She shakes her head. “No.”
“Then why?”
“Alcohol tends to knock me out.”
I’m about to ask,Wouldn’tthatbeagoodthing?But then remember why she’s anxious to fall asleep.
“You’re afraid you won’t hear anything if .?.?.”
She nods, her eyes laser-focused on the tip of her brush.
“Noticed you got a bottle of red on the counter.”
She shrugs. “Wes brought it over one night for dinner. He knows I don’t drink but he had a glass and left it here. You could have some if you want.”
I watch her and barely realize I don’t answer.
“I used tolovewine,” she says after a moment. “The red, fruity kind that Wes brought over. Sometimes I think it might be OK. Just a little. But, what’s the saying, just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean someone’s not trying to get you?”
Something aches in my chest, and I realize it’s the unshed tears in her eyes as she keeps them on her creation.
I’m not sure how much time passes. Or how long I’ve been staring like a man who’d lasso the moon for her, but when she finally finishes, the only thing I want to see is her smile. Proof that she loves it.
“There,” she sighs. “I think that’s as good as it’s going to get.” She stands and turns it over to me.
It’s my ranch. Or a part of it. One of the barns. It’s from a distance so you can see the soft blues of the sky, the trees, the river, and all-around earth tones surrounding it.
“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing to a silhouetted figure withSuperman muscles and a cowboy hat.
She laughs and dabs on the corner of her eye. “That’s you, silly. I can’t do people yet, too much detail in that. But I can do silhouette. I met this guy at an art exhibit who told me how much story you can tell with just a silhouette.”
“Who is this guy?” I’m on high alert but keep my tone playful.
She glances to the side. “No one important.” The response comes too quick and I hate that I question it.
“He an artist too?”
I catch her swallow, keeping her eyes on her work. “I think he was, yes.”
I’m rattling her—I can see it. I sure as hell don’t mean to but there’s something she’s not saying.
Stepping closer, I gently lift her chin to look in her eyes. She meets mine, steady, soft, present.
I take a breath before getting in over my head. Pushing her on something I’ve got no place to. “I think what you did is beautiful.”
Her eyes widen. “What is?”
I nod toward the canvas. “This.”
She shakes her head. “Oh. Right. I mean, thank you.” She bites the corner of her lip. “Honestly didn’t think I’d get through it so fast with someone here. You should come over more often.” She winces. “Forget I said that.”
I smile, reaching for her hand. “Thanks for letting me watch you at work.”
“Seemed fair since I like watching you at work.”
A quiet ache grips my chest. Because it’snotfair. Watching me at work is about all I let her know about me. Like it’s the only thing that matters. Like nothing else exists or ever did.
I take her hands in mine and kiss them softly. “Have a glass with me.”
