Page 26 of California Dreaming

Her husband had always said that she had no talent and that her paintings were amateurish, but she’d painted anyway in secret. It was her art that had helped her through the difficult times when he was so ill and demanding. No patient she’d had since had been as demanding… or as angry. It was as though he’d blamed Tessa for his illness.

Painting had been a calming influence on her and a way of getting all her emotions out.

Unfortunately, his words still rang in her ears: You might have gotten the love for painting, but you sure as hell didn’t get the talent to go with it.

But as the paintbrush began to guide her movements, she allowed herself to question whether Lewis had been right. There was a part of her, way down deep inside, that wondered if there was more to her work than he had realized. Sometimes she looked at her paintings and felt proud of the work that had come out of her, unguided by any training or schooling. There was something truthful in the art she made. Put most simply, it was the way she uniquely saw the world.

But those proud moments never lasted long, not when her husband’s harsh words still rang in her ears and down into her heart too. He might have died, but she had a feeling his cruel words about her passion for creating art never would.

She thought now of the artwork Arch had so informally hanging in his house. There was the gorgeous Kalinda Lawles they’d talked about, of course. But she was sure she’d also spotted an original Chagall in the downstairs guest room and a Georgia O’Keeffe above the stairs. And she hardly dared believe that the small, square canvas hanging in the living room might be a Picasso… could it?

Of course, she’d never be that good—those artists were true masters of the craft—but Tessa had made her peace with her private painting a long time ago. At least, that’s what she always told herself.

She thought again about Arch’s collection. He had a keen eye, not just for painting, but for all art. There was a blue and pink Tracey Emin neon sign in the hallway, which she’d yet to see lit. Tracey Emin was a British artist, and she was impressed that Arch had her piece on his wall. The handwritten words You Loved Me Like a Distant Star had made her swoon just looking at them.

Considering the telescope by the window, did Arch ever sit up here, looking up at the sky?

He was just downstairs. With a shock, she realized that she had found it peaceful working while he was in the house. She usually preferred to paint alone and never quite felt comfortable hiding her activity in clients’ houses. But this felt different. Something about being here felt comfortable. Like everything was just right.

She checked her watch and was startled to see that two hours had passed since she’d opened her box of paints. She’d been utterly engrossed in her work all this time. Hoping Arch was okay, she took the painting off the easel and found a shelf in the closet where it could lie flat to dry. She washed her brushes and her hands in the en suite so that no trace or smell of paint was visible on her skin and headed downstairs, annoyed with herself for losing track of time.

But when she entered the living room, she saw that Arch hadn’t moved an inch. He was deep into reading the script. She smiled. Like her, he’d been so absorbed in what he was doing he hadn’t noticed the time passing.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

He looked up, surprised. But as soon as he saw her, warmth flooded his face, and his eyes twinkled. Just the way Margaret had teased her about.

He put down the script and replied, “Hi.”

He stared at her, a look that seemed almost to be wonder, and she worried for a moment she had paint on her face or hands or clothes. But no, she was thorough in hiding her time painting. She didn’t make mistakes like that.

“It’s almost seven,” she said. “I think we both may have lost track of time.”

He nodded. “This script is good. Plus, I found that I liked knowing you were in the house, even though you were upstairs.” He flashed her a way-too-sexy grin. “And I didn’t even call you back down here for no reason… though the thought crossed my mind once or twice.”

She found herself laughing, even though he was laying on the charm way too thick. She should be putting up bigger walls to protect herself, but instead, she said, “I’m glad you’re a fast learner. I wouldn’t have taken kindly to a prank call.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I’m definitely a fast learner.”

She pretended not to notice the sexy undertones or the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, even as her face grew warm. Instead, she swiftly changed the subject and asked if he was ready for dinner.

That twinkle undiminished, he replied, “Oh yes, I’m hungry.”

For food?

Or for her?

The thought was way too potent for her to linger on. Forcefully shoving all thoughts of being touched by Arch out of her head, she said, “Celebrity Tonight will be on soon. I can bring you a tray so you can stay on your lounger with your leg elevated, if you’d like to watch it.”

“Only if you’re eating in here with me.”

She looked at him. She’d eaten all her meals with Margaret, but Margaret hadn’t made her pulse pound. She needed to keep her distance from Arch if she was going to protect her heart, so she said, “Oh no, I’ll eat in the kitchen.”

He burst into laughter. “You’re joking.” But the laughter soon faded when he saw she was serious. “Come on. You can’t leave me to eat all on my own. It’s… well, it just doesn’t seem right. Especially when we’re going to be living together for so many weeks. I don’t want you to feel like ‘the staff,’ forced to eat in another room.” He paused for a moment. “And also, I’d really like your company.”

Giving him a small smile, she nodded. “Okay, then I’ll eat with you from now on, if I’m not out grocery shopping or taking care of something else for you.”

While she was still determined to keep her emotional distance as much as she could, she understood how lonely it could feel to eat alone. Her husband might have grown more cruel as he’d become more ill, but after his passing, she still remembered how alone she had felt sitting at the table eating dinner by herself.

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