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Now, I regretted telling him the truth. The second the words were out of my mouth, everything changed. The connection between us was so obvious that neither one of us could unsee it. Like a bright red line stretched between us. We bought each other’s paintings without having any idea the other one created it. We got lost in each other’s work, in each other’s beauty.
And now we were getting lost in each other.
I didn’t want this. I wanted to run away and pretend it never happened. I wished I’d never bought that painting. I wished Carmen and I hadn’t walked past the window and spotted it. I wished I’d never allowed Antonio to carry the painting to my apartment.
Now he was staring at me with an intense gaze, his body rigid and strong. His shoulders tightened, and his chest expanded with the deep breath he took. He seemed to let out a quiet sigh, almost in resignation.
I didn’t have silent eye contact with anyone like this besides Bones. Those looks were packed with sexual aggression, profound love, and a million other emotions. I didn’t want to share that intimacy with anyone else. “I should go… I have somewhere to be. Goodbye, Antonio.” I turned away and walked up the stone steps to the apartment above the gallery. I didn’t turn back to look at him again, to see the expression on his face as I left. I said goodbye on purpose, to bring a sense of finality to the conversation. I wanted to shut the door on the possibility of seeing him ever again.
But he didn’t say goodbye in return.
Nine
Vanessa
After three days passed and I didn’t see or hear from Antonio, the fear passed. I had been afraid he would stop by and ask me out, but he never did, to my fortune. Maybe the cold way I turned away and walked into my apartment was a clear sign I wasn’t interested.
I hoped I wouldn’t see him, at least for a few months.
It’d only been two months since Bones and I broke up. It felt too soon to be with someone else.
It was too soon.
Bones had probably been with other women already, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t a competition, and I knew they didn’t mean anything to him anyway.
Antonio already meant something to me. When he painted such a beautiful piece of art that was in my home, it was impossible for him not to have significance to me.
Once the danger passed, I returned to working in my gallery in peace. My life was pretty boring, just work, painting, and staying inside my apartment. I cooked all my meals and never went out, preferring the sanctuary of my apartment. I started to gain some weight back because I was eating normally again, but I still wasn’t back to my normal form.
I was downstairs in the gallery taking a picture of a new painting when the door opened and someone came inside. I set down my phone and turned to my new customer, expecting another tourist who wanted a beautiful souvenir to take home. Instead, I came face-to-face with my father. “Father?”
He was in black jeans and a gray t-shirt, an affectionate smile on his lips. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by.” He circled his strong arms around me and placed a kiss on my forehead.
It was nice having this relationship again, to feel happy when I saw my father. I missed his affection, missed how natural things felt between us. “You were not.” I pulled away, grinning. “You just stopped by to check on me.”
He didn’t deny it. “How are you, tesoro?”
“I’m okay.” A part of me wanted to lie and say I’d never been better, but that lie was too easy to spot. I’d stopped crying all the time, so that was progress. But I didn’t mention that to him. “What about you?”
“Good. The house is quiet now that the wedding is over.”
“How’s Conway?”
He shrugged. “Not sure.”
“You haven’t spoken to him?” I asked in surprise. Father constantly kept tabs on both of us.
He shook his head. “I’m not calling my son when he’s on his honeymoon. We’ll talk when he gets back.” He turned his gaze to the painting I was photographing. “This is nice.”
“Thanks. I have a client who lives in New York. He asked me to take pictures of my new inventory when it comes in. I’ve started a mailing list, and I’m surprised how many paintings I sell that way.”
“That’s great, Vanessa.” He kept looking at the painting. “I’m very happy to hear that.” Sincerity was in his voice, along with fatherly pride.
“Thanks.”
“Do you have some time for coffee or lunch?”
I had stuff to do, but my father had come all the way out here, and I wouldn’t blow him off. “Yeah. Just let me finish with these pictures so I can send them off. With the time difference—”
