I smooth an errant thick strand of his hair. “What are we doing?” I whisper, because it’s almost like we’retryingto do things we probably shouldn’t be trying todo, considering the warp speed of what’s happening here.
He considers the question, a light furrow appearing between the strong stripes of his eyebrows. “We’re falling in love, that’s what we’re doing.”
“We are?” My question comes out sounding breathless.
“Yes.”
“How can you tell?”
“You know how I can tell. You can feel it too.”I know I can.And it terrifies me. Because there’s not a damn thing I can do to slow it down. “Close your eyes, Boo.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I close them, but I’m wary. He holds his hand over them and I hold my hand over his.
“Now,” he says. “Picture all your wildest dreams coming true. What would that look like for you?”
I laugh sort of uneasily, trying to pull his hand off, but he keeps it there.
“Tell me one wildest dream.”
“One?”
“Yes. One.”
“You’d let me open my eyes.”
I can hear the light exasperation and the amusement in his voice. “You’re as stubborn as I am, Amelie Thibodeaux, which is one of the reasons we’re such a good match.” He removes his hand and holds mine in his. “One wildest dream. Go.”
I think about it for a second. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Try harder. You said you wanted to paint.”
“Sure. Yeah. I’d like to have some time to do that again.”
“What would you do with your paintings?”
I shrug. “Sell them, of course. It would be a cool way to make a living.”
“What if you didn’t have to think about making a living?”
“At all?” I realize I’m being kind of thick at this point but it’s hard to imagine.
“At all.”
“Then I’d keep them.” I smile because it’s so far-fetched. Not for him, maybe, but it is for me. The truth is, I never wanted to part with any of my paintings. Things didn’t pan out in my favor in that particular regard and now every single one of them is gone. Losing them killed a tiny bit of the urge to do more of it because what’s the point if you just have to give them away?
“When you’re not busy painting, would you still want to run a hotel? If you could choose to do absolutely anything with your time with no restrictions, would running a hotel still be one of those things?”
I consider this. And it’s an easy choice. “Yes. But only if it wasmyhotel. I mean, I wouldn’t want to run some random hotel in a place I didn’t know. And I wouldn’t want to run it if it was owned by a billionaire from Houston.” I realize this is very specific but it’s the truth.
He’s watching my face intently. “So, if you could own and run the Hotel Thibodeaux again, you would want to do that.”
I thought I was all cried out but I feel another sting behind my eyes. “Of course I would.” That place is my heart and soul. Or was. And I’m tired of this game, and sort of bone tired in general. I let my eyes close for a minute.
Dallas can read my emotion. But apparently he’s notfinished with the Spanish Inquisition yet. “What about a family? Do you want kids? One day?”
