Buttoned Up Read Online Free Page B

course I have the button,” I told Forbis.
    “Perfect red button,” Forbis said, with a look toward Nev and Evangeline as well as the rest of the crowd that had gathered around now that the guest of honor had finally made his appearance. “This lady here . . .” He patted my shoulder. “If y’all ever need buttons, she’s your go-to girl!”
    I appreciated the publicity and smiled at the crowd. Notice I said
the crowd
. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when my eyes finally met Nev’s so I made sure I didn’t look his way.
    “Root beer barrel?”
    When Forbis stuck something in front of my nose, I flinched and hoped I didn’t look as weird cross-eyed as I was sure I did with my mouth hanging open. When my eyes finally focused, I realized it was one of those old-fashioned hard candies that looks like a brown barrel and is flavored like root beer.
    I declined. With the knot of emotion in my throat, I was pretty sure the combination of root beer flavoring and sugar would not yield pretty results.
    Forbis unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth. “Can’t get enough of these things,” he told me. “Morning, noon, and night. I’m pretty sure it’s what keeps me so sweet.” He winked.
    Corny, yes, but truth be told, I was glad. If I thought about corny, I didn’t have to think about getting bushwhacked, and if I didn’t have to think about getting bushwhacked, I could pretend—almost—that everything was fine and my world hadn’t just turned upside down. Some of the tension melted from my shoulders. This time when I smiled at Forbis, it didn’t feel as if my face would crack. “Would you like to see the button?” I asked him.
    He nodded, and looked at the crowd. “Gonna have to skedaddle!” he told them. “A surprise is a surprise, and I ain’t ruinin’ this one. Go on. Shoo!” Coming from anyone else and aimed at a gallery crowd—which, let’s face it, can sometimes live up to its snooty reputation—this might not have gone over well. But Forbis was so darned cute with that Southern drawl—I’d bet a dime to a donut it wasn’t so much fake as it was exaggerated—and wearing a gray suit that was a little too baggy, he was the picture of the eccentric and lovable artist, and nobody had the heart to argue.
    The crowd that surrounded us drifted away, including Evangeline and Nev. Last I saw of them, Nev took a second to glance over his shoulder at me. Was that regret I saw in his eyes? Or was I being as imaginative in my own pathetic way as Forbis was when it came to buttons?
    “So . . .”
    I snapped back to reality to find him tapping one foot against the stone floor. He was wearing sneakers. The big, ugly expensive kind. Royal blue high-tops with neon orange laces.
    Forbis sucked on the root beer barrel in his mouth. “Let’s see that there button!”
    I reached into my purse and took out the box I’d brought along with me from the shop and he lifted the little red button from the bed of cotton where it had been swaddled and held it up to the light. “It’s a beauty! Perfect for finishing my work.”
    I looked over his shoulder toward the exhibit. “And it’s going . . . ?”
    Forbis chuckled. “You’ll see, sweetie. You’ll see!”
    “You ready, Forbis?”
    A man joined us and Forbis handed the button back to me. “Told you I’d take care of this myself,” he grumbled without a glance at the man.
    “You did, and I said that wasn’t acceptable and promised I’d help, remember?” The man stuck out his hand for me to shake. He was middle-aged, with a round pleasant face, doughy features, and thinning hair. “Richard, Richard Norquist,” he said by way of introduction. “I’m Forbis’s agent. We . . .” He glanced toward Forbis who was looking down at his sneakers and grinding his root beer barrel between his teeth. “Forbis and I appreciate your help.”
    “That’s what I’m here for,” I told him, but when I glanced at Forbis to see if he appreciated