AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It was almost as though she’d painted him.
Regardless of who Rosie’s subjects were, with every single painting, he could see the way she viewed life. The picture of old Ari wasn’t a depiction of decrepitude, but a woman who’d lived a long, interesting life and who had enjoyed every second of it. Her rendition of Jorge in manhood showed a young man with hope in his heart.
At last, the door to the boys’ room closed, and her footsteps fell in the hall. “I give them ten minutes of whispering and giggling, then they’ll both zonk out.” She plucked a wineglass off the coffee table, the one with the soft wisp of lipstick on the rim, then handed him the other, tapping her glass to his. She nodded toward the living room gallery. “Jorge’s paintings are great, aren’t they?”
“They are.” He was always so careful with his words around her, lest he say more than he intended. Like how much he wanted her. Or how he couldn’t stop thinking about her. But he needed her to know something. “You’ve got a tremendous amount of talent. Why are you an accountant instead of a full-time artist?”
She curled into the end of the sofa. “First, thank you. And second, I like numbers. Working as an accountant is how I can afford the things that Jorge and I both need to live in the Bay Area.”
He had great respect for everything Rosie had achieved—not only was she doing a great job of raising her son, she was also saving for Jorge’s art lessons and a trip to the Louvre. But Gideon already had plenty of money he would be more than happy to use in helping her out. He’d saved his re-up bonuses, he’d invested well, and he hadn’t spent much of anything while he drifted around the country working on jobsites. He’d been saving for Ari, hoping he’d find her one day. Only, by the time he’d found his sister, she hadn’t needed his money anymore. Even the wedding hadn’t put much of a dent in his savings.
He had way more than enough to pay for art lessons. And he could buy them plane tickets to Paris too. If only he could think of a way to offer without it coming across as charity, which it definitely wasn’t.
But his brain was so scrambled from a day spent looking at her, longing for her, breathing in her enticing scent, watching her laugh, that the best he could come up with was, “Seems to me that if you quit the accounting gig and painted, you’ve got a fortune here.” He gestured to her living room walls.
She shook her head. “Do you have any idea how many struggling artists are out there? Jorge needs the stability I can give him through a good, steady job. He’s my number one priority.”
Everything was about Jorge, and he saw all over again what an amazing mom she was. If the boys ran when they should have walked, or were about to make a bad decision, she didn’t scold, she corrected. She built up their fragile little-boy egos, never tore them down.
Exactly the way she hadn’t torn him down despite what she’d seen in his painting…and his complete loss of control when he’d been about to rip it up.
He’d always seen Rosie as invincible. But now he realized that she needed someone to build her up.
“You really don’t know how good you are, do you?” He sat beside her, because he didn’t want to stand over her as though he were lecturing. Except that sitting close beside her on the love seat, the scent of her hair was a million times more intoxicating than the wine. It made things happen inside him. It made need rise up. The desire to touch, to kiss, to hold. Impossible things. He had to concentrate on her art, nothing else. “Have you asked Ari to show your work to Charlie and Sebastian?” They were both artists. They’d know which galleries to point her toward.
Rosie moved restlessly on the couch, uncurling her legs, turning, tucking them beneath her again. “No. Ari’s as practical as I am. She knows that accounting is the way to pay the bills.”
Rosie never made excuses. But this sure sounded like one. He wondered how he could get hold of one of her paintings. He could take it to Daniel, who could show it to Charlie and Sebastian. Surely, they would make her understand how amazing she was.
But even as he thought it, he knew he couldn’t go behind her back like that. Just as he couldn’t give her the money to pay for Jorge’s art lessons. Rosie had done a great job leading her own life—she didn’t need a screw-up like him stepping in with advice and handouts.
“Speaking of being amazing,” she said softly, “the painting you did today was so emotional, so heartrending. It really moved me.”
Every muscle in his body went rigid. Every bone felt like it might crack.
In an instant, he was right back there in the museum, slashing paint on the paper like a madman. Then he was back further still—in Iraq. Caught in the fire and pain. He saw the faces of his men. He saw death.
He saw Karmen one last time.
And that strange sense of ease he’d felt talking to the boys and answering their questions while they read a book? It collapsed under the weight of that haunting memory.
“I’ve got to go.” He almost spilled the wine trying to get the glass onto the table.
She leaned forward, reaching out. “But—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish. Or to touch him. “It’s late.”
Too late for him to be with someone as sweet and wonderful as Rosie. Not after everything he’d seen. After everything he’d done.
He was almost out the door when she spoke again. “Are we still on for trampolines tomorrow?”
He’d almost forgotten they’d promised the boys another outing. He couldn’t bail on Noah or Jorge. “We’re still on.”
* * *
Rosie hated the way Gideon had gone, so abruptly, his expression so dark and tormented. And yet…
He’d taught the boys how to play hopscotch. He’d relaxed at dinner. He’d played for hours. He’d smiled. He’d laughed. He’d come out of his shell. He’d kissed the boys good night. He’d read to them. He’d complimented her artwork.
