heading away from Laura Beth, but apparently she’d moved too, because there she stood, in front of another display. This one she seemed to like about as much as she liked the Picassos.
Watching her, he sipped the second scotch. The desire to capture her slithered through him again, just as Jason Ashbury stopped in front of him.
“I wanted to give you a card.”
Antonio set his second scotch on an available tray with a wince. “Sorry.”
Jason laughed. “Never apologize for enjoying a good scotch.” He handed the card to Antonio. “I know you’re accustomed to bigger galleries, but we’d love to have you in Arizona.”
And he’d love to be in a gallery in Arizona. He’d love to have a showing anywhere. If he could just freaking paint again.
His gaze strolled to Laura Beth.
Jason shook his hand. “Come visit us. Maybe we’ll inspire you.”
He walked away and Antonio’s eyes sought Laura Beth again. She all but shimmered in the sophisticated dress, but she couldn’t hide that innocence. And maybe that’s what drew him. She was his deceased wife’s polar opposite. And if her innocence was the medicine he needed to paint again, maybe he shouldn’t fight it.
He strolled over. “Are you okay?”
“What? You think a woman can’t be on her own in a gallery?”
“No. You’re pregnant and it’s been a long night and you still have a bit of a drive home.”
She winced. “Saw me in the car, did you?”
He took a step closer. “Saw you getting out of the car.”
This time she laughed. “That was fun.”
“You looked like you were enjoying it.”
“Oh, I was.” She took a long drink of air. “I’m going to miss this.”
“Barcelona?”
“No. The dressing up tonight and playacting.”
He raised one eyebrow in question. “Why? You’ve got a few more weeks in Italy. You can do all the dressing up and playacting you want.”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t. Walking around here tonight, I remembered something I’d thought at the wedding. I took what I believed was a real job because I’m not an executive or a trust-fund baby or even employable in New York City.” She faced him. “But you don’t want me and I don’t really belong here. It’s time for me to go home.”
Panic swirled through him. “Home New York or home Kentucky?”
“Kentucky.” She raised her gaze to meet his. “I know there’s not much work for an IT person there, but I’m going to have a baby. I need my mom for moral support.” She sucked in a breath. “But looking at one of the pictures, I also realized I had a pretty good childhood.”
He frowned. “Which picture?”
She ambled to a picture a few feet away. “This one.”
It was a painting of three dogs running through the dead brush around a pond in late fall. The colors were cool, dismal. The sky so dark it was almost charcoal gray.
“This reminds you of home?”
Gazing at the painting, she said, “Yes.”
Hoping for the best, he said, “You had a dog?”
She laughed. “No. We had ugly Novembers. The cold sets in and lingers. But some of my best life things happened in fall.”
She faced him with a light in her eyes that flicked the switch of his longing to paint. But in a different way than the day he’d found her lying on her bed wrapped in a towel, a different way even than the technical visions of dimension and light that had overtaken him various times that day. This was a serious, quiet need, something that didn’t hurt him or fill him with angry longing. This one was normal.
Breathlessly afraid to lose this feeling, he quietly said, “What sort of things?”
“Well, my birthday’s in the fall, so there’s the whole being born thing.”
He laughed.
“And every fall we returned to school.” She smiled at him but her eyes were distant, as if she were thinking back to the past. “Going to school meant seeing my friends, getting new clothes, football games, school play tryouts.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It was.”
“And that’s why you’re going home?”
She moved her eyes up to meet his gaze. “I just keep thinking I’d like to be around my mom when I actually have the baby. But I also had a great childhood. I want my baby to have that, too.”
He whispered, “It makes sense,” not sure why the moment felt so solemn, except it meant that their time together was ending. Or maybe because he knew he needed to at least try to paint her and if he didn’t ask in the next few seconds he wouldn’t get the chance.
“I still think about painting you.”
“I know.” She stepped away. “You told me it annoys you to think about painting me.”
He laughed. “Tonight’s feelings are different.”
She faced him. “Really?”
“Yeah. Tonight it all feels real, doable.”
“Well, that’s...something.”
He breached the space between them. “Actually, it is. The uncontrollable urge might have been a first step, but just as your feelings about becoming a mom are shifting, growing, so are my feelings about painting you.”
Her breath caught. “You’re serious?”
He glanced around. “Yes. But this feeling is so new and it’s only cropped up around you.” He caught her gaze. “Can you spend the next few weeks with me? Let me see if I can paint again?”
“Only if you also let me work as your assistant.”
Her persistence made him laugh and long to kiss her. In that very second, the need was so strong he doubted his ability to resist it. Her face tipped up to him. Her earnest eyes held his. It would be so easy.
But he’d kissed her once and it had only reminded him that he couldn’t have her.
Because he couldn’t.
“I want the painting to be our focus.”
“Can I earn my keep by answering the rest of your mail?”
He laughed. “No. I want to do this right.”
She
