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Ethan had definitely said something that had gotten under her skin.
Everything he’d feared would happen was on a trajectory to becoming a reality. He offered her a small smile and she returned it, though it didn’t reach her eyes. They pulled out their food and ate in silence.
He didn’t dare ask her what she was thinking after her conversation with her brother. While he could accept the inevitable, Mike would rather delay it as long as he could.
After they were done with their meal, they moved into the spare room that was just down the hall from the art studio. Several boxes had been stacked to the ceiling. It was one of the final rooms he had to go through before they could officially get started on fixing the roof—one of the final rooms before Rose would call her work here done.
Mike pried open a box he pulled from the top of the stack, revealing canvases and paints. It was strange that they weren’t in the studio.
“What did you find?” Rose leaned over his shoulder and gazed at the contents. Her eyes grew wide. “Is that all new? There’s got to be a couple hundred dollars’ worth of supplies in there. Do you think all those boxes have the same stuff?”
He shook his head numbly. “I don’t know. My grandmother’s been gone for so long, but my grandfather had a habit of buying stuff before she ran out. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was what happened here.”
“Your grandfather was so sweet,” she murmured.
“Well, he never threw anything away. It’s not sweet when it’s considered hoarding.”
She chuckled, pulling the box from his grasp. “It’s sweet because even later in life he was thinking about her and what she would need.” Rose dug through the box and sighed. “When I was younger, I would have killed to have all this stuff. It’s amazing. I don’t think you could have picked out better materials if you were an expert.”
Mike watched the wonder fill her eyes as she went through the contents and pulled out a few things to get a better look. He couldn’t believe his grandfather had kept this stuff when he could have sold it after his grandmother passed.
Rose glanced up at him and laughed. “What?”
“I’m just… thinking about why my grandfather wouldn’t just give this stuff away or sell it.”
“Clearly it made him feel closer to her.”
“Sure, but that’s why he held onto the artwork. This? It’s just the materials she would have needed to make something.”
“It’s sentimental. I wouldn’t be surprised if buying this stuff made him feel like she was still around.”
He frowned, shaking his head as he did so. “That doesn’t make sense. She never touched the stuff. That’d be like me keeping stall muck because my grandpa cleaned it up all the time. Even if he never touched the stuff?—”
Mike glanced up at Rose, finding her expression had changed to something that resembled borderline disgust. He was letting his attitude get the better of him. This wasn’t what he wanted. They only had a short time left to spend together now. He refused to allow it to be tainted by an argument.
Mike gestured to the box. “You should have it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t take this.” Rose pushed the box into his hands. “I don’t even know if I’ll ever paint again. You should find someone who will use it—maybe someone who hasn’t discovered their love of art yet. I’m sure a lot of people who came to the show would love to take you up on the offer.”
Mike shook his head and pushed the box toward her again. “No. She’d have wanted you to have it. She would have loved to know there was one thing she passed on to you.”
Rose stared at the box. For a moment, Mike didn’t know what she would say. It could go either way, especially with the way she’d been behaving since coming back from lunch.
Before she could turn him down, Mike jumped in.
“You could draw me.”
She blinked rapidly, looking up at him from the box. A slight flush filled her cheeks and she looked at the paints once more. He could see it in her eyes—a raw desire to play with the materials again. They practically called to her.
“What do you say?” Mike murmured.
“I… don’t know… that it would be any good.” She laughed, and it was the first indication that she was letting go of her inhibitions.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect. It would just be to get you to relax a little—ease into what you used to love.” Mike chuckled. It wasn’t until he was on display in front of Rose that he realized he might have made a mistake.
Rose’s eyes swept over his whole body from head to toe. She scrutinized him, unraveling what made him who he was. Mike had never been studied so closely. He didn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands.
In the end, he opted to concentrate on Rose instead of how it felt to be watched by her. The way her brow furrowed with a lovely sort of intensity made him start to understand just what art meant to her. This was more than a job or a hobby. Rose found herself when she created art.
