He reached almost reflexively into his pocket, pulled out his phone. Seemed to think better of it, shoved it back as if it might burn him. Louisa knew all about avoidance of the things that hurt you the most. Sometimes the greatest kindness was to let someone hide.
Hadn’t she been hiding long enough?
‘Did you want to see some of my illustrations?’
Matteo’s eyes widened at the sudden change of subject. ‘I’d love to see what you want to show me.’
Words loaded, replete with meaning. Was there an answer?
Everything.
No. Where did that come from?
She didn’t know. These thoughts, they intruded when she was around him. Insistent things that whispered she was entitled to whatever reward Matteo could provide to her. She’d waited long enough.
‘I don’t really show people my work before it’s finished.’ She grabbed a sketchbook and placed it on her table. Sure, she’d struggled with the pictures, and these were the sorts of drawing she’d generally file in a cabinet when done. Putting the characters who’d invaded her brain to bed. When she gave her drawings over for the last time, it was as if she set her characters free. And set herself free as well...till the next project held her captive.
‘Why?’
How to explain something that made little sense, even to her? ‘It’s like when I share my illustrations, they stop being mine and become someone else’s. Like the other person takes some of the magic away.’
He hesitated then, his hand halting over the page.
‘I don’t want to ruin the magic for you. I know how important your work is.’
Something inside her warmed. He understood part of what this meant to her. Her mother had always disparaged her ‘doodling’. In spite of the woman, she’d built a career on it but still occasionally heard that critical voice, telling her what she was doing had no value.
‘It’s okay,’ she said.
‘I feel privileged.’ Matteo’s voice carried a weight, as though he meant it. ‘What book are you illustrating?’
‘A reimagining ofThe Frog Prince.’
‘Always children’s stories?’
She nodded. ‘I like them, the innocence of it. And I love the idea that something I’m doing is giving children joy.’
The only thing that had given her much happiness as a child was reading. In those illustrated children’s books she’d found an escape. Some days, after her father had died, when she was in and out of hospital, books and the fantasy world she could immerse herself in were all that had kept her going. It had been something her mother couldn’t steal from her.
She wanted to give that escape to other children as well.
‘Have you ever thought of writing your own?’
Louisa stilled. There were other sketchbooks. The stories she’d written and drawn for Mae. About two children and their stupendous summer adventures, which had made Mae laugh. But they were more personal, private things. Created because she’d wanted to make a woman she loved remember happier times. Some of the happiest times of Louisa’s own life.
Still, she shook her head. ‘It’s not for me. Let the author take the accolades. I’m not really into the idea of book signings and publicity.’
Matteo frowned, skewered her with his hot brown gaze that saw too much, even though he didn’t say anything in response.
She opened the first page of her sketchbook and slid it over to him.
‘Here are some working drawings, the ones I did when I was a bit stuck.’
They stood side by side. The man somehow radiated heat. The warmth from his body slid through her. His presence was palpable as a touch, like a finger gently stroked down her spine. Goosebumps skittered across her skin.
How could the proximity of a person do this to her? This sparkling sensation that lit up every nerve of her body. Made her catch her breath whenever he was close.
Made her want him closer...
