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"Oh, no. What happened? Did you get into trouble?"
"I was sound asleep when they finally checked the locked library. Needless to say, I had some explaining to do."
"Did you tell them about the bullies?"
"No. But I suspected they knew. Still, when I kept my mouth shut, the older boys backed off some."
"Did you go home? For the holidays and summer breaks?"
The lights of Southport twinkled as they neared the marina where the ferry would dock. "A few times. I preferred to stay at school. As much as I hated it and not having friends, it was easier than dealing with whatever wife my father was on and her children."
"They didn't go to boarding school, too?"
The ferry slowed to prepare to dock, and people began to crowd the side where they sat, anxious to debark and get home. "No. They got to stay there."
Everett held on to Isabel as he urged her to stand, noting how well she fit to his side.
"I'd have been your friend."
His entire body clenched at the barely audible whisper, one she probably thought he couldn't hear.
Everett pressed a kiss to the top of Isabel's head and inhaled her scent once again. He thought of the boarding school girls he'd met over the years. Rich, entitled. Unwilling to risk their popularity in any way. Especially with someone they considered the runt of the school. But Isabel...
Everett knew in his gut Isabel would've gone out of her way to make friends with the loner he'd learned to be before his body had grown and changed and turned into the man he now was. Things came easier for him now, but he'd never forget that lost boy and the many lessons he'd learned.
But if he'd had any doubts about keeping Isabel, she'd just sealed her fate with that whisper.
The moment Everettdropped her off outside the lower-level apartment door, Izzy ran upstairs and hurried to uncover her easel, determined to work while inspiration was fresh in her mind.
Today...today had been odd. On the one hand, she'd enjoyed her day with Everett immensely, but on the other hand, fear gripped her heart at the thought of spending the next week or so with Everett because she could easily see herself catching feelings for the man, even though she knew he'd leave once he knew for certain he wasn't going to be a father.
Was love at first sight actually possible?
She didn't think so.
Never had.
If the Babes' marriages had taught her anything, it was that love took time, effort. Commitment. Everyone knew love was a choice, a commitment to stick with someone even when you didn't like them, much less love them. That was the game changer in every relationship.
And finding that level of commitment in today's world was like discovering gold at the bottom of the ocean.
Isabel sat on the edge of her stool and stared at the shadowy outline in front of her. She'd started the painting the day after her return from Vegas, putting brush to paint in the hope of getting Everett out of her head. Now she found her favorite brush, uncovered her oil paints, and took a breath before leaning forward to lose herself in the sound of the brush moving over the textured canvas.
Normally she liked to play music while she painted, but the night's silence suited her mood and allowed her to focus on the details she'd mentally captured and memorized throughout the day. Details missing until now.
The fine lines around his eyes, the deeper wrinkles on his forehead and look in his dark gaze that made her wonder at his thoughts—and yet certain she read them correctly. The details made the painting come alive and her hand trembled in excitement as she raced to capture it all before the memories left her.
The hint of gray just beginning to appear at his temples. The plumpness of his lower lip she'd gotten wrong until now.
Isabel lost herself in creation, working until the wee hours of the morning, all to capture the man who had so quickly taken over her thoughts and dreams.
Strong hands at his sides, a serious expression on his handsome face. The scruff on his jaw, blunt angled chin. Thick eyebrows above the sooty lashes Tessa had found so mysterious.
His face transformed in front of her, and even though it was her hand doing the work, there were moments when Isabel felt as though it belonged to someone else. The minute details kept coming, the shades of flesh, the shadows and hollows of his handsome, craggy face. Everett was one of those men who'd age like fine wine. Or whiskey. Something rich and full-bodied and packed with experiences.
Hours passed before Izzy set the brush aside and stood, stretching arms over her head and not bothering to stifle a loud, mouth-open-and-ugly yawn.
She tilted her head to one side and took a small step back. Then another. Finally a third, unable to go farther because she bumped into a stack of unpainted canvases behind her. "Wow," she breathed, a shiver rolling over her skin.
