“We’ll see.”
“Kai.” I start to sit up, planning on moving positions so I can see, but he pulls his sketchbook into his chest and frowns.
“No, go back to the way you were.” His face softens. ”Please?”
Crap. I can’t say no to that. “Okay.” I move back to my end of the couch and pick up my phone. But there’s no way I can focus on the words on the page. Not with how he keeps looking at me,as if he’s not only seeing my current self, but also the me from eight years ago. The last time I teased him about drawing me.
“Tell me why I always feel like Rose fromTitanicwhen you want to sketch me.” I giggle, draping my arms dramatically across the ugly orange couch in Kai’s dorm.
“If you were Rose, wouldn’t you be naked?” He waggles his eyebrows, and I snort, grabbing the closest thing I can find and chucking it at him. It’s an empty sports drink bottle, and he catches it easily.
“Hey now, don’t attack the artist,” he protests, dropping the bottle to the floor. “You’re the one who compared yourself to a naked lady. Not me.”
“If I were Rose and you were Jack, I’d make room for you on the raft.”
“Thanks, I think.”
I watch him for a few minutes as his hand dances across the page. He’s so sexy when he draws. And the fact that he likes to draw me? Sends a thrill through me every time. I’m going to love him forever. And when we’re old and grey haired, I hope he still loves to sketch me.
I blink away the memories, only to see Kai closing his sketchbook, a soft, almost sad smile on his face.
“Done? Can I see it now?”
He shakes his head. “Not this one. Not yet.” He leans over, taking my hand and lifting it to his lips. “This one’s for me.”
Then he drops my hand, stands up, and puts the sketchbook back in the not-so-secret hiding spot on the bookshelf.
“I don’t want to kick you out, but I need to start getting ready to head to the stadium soon.”
I stand up, too, and stretch my arms overhead, the sleeves of Kai’s sweater I put on earlier falling down my arms. “That’s fine. I’m gonna go for a swim.”
Arms encircle my waist, and lips find my neck. “Are you coming to the game?”
I tilt my head to the side, giving him easier access. “Do you want me to?”
His arms tighten. “I will always want you to.”
“Then I’ll come.”
He kisses me with long, slow, languid strokes of his tongue, as if we have all the time in the world, and there’s not a ticking clock. Multiple clocks, actually. One for him to leave for the game, and the bigger one we aren’t talking about. The one that counts down to when I leave him for a second time.
After leaving Kai’s apartment, I swing by Mom’s house, grateful she’s away on a business trip and not home to ask where I was all night and grab my gear for a swim. I refuse to allow my brain to go anywhere near thoughts of Kai, or feelings about Kai, or anything to do with Kai until I slip into the water and push off from the wall. Only then, underwater, where no one can see if tears fill my goggles, or sobs escape my lips, do I let myself admit the truth.
I love him. I never stopped loving him.
I might be wrong, although I’m pretty sure I know him well enough to believe I’m not, but I think he might still love me, too.
Chapter thirty-two
Isabelle
Several blissful summer days later, I’ve just left Gianni and Paul’s place, where we had a delicious lunch on their patio overlooking English Bay, when the call comes.
“Vito! It’s great to hear from you,” I say, turning my face up to the warm sun with a smile.
“Isabelle, how are you? We miss you,” my boss replies in his heavily accented English. Without giving me a chance to respond, he barrels on, as he usually does. “I have the news. We will be ready to open in ten days! They finish the work. It ische bella notizia, no?”
My feet stumble to a stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk. Tourists and locals alike bustle around me, some shooting me an annoyed glare as I stare forward, not seeing anything.
