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to him made me think about things more deeply. This week I’ve woken up every morning excited about the day. I’ve walked on the beach. I’ve read books without feeling there is something else I should be doing. I’ve sat and enjoyed the garden without thinking about all the tasks building up. I’ve eaten food I haven’t had to cook. And I’ve painted, and I can’t tell you how good that felt.”
Sean nodded. “What have you been painting? Oils? Pastels?”
“A bit of everything.” How much should she tell him? “Finn wants to buy two of my paintings for his beach house.”
Sean was silent for a moment and then gave a brief smile. “He’s clearly a man with good taste. How does he know about your painting?”
“I talked to him about it. And I showed him some pictures of my old work.”
Sean breathed deeply. “I haven’t seen you this fired up and enthusiastic for a long time.”
“Our conversations helped me make sense of what I wanted.”
Sean pushed his plate away. “I’m sorry I made it difficult for you to have those conversations with me. That was number four on that article, wasn’t it? Do you still share your dreams with your partner? That one hit me hard. I realized I don’t know your dreams, and there was a time when I did. I remember the first time you told me you wanted to be an artist. You’d never told anyone that, and I felt like the king of the world because you’d shared that secret with me.”
“That was an impractical dream. It’s hard to make money that way, and I never wanted to be a starving artist.”
“But as life got busy, I didn’t nourish your creative side. I feel terrible about that.”
“It was my responsibility.”
He stood up and held out his hand. “Show me what you’ve been painting.”
She slid her hand into his and led him to the summerhouse. “I had a big clearout before I turned it back into my studio.” She opened the door and Sean stepped past her and looked at the canvases stacked against the wall.
“These are all new?”
“Some I’ve painted this week. Some are old works that I dusted off.”
She didn’t mention the one she’d painted in a fever of inspiration that was now upstairs in her mother’s bedroom ready to surprise her on her return.
Sean stood in front of the canvas that Finn had admired. “This is it?”
“Yes. He likes the ocean.”
“It’s stunning.”
“So is his house. An architect’s dream. You’d love it.”
“We have to find a way to build you a studio in London.”
She tidied away a few paints, more for something to do than because it needed doing. The shell that Finn had given her rested on the narrow windowsill, a reminder of that morning on the beach. Was it wrong to keep it? No. It didn’t make her think of Finn, it made her think of the moment she’d decided to take up painting again.
“We don’t have the space for a studio.”
“Then we’ll make the space.” He stepped closer to the canvas, studying the brush strokes. “You have so much talent.”
Pleasure rushed through her. “Thank you.”
He turned and pulled her close. “So what’s the dream, Liza? If you could design your perfect life, right now, how would it look?”
“Fantasy or reality?”
“Start with the big dream. And we’ll see how we can make it reality.” It had been years since they’d played this game. Big Dreams, Little Dreams.
The big dream. She rested her head against his chest. “I’d like to move out of the city. I’d like to live in a house like this one, full of character, close to the ocean. I’d like to live an outdoor life, filled with good friends, good food and good books. I’d like to paint. I’d like to not worry about the twins all the time. I’d like to know you’re fulfilled and happy too. I don’t want my dream life to come at the expense of someone else’s happiness.”
He stroked her hair. “We always dreamed about living near the beach. It’s my fault we’re in London.”
