Page 40 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

He laughed, wondering if she was cold now. “Do you want me to show you how to use the woodstove?”

“Maybe after I finish telling you my thoughts. Using subjects kids love as drawing models—like Wonder Woman or baby Yoda—is brilliant. And I love the reference books you’ve selected. Greta adoresThe History of Art for Children. The program you’ve designed lives up to one of the tenets in your mission statement: to take children on a journey of self-expression.”

The tension in his diaphragm eased. The whole exercise had stretched him, as he’d wanted, but he’d fretted over whether it was good enough. “Good to hear. What more can we do?”

Her face was radiant with excitement, like one of his students when discussing a favorite subject. “I was thinking about Greta and some of the things we’ve done. I’ve mostly tried to undo the strict arts training my parents arranged for me. The teachers and schooling were…harsh. Rigorous. The kind you’d give a savant, which my parents hoped I was with painting. I won’t do that to any child.”

He’d always been able to tell when someone needed to work something out of their system, so he remained quiet and let her talk.

She exhaled harshly after a moment. “Sorry. But no kid should be subjected to that kind of pressure. Art should be fun, although I didn’t know that until I made my first flower at a glassblowing tutorial that I signed up for secretly.”

Secretly? He couldn’t have imagined a pressure so great she would resort to hiding her deepest passion. “You’ll have to show me that flower sometime. I’ll bet it was beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes. “I must sound like an idiot. Secret art classes. Bone-crushing pressure. Ugh! But itwasbeautiful. The first piece of art I enjoyed creating.”

He poured her more tea, which had her gazing softly at him. He could stare at her forever. “What flower was it?”

“It was a calendula.” Her voice was so dreamy he found himself reevaluating flowers. Before meeting her, he could have taken them or left them. “So pure. So orange. Happy.”

“What’s the hardest flower you’ve ever made?” he asked.

Her laughter poured out like water from a bubbling spring. “The naked man orchid. It was a birthday present for my mother. She didn’t know what to do with it.”

They had such an orchid? He was tempted to look it up. “I don’t think we have those in Ireland.”

“Probably not, but that’s why nature is so great. There are shapes and stories everywhere, and when you break down the elements, they can be easy to capture in art.” She tapped her chin. “Maybe you can add a module on drawing simple but realistic images. Fruits. Landscapes. Again, simple shapes. People’s faces are the same way, you know. A nose is really only an upside-down triangle.”

She picked up her pen and doodled one on the corner of a notebook lying on the coffee table. He was amazed at her speed as much as her realism. It almost made him believe he could draw a nose too. The triangle concept made sense.

“Everything is much easier to figure out and understand once you make it simple,” Jamie said, taking a sip. “Progress is easier when you have the building blocks. I’m not an artist, but you’re right, I think I could draw one if I break it down into shapes. It wouldn’t be like your pregnant woman, mind you. She’s living and breathing on that very page. So is your tree. I could almost feel the wind blowing through the branches.”

“Thanks.” She scooted closer until her knee was touching his thigh. “I was technically proficient at painting, but I couldn’t convey emotion in that medium. Maybe I didn’t want to since I was being pushed into it. You can’t fake emotion in a piece. When I drew this, all I had to do was remember how it felt when I was pregnant with Greta. I used to draw myself when I was pregnant. To chronicle my progress. But I was too chicken to share them with the world then.”

“But you’re not now,” Jamie added, his entire gaze filled with her.

“Oh, I’m still a little scared, but I’m equally as excited and determined.” She took a sip of her tea and swore. “Hot. Good one, Sophie.”

“Angie, Megan, and Ellie are going to give me their notes by Wednesday, so I’ll have a few days to include them. Would you—”

“Absolutely!” She blew on her tea. “It seems I’m done with my drawing. Whew! You’re pretty close too. Jamie, this is really impressive.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s only researching and seeing what makes sense. Then following up with the experts on the individual art modules. The program we run for the fall will be smaller, of course—as kids are in school. But Bets figures we can run longer programs in the summer, like camps. I figured it’s important to give the kids an introductory program to start, something to help them figure out what they might be interested in before they sign up for a specific medium.”

“Nothing worse than being in an oil painting class based on the Renaissance masters and hating every minute of it.” She mimed a horrified expression. “You were supposed to laugh.”

He only gazed back at her. “Hard to laugh at something that upset you so badly.”

She leaned into him. “That’s what makes you wonderful. Jamie, I know you’re going to be really busy this week, but all I’ve been thinking about since you arrived is how much I want to kiss you and have your arms around me. Now that we’ve stopped working, can we take a moment to relive the other night?”

Her green eyes rested on him with what he thought was hopeful vulnerability. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about too. The other night was one of the best of my life. Come here, Sophie.”

She eased slowly into his arms as they watched each other. Her body was supple as he drew her against him and leaned in to kiss her. Her breath rushed out, and then she was pressing her mouth to his, their movements soft and unhurried.

Her low murmur had his blood heating, and he stroked the long line of her back, drawing her still closer to him until their bodies brushed and held. She was soft and warm and pliant, and as their mouths danced together, all he could think of was how she tasted like woman and spice, how she sought his touch, and how she moaned, low and light in the quiet around them.

When they separated, she put her forehead on his shoulder. “I’m falling for you. So fast that it should make my head spin. But it doesn’t. Every time I feel like I’m falling, it’s like that first sweet dive into the warm sea. Everything goes still. Everything gets quiet. And I’m floating in another world, one I never want to leave.”

He caressed the back of her neck, the power of her words filling his chest.

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