Page 51 of The Artist and the Muse

“I just didn’t know you cared that much. I thought you went back to New York and forgot about me.”

“Yeah, well, I thoughtyouran away to California and forgot aboutme.”

“I could never forget you, Georgia.”

She sighed and finished her water. The waiter cleared our dishes, and asked if we wanted a dessert menu. Georgia declined, and so did I. I paid our bill and left, walking out of the restaurant. Though we didn’t get far, as we stepped into the secluded alcove next to a shopselling touristy knickknacks. The store was closed, its awning cloaking us in shadow.

I stood next to Georgia, face to face as people walked past, lost in their own conversations.

Georgia teased, “Are you going to say something cheesy about my looks being unforgettable?”

“It’s never been about your looks. It’s never been about your clothes or your jewelry or even that red lipstick that I always want to kiss off your lips. I don’t love you for your body. I could be blind, and I’d love you.”

The words poured out like a confession. I shouldn’t have been saying them—I shouldn’t even allow myself to speak them in the privacy of my mind. It certainly wasn’t the right thing for a teacher to say to his student. But I’d held in my feelings for her for so many years that suppressing them for another moment would be impossible.

Her expression changed from cynical to shocked. Could she really not know how I felt about her?

“It’s not your lips that I love; it’s the way you smile at me like you do for no one else, like we’re sharing a secret. I could care less what colour your eyes are, as long as they’re looking into mine. It doesn’t matter to me how tall you are, because I know you were made to fit perfectly in my arms.”

I reached down and brushed a tear off her cheek, her face warm against my fingertips.

“I love you. And theyouGod made is so much more than a pretty face.”

Chapter Twenty-Three: Georgia Philips

“You love me?” I hated the way those words fell from my mouth. I sounded like a bumbling schoolgirl with her first crush, not a grown woman who had been in love before. Except, of course, I had only ever been in love with George.

“I think I fell in love with you the moment we started talking about my paintings. Or maybe it was when you insulted my height in that art museum.” He rubbed at his jaw, a grin teasing his lips. “Whenever it was, I just know… I’ve fallen irrevocably in love with you, Georgia. And I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of your life, or if you never feel the same way, or if you can barely tolerate me. If you never want to see me again, if you want me to go back to Canada, I’ll go. Because it wouldn’t be worth it to stay in New York if I couldn’t see you. Even if I have a job here, I—”

“Shut up.” Tears streamed down my face in earnest now. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me say it again. I’ll start to think you don’t want to—”

I was cut off by his lips on mine as he leaned down. This kiss was so gentle, so tender and reverent as his thumbs brushed over my cheeks, softly wiping away my tears. I hated crying, but if it meant George was going to cradle me like I was a priceless treasure, I’d do it any day.

Still, I wanted more from him. Who cared that we were in public where anyone could see us? I cupped the back of his head and drew him in closer, tilting my head up. One of his hands cradled my face, the other twining into my hair and tugging me toward him. Until we were so close that nothing could come between us.

Except, of course, what was always getting in the way of us being together: ourselves.

He pulled away, his hazel eyes piercing mine. “Wait, Georgia, this is wrong.”

“Why?” All my excuses, all my flimsy reasons for our not being together, had been torn apart by the sensation of his mouth against mine and his hands on my skin.

George sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m still your teacher. And we’re… in public.”

I changed my mind. I was never crying again. “I see.”

What more could I say? I’d thought this kiss was going to be the start of something new—or the continuation of what had never died. Instead, I was still standing next to the man who was everything I wanted and couldn’t have. Couldn’t allow myself to want.

“I’m done,” I said softly, stepping back and turning away from him. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Georgia—”

“I have to go.”

I didn’t know where I was going, only that I couldn’t stay here.

---