with me and draw it then.”

“I am not sitting with you,” he scoffed. “You might see that my drawing is far more awesome than yours, steal my ideas and go on to make a fortune.”

I giggled at his silliness. “Fine. You sit there.” I pointed to a large mossy rock behind him and walked a few metres away to claim my own. “I’ll sit here.”

Alex’s eyes remained fixed on me while I sat down, flipped open my pad and began to draw. He finally followed suit, taking up position on the rock, sketchpad in hand.

“What am I supposed to draw?” he asked in a whiny voice I never usually heard from him.

“You have free run. It’s art.”

“And what is art, Gabs?”

I lowered my sketchpad and pointed to the view in front of us. “Art is beauty. Look out there and paint what you find beautiful.”

“And wh- ”

I cut him off. “Art is quiet too, Alex. Beautiful and quiet.”

I saw him grinning at me from the corner of his eye. I fought hard not to smile too.

Unbelievably, he managed to keep quiet for the next half hour. I stole the occasional glance, surprised each time to see him actually drawing. By the time I’d finished my picture, I was desperate to see his.

“Finished?” I asked.

“No,” he huffed, feigning annoyance. “Be quiet and let me draw.”

I gave him a few more minutes, but was soon at the point of exploding. I stood up and walked over to his rock. The second I reached him, he flipped his pad shut and stood up, holding it high out of my reach.

“Show me,” I ordered.

He narrowed his eyes, holding his sketchpad against his chest. “Show me yours first.”

I handed it to him.

“Do you even know how clever you are?” he asked, alternating glances between the picture in his hand and me.

I could feel the heat of embarrassment burning my cheeks. “Show me yours.”

“Are you sure you want to see it? I don’t want you to feel inferior.”

I snatched the sketchpad from him so quickly that he nearly lost his grip on mine. I spun around out of his reach so I could check out his drawing.

He wasn’t kidding when he mentioned stick figures. He’d drawn something that almost resembled a person – female I think. She had stick figure boobs. It had taken him forty-five minutes to draw stick figure boobs.

“Well?” he asked. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

I spun back to face him. “Is it a person?”

He dropped his head. “It’s a woman. A beautiful coppery haired French woman,” he explained theatrically. “If you’d given me coloured pencils, it would’ve been obvious.”

I matched his laugh with one of my own. “Is it me?”

Alex stalked over to me and pulled the sketchbook from my grasp. He dropped both books down on the rock behind me and drew me in close. “You told me to draw something beautiful,” he murmured against my mouth. “I don’t think I did you justice.”

I stretched up, linked my arms around his neck and kissed him with all I had. “I love you, Alex Blake,” I declared, finally breaking free.

“Let’s keep it real, sweetheart,” he quipped. “You only love me for my art.”