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"No." She bent her head, staring at her laptop's keyboard.
I lifted her chin and swore. There were tears in her eyes. They rolled down, breaking something inside me. I licked them, taking as much of her pain as she'd let me.
"Don't make me leave. Please," I begged. "I've been so fucking lonely without you."
"Stop saying such things," she cried out, "it's not fair."
"Why?"
"Because I want to believe you."
I picked her up in my arms, and carried her to the couch. I held her, loving the closeness, hating her pain.
"Baby, you said I could have you from nine to noon on Sundays. That's all there is to it now." I tried to lighten the mood when she looked up, watery eyes and sniffling nose.
"You live in Montana. You can't come here every Sunday."
"Sure, I can. I'll come over Saturday morning and go back Sunday night. I'll make it work. Just…don't turn me away, Isha. Please."
"This is crazy," she whispered. "You knew me for half a second, six years ago."
"And I lost my heart to you; and you gave me yours. I know I didn't take care of yours very well. But I want to. If you give it to me this time, I promise I'll treat it as the precious gift it is."
She sighed. "It's just…why me?"
"I wish I had an answer, sweetheart. But it's just how it is. I fell in love with you, and never fell out of it."
She rested her head against my chest, and we sat like that for a long while, not talking, just savoring.
Afterward, just I as I had her daughter, I kissed her goodnight on her forehead and cheek, and went to a cold hotel bed.
Chapter 25
Isha
“How did you know?” I gasped.
“You have his art in your living room,” he explained.
For our second Sunday morning date, Rowan took me to a private showing at a gallery in Queens, featuring art by Wassily Kandinsky. I became a fan of his work after I learned about him during a seminar at my college in London.
The gallery was small, but I was delighted to be able to spend time in front of each painting without a crowd jostling me in a museum.
“Are you into art?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not really, but I like museums when I go to them. I’m a rancher, darlin’, my tastes are a tad rustic.”
“I got interested in art because I thought that would make me appear more well-bred. Right after we left the home, I was obsessed with bettering myself. I found that I actually appreciated and enjoyed it. When we moved into our condo, I bought prints and frames on Amazon. I even got Monet and Piet Hien coloring books for Flora."
"I know who Monet is, have no clue who that other guy is. Didn't know who Miro was, either. Had to look him up," Rowan confessed.
He tucked my hand into his arm as we walked through the small but elegant rooms of the gallery.
"How did you find this place?"
He grinned. "I had someone find it for me. I wanted to take you someplace you'd normally not go."
"Last time, I got a full English, and this time, food for my soul. You're spoiling me, Rowan."
