Page 116 of For the Love of Art

Don paused for half a second before saying. “Sure.”

“Good night, Don.”

“Good night.”

I hit the end button and looked at Nathan. He was still beaming.

I giggled. “What?”

He shrugged. “I’m just happy.” He bit his lip.

“Happy, and?”

“And I feel like we can really start planning a future,” he said, then his face wrinkled. “Is that okay to say? Too much?”

Tell him now.

“It’s not too much.”

I leaned up and kissed him softly. He cupped my cheeks and deepened the kiss, his tongue gliding into my mouth as he slowly lowered us under the blankets again, and I let him pleasure the things I needed to say out of my mind.

10:06.

Where was he?

I tapped my pen on the manilla envelope while waiting for Don's arrival.

I looked at my phone—no missed calls. No texts.

I shook my head.

Of course, he didn’t show up. It was like he had a few too many drinks and called me. Now, in the sober light of morning–

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My heart stopped.

“Yes?”

“It’s me.”

Don.

I swallowed and smoothed my shirt. “Come in.”

The door opened, and a small smile played on Don’s lips. “Hi, Isla.”

“Hi.” I waved sheepishly. “Close the door. Come and sit.” I gestured to the horrible yellow sofa.

Don closed the door and sat down. His facial expression said he had the same feelings toward the couch as I did. It was ugly and incredibly uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything.

“I have the papers.” I touched the envelope as Don crossed an ankle over this thigh. “I can sign them, and then you can–”

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t sign them. Not yet.”

I blinked a couple of times, trying to decipher what he was saying. It felt like a test or riddle.

“Don’t sign them? I thought you and Marissa wanted to get married.”