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“I’ll do it.” My words take me by surprise, so confident and bright. What the hell? If I take my clothes off, this man will seeeverything.
No hiding our baby then. My bump is so obvious when you look,reallylook, at my body, and that’s exactly what he’ll be doing. Seeing. Judging.
But I’m no good with words, and maybe this is the best way. It’s direct, that’s for sure. As honest as it gets.
“Oh. Good. That’s—good. Excellent. Thank you.”
He’s as surprised by my agreement as I am, glancing over to me then back to the fire. Over, then back to the fire. Has he always been this handsome? This rugged and weathered, like someone carved him out of stone, his eyes crinkling at the corners? Filling the armchair with those broad shoulders and strong thighs?
I want to pet his salt and pepper beard.
God, I miss him so much.
“Tomorrow, then,” Rufus says, deep voice cautious.
“Tomorrow,” I agree.
Time to face the future.
Eight
Rufus
The next day, I’m more nervous than a teenage boy at prom. I slept badly all night; kept waking up all flushed and twisted in my sheets, Helen’s name on my lips. I skip my morning coffee since I’m already jittery.
She’s going to sit for me again. She really agreed.
Maybe there’s hope for us. A thaw in our frozen friendship.
I head to the studio early to set up, floorboards groaning beneath my uneven steps. The heaters hum to life; glass jars fill with turpentine. Pale winter sunshine spills through the window onto the chaise lounge, and the light is different today, but we’ll make do.
My hands shake as I place the half-begun canvas on the easel. There’s no excuse for this nonsense. I’m a grown man, far too old to be felled by a schoolboy crush, and yet I’m wrecked already before we’ve even begun.
It’s just…
It’sHelen.We haven’t spent hours together in the same room for so long, let alone with her body bare. She’s the woman I love, and I’m afraid to be in the same room as her. Ridiculous.
But I keep thinking she’llknow.She’ll take one look at me, gazing at her with undisguised longing from my easel, and she’ll know everything. Will she be disgusted? Will she leave?
And even if she can’t tell from my expression, this painting says it all. Already, each brush stroke, each curve, each pool of shadow spells out my infatuation. I’ve held nothing back.
“Hi, boss.”
No time to back out now, and she’s so sweet and shy, slipping through the doorway and shutting us in together. Her dark hair tumbles over her shoulders, and she’s bundled in my blue robe again. Helen tiptoes to my side, like if we make too much noise, we might disturb the humming heaters.
“Feels like forever ago,” she says, examining her pose in the painting. She half lifts one arm, like she’s rehearsing the position in her brain.
“Yes.” It’s been forever for me, too; an endless purgatory apart. “Is it warm enough with the heaters?”
“Mhm.” Helen crosses to the chaise lounge and hovers there, gripping the ties for her robe. Her cheeks are pale; her lips press together. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and looks like she wants to say something.
Has she changed her mind?
“We don’t have to do this,” I say quickly, just as Helen says, “I need to show you something.”
“I know,” she says.
“Okay.”
