I hadn’t meant my ex-wife. Della had always been interested in art. When she was younger, she’d constantly draw pictures for everybody and expect them to be hung on the walls, refrigerator, or anywhere people could see. I still had a collection of her crayoned originals stored away in my office that she’d gifted me over the years, not that she knew.
“Of you,” I simply stated. “Eat, Della.”
“Stop telling me what to do.”
Setting my plate on the cluttered desktop, I crossed my arms over my chest and ignored her feeble demand. “There was a picture framed in Mariska’s studio that she’d always look at whenever she was stuck. Do you remember what it said?”
Her head bobbed. “It was a Pablo Picasso quote that said, ‘Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.’ She said it was one of her favorites.”
“She told me once that she’d wanted it close by to remind her why she started painting in the first place.” Mariska was always passionate about her art and insisted that no creation was good enough unless there were pieces of truth in each one. “What’s your truth, Della? What do you have to say that the world doesn’t already know?”
The last time we’d had this conversation, I was sure she’d shut down. But the wheels were turning as she glanced up at me and stared. Unlike then, I had an idea of what she was thinking now, and I knew it’d be smart if I walked out.
But I didn’t.
“Who’s asking?” she asked quietly. “Is it the Theo West that used to push me on my bike with the training wheels off or the one who barged into my apartment and kissed me like a starved man?”
Throat bobbing, I tried ignoring the hardening cock pressing against the zipper of my pants. “The one who cares about you.”
Her head tilted. “Wouldn’t that be a combination of the two then?”
A shoulder lifted. “It’s a combination of a lot of things. For an artist, you only seem to see in black and white. It’s not that simple though.”
“What are you saying exactly?”
What wasn’t I saying? Abandoning my food, I squatted down beside her, so we were eye level. “I’m saying that I care for you in a number of ways, like I always have.”
She swallows. “Oh.”
Chuckling, I said, “Yeah. Oh.”
She wet her bottom lip. “My professor talked to me before I came home. It made me think about…a lot of things. Art. What inspires me.” Her pause was hearty as she stared into oblivion for a moment. “Did you kiss me to make me feel something for my art? Or was that really because you wanted to?”
Closing my eyes, I shook my head and stiffened when I felt a palm flatten against my cheek. When I dared to look, Della was already pinning me with pleading eyes that I couldn’t ignore. “We both know the answer to that.”
“But I want to hear you say it, Theo.”
I said nothing.
“Please.” Her voice cracked.
Keeping her hand pressed against my cheek with my own, I blew out a breath and settled into her warmth. “The night I showed up here drunk, I’d gotten into it with somebody your father was working closely with. The asshole…well, it doesn’t matter. I lost my temper. Drank to forget my anger and wound up at the one place I knew I needed to be that would make it better.” Her sharp inhale of breath had me locking eyes with hers. “The things that I want to do with you, to you, go beyond kissing, Adele. But that doesn’t make it right.”
“Right?” The dry laugh that escaped her made me draw back slightly. “What about either of our lives have been right lately? And who’s to say what you’re talking about isn’t?”
I blinked. Then blinked again. “There are a lot of factors that society would pit against us in this situation.”
“You keep telling me to ignore what they say, so why are you so enthralled by what judgement would come from them?”
“I raised you—”
“Because you care.”
“Which people,” I cut her off, “might think differently about. Imagine if the roles were reversed.”
“Then I’d be some cougar. Big deal.”
“Exactly. People would probably say shit but not to the extent of an older man going after a much younger woman, especially one he helped take care of. That’s…”
“Bullshit.”
I gaped.
“What? You’re not the only one who’s allowed to call me out. I’m not saying that whatever this is isn’t complicated, but don’t you think it’s worth exploring? No matter how hard it is? We’ve always had each other’s backs. You told me that. Who cares if you’re older than me? It isn’t by all that much. What they say, according to you, shouldn’t matter.”
“And I meant it.”
“So?”
Our stare intensified. Suddenly my eyes dipped to her lips and I thought about the strawberry scent that wafted from them because of her Chapstick addiction. It matched the shampoo she loved using that she insisted she always wanted as a present when I asked what she’d like for her birthday or Christmas.
“What if I just want you?” Two years ago, that question had sparked whatever was still going on between us, feeding my head with every bad idea that said I needed to do something about it. Instead, Della got shampoo, body wash, and Chapstick. All strawberry. And the thing was, she smiled like I’d given her gold jewelry.
Putting her plate on the ground, she rose on her knees and put her palms on my shoulders. The familiar scent wrapped around us, mixed with the paint fumes and food that was clearly going to be wasted if this continued.
“What are you doing?” I all but whispered as she ran one of her hands up my neck and over my jaw until her thumb brushed my bottom lip.
“Being spontaneous and making the first move for once,” was all I got before she tenderly
