He looked away from her as his heart squeezed in his chest. This was not something he discussed. In general, it was something he tried to not even think about. It didn’t matter that 15 years had passed. He felt the pain like it was yesterday.
Obviously, sensing his distress, she touched his wrist and said, ‘Forget I asked. You don’t have to answer that.’
It was her touch that loosened his lips. She knew she was holding his wrist; she squeezed it gently, connecting with him. In that moment, he knew he’d bare his soul if it would keep her touching him.
Covering her hand with his own, he told her his story.
‘So, even though I have no formal training, I’ve always loved art. It’s been with me since I was a child. I like to think that they’d be proud.’ He was staring into his empty mug.
She didn’t know what moved her more, his story or his touch. Being the only survivor of a car crash that killed his parents was bad enough, but having it happen as a child, on the night you received an award for winning an art contest, was just a cruel twist of fate. His grandparents sounded like lovely people, taking him in, giving him a home and a family, but their death when he was a teenager was just another kick in the nuts. But the thing that pulled at her heart the most was him being thrown into foster care. The family sounded as if they’d treated him more like an extra set of hands, someone to help around the house like a servant. He didn’t seem bitter, but it said a lot that he’d left on his 18th birthday and hadn’t spoken to them since.
‘I bet they would. Have you ever shown your work?’
‘No.’
‘But you’re a photographer? That must be pretty fulfilling.’
‘Photography is its own pleasure, but it is nothing like painting.’ He didn’t look at her as he spoke. He seemed uncomfortable talking about this and she wondered how much it must hurt to have something you loved so deeply tied to such a tragic event.
Her hand was now clasped in his and she found she enjoyed holding his hand. There was a casual intimacy to it that she’d never experienced before, but that – after a few tense moments initially – she found she liked.
Just like she liked him.
She was uncomfortably aware of him, but she liked being with him and talking to him. She found she didn’t want the date to end, but end it must. A quick glance at her watch informed her she had just half an hour to get back to campus and prepare for her next class.
‘Do you have to?’
She grinned, knowing what he was asking. ‘Yes, I do. I have a class to teach.’
‘What if I said I wanted to see you again?’
She surprised herself by saying, ‘I’d say the right offer might sway me.’
‘How about a picnic? This weekend. I know a great spot. I’ve been wanting to get out there and snap some photos and paint. I’d love for you to be there. Hell, if you’d let me, I’d love to paint you.’
He took her hand again and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. The movement was both hypnotic and erotic and she felt it deep in her body.
Before she could chicken out, she agreed, giving him her number and entering his into her phone. Walking out together, she held out her hand for him to shake. Rather than shake it, he took it in his palm and kissed the back of her hand.
‘Till Saturday. I’ll pick you up at one. Text me your address.’
‘No!’ Her voice was sharper than she’d intended and his eyebrows shot up. ‘Sorry.’ She rushed to fill in the shocked silence. ‘I don’t allow men I’ve just met to come to my home. Even to pick me up. How about I meet you here and I’ll follow you.’
‘You’re not even going to ride with me?’
‘No. Not this time. I don’t know you well enough.’
Curious grey eyes searched her face. She faced him resolutely despite the flush creeping along her skin and her desire to hide from the dawning knowledge in his eyes. Her own were burning, and the longer he studied her, the more scared she became that she’d burst into tears.
She opened her mouth to call the whole thing off only to be stopped short when he quietly said, ‘OK. I’ll meet you on Saturday, but not here. Let’s meet at the library. It’s closer to the end of town and we’ll be headed out that way anyway.’
‘No, here.’
Again, with the scrutiny.
‘Here so that your friend sees us together and there’s a trail back to me if anything happens to you?’
She almost squirmed at his insight, but she refused to back down and said only, ‘Yup.’
‘OK. I’ll see you here on Saturday. One o’clock.’
Another quick kiss was dropped on the hand he’d never relinquished and then he tossed his backpack up on his shoulder, winked at her, and walked away.
She flopped on the bench outside the cafe as hot tears trickled down her cheeks. She really should just cancel. All the fun and camaraderie had been sucked out of their date at the reminder of her inability to simply be with a man in an unreserved fashion. He probably thought she was some kind of paranoid freak.
Sadly, he was right.
Chapter Five
Bridget stared at her iPhone in shocked dismay. He was refusing to let her cancel their date. She’d called him the night before and left him a voicemail when he hadn’t picked up, saying that after some thought she’d decided to pass on the picnic. She’d had a moment of regret, but she’d let it go.
Fixing herself a light dinner of crab salad and toast, she snuggled on the couch with Daisy and completely missed every minute of her favourite programme as she’d rationalised her actions over and over. She’d spent the better part of her adult years alone and she was no lonelier than the next person. Right? She had a full and satisfying life with friends and activities. She loved her career. Loved her dog. Loved –
A quick glance at Daisy, who was eyeing her with one ear cocked and a look that said “Who are you trying to convince?”, and she’d given up and gone to bed. At no time had she ever once considered that he’d refuse.
Well, apparently he thought he could. She’d turned her mobile phone back on after class and seen the voicemail indicator. Checking it had turned up a few messages regarding work, then she’d heard Connor’s voice. Unlike some people who sound differently over the phone, that deep, growly tone of his came through exactly the same as it did in person. It set her pulse racing exactly the same
way too. His message, however, had left her dumbfounded.
‘Sorry, Bridget,’ he’d said. She could almost hear him smirking. ‘I know what you’re trying to do and you’re not getting away that easily. I will haunt that coffee shop until you show up. I remember where you jog too. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can make me suffer the indignity of haunting you like a stalker or you can show up at one o’clock like we agreed and let me show you one of my favourite spots on the planet.’
There had been a long pause and she’d almost disconnected. When he’d resumed speaking, the smirk was gone and he sounded earnest instead.
‘Bridget. I understand your caution. I respect it. I’ll even give your friend, Mona, my social security number and driver’s licence, just don’t stand me up. Please.’
He’d disconnected at that point.
She had no idea how to react. He thought he understood, but he had no real idea. He thought it was the typical caution of a single woman with a new man. He had no idea what he was really getting into.
She smiled at his offer to give Mona his personal info. Little did he know that Mona was already his biggest fan. She’d joined them briefly during their coffee date and they’d had a discussion on the merits of Colombian coffee versus Robusta. Something Bridget hadn’t even realised existed. Coffee was just coffee to her, meant to be drunk with lots of cream and sugar.
Connor, however, took his very seriously. He gave Mona credit for not skimping. She only sold Arabica
