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She tilted her head, her eyes shifting to the box. “But that has my name on it.” Without warning, she entered his room—his sacred space. “You didn’t steal stuff from me when we were kids, did you?”
Her teasing tone didn’t take away from the ugly feeling he got from the light accusation.
“I would never steal from you, Rose,” he spit out bitterly.
Rose stopped her approach, her expression sobering.
They stood there awkwardly as he realized just how innocent her question had been. All his thievery that weighed on him had nothing to do with Rose. Inwardly, he cringed at how he’d reacted. Without meeting her eyes, he shoved the book in her direction.
“Looks like you left some art stuff here.”
When he peeked at her, he found her eyes lingering on him before drifting to the book. “Do you mean the stuff I drew?” Her fingers brushed his as she took the book from his hands. “I totally forgot about all of this stuff.” Rose flipped the book open, and her eyes lit up brighter than the Fourth of July. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, tracing the pictures much like he had the one of him. “Your grandmother was always so patient with me when she was teaching me her techniques. This had to be one of the last sketchbooks she’d shared with me.”
“She shared her supplies with you?”
Rose nodded, though she didn’t meet his curious gaze. “My parents weren’t willing to get me this stuff. You realize how expensive acrylics, brushes, and canvas are, right?” She whistled. “And they’ve only gone up in price since we were younger.”
“Expensive?”
“Mmhmm. And the stuff your grandfather got your grandmother? It’s on the higher quality end. You can always tell, too. The good stuff just works better.” She continued flipping aimlessly through the pictures.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Mike murmured.
“What doesn’t?” Rose lifted her head and stared at him with those doe-eyes of hers.
“My grandfather was notoriously frugal. I can count on one hand how many times he bought me something new. We shopped at the Goodwill and sometimes had to use the food bank.”
Rose didn’t comment, but it was clear from her confused expression that she didn’t know where he was going with this.
Mike gestured vaguely to the notebook in her hands. “My grandmother always had paint. She always had supplies for her art studio. I can’t remember a single day when she wasn’t working on something. How could he afford it?”
Mike himself had gotten tired of not having what his friends did. That was why he’d resorted to stealing. But his grandfather would never do that. He would have sold his organs on the black market before taking something that didn’t belong to him.
“Maybe this is just one of those instances you were talking about—you know the ones where your grandfather made sacrifices to support your grandmother and what she loved. If there’s one thing I know about Helen, she would have been miserable without her art.” Rose’s eyes dropped to the notebook and she sighed.
“What?”
Her focus darted up to him. “What?”
“That sigh? What was that about?” Mike moved closer to look at the picture she was staring at, but it wasn’t anything extraordinary—just a simple sketch of a dog.
“Talking about your grandfather. It’s clear he loved your grandmother—and you—dearly. I think supporting you guys was what made him happy. Sometimes I wish my folks would have been more supportive.”
Mike stared at her, probably a little longer than was necessary. Ethan had always said his parents were strict. They didn’t like all the time the Boone kids spent on the ranch. Heck, Mike wouldn’t have been surprised if Ethan confessed that his mother wasn’t thrilled about where Ethan had ended up. His parents had been the type who insisted on the best for their kids.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Rose murmured, closing the book. “And you’re right. They wanted the best for me. They wanted me to become something great. Opening an art gallery was the closest I knew I’d be able to get to the art world. When I was younger, I hid most of my artwork. They would have thrown a fit if I even breathed a word about wanting to become an artist.”
She released another sigh and returned the book to the box.
“Guess being a business owner wasn’t in the plans, either.” A forced smile pulled at her lips, looking almost painful. “I guess it’s a good thing my dad’s not around to be disappointed in me. I’m done painting. Mind if I call it a day?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Mike mumbled, watching her walk out of the room.
He’d never seen Rose so happy as she’d been in that moment talking about his grandmother and the time they’d spent together working on their art. He wanted nothing more than to see that sparkle return.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rose spent the rest of the day avoiding Mike. She couldn’t believe she’d confided about her upbringing the way she had. Why would he even care? He was known for not sharing his feelings with anyone. Now she’d not only blown up at him about a stupid miscommunication, but she’d also shown him her most vulnerable side.
