“Reese?”
She spun around, shocked to find Trent standing just inside the door to her studio. All of her emotions had risen to the surface over the course of the afternoon, and now she felt as if her skin were on fire as he stepped forward, giving her an easy yet sensual smile that made her insides melt.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but you were lost in your work.” His eyes slid over her like a caress before he asked, “Can I see what you’re working on?”
“It’s not finished,” she said, but she stepped aside to let him look at the canvas.
He stared at the painting for a long time without saying a word, and her heart leaped to her throat, knowing that he’d see her emotions all over the painting. By the way he was assessing it, and glancing back at her with darkening eyes, she knew she was right.
She stepped in front of the painting, feeling raw and exposed as she said, “There’s a lot I still need to do to it.”
“I think it’s perfect.” His voice was deep and soothing, as if he understood just how vulnerable she was feeling. “I missed watching you paint, Reese. I always thought it was so incredible to watch you get completely swept up in your work.”
Just the way she was getting swept up in him right now. Twice today he’d surprised her with unexpected visits. This morning she’d kissed him. And now? Well, she wasn’t good enough at lying to herself to think they were going to get by with just a kiss this afternoon.
“Tell me about this one.”
He was pointing at a painting that reminded her of a storm coming in through the clouds. Carefully stepping over her tarp, which was splattered with paint, she moved around open paint cans and set her paintbrush with the other drenched brushes, before she replied.
“It’s called Struggle.”
It was such an angst-filled word, but she could find no better way to describe the deep purple, yellow, orange, greens, and every shade of blue she could create that streaked violently across the canvas. There was no landscape, no houses in the distance, just the raging, disjointed storm, coming together from all angles. Only when the driving clouds collided did the colors soften, finally giving way to graceful flourishes as they edged off the canvas.
“I should have guessed,” he said softly as he turned to face her. He used to be able to guess the names for her paintings, as if he could see right into her heart just by looking at them. “You were incredibly talented when we first met, Reese, and you’re even more so now. I was so pleased when I started finding your artwork in New York galleries.”
“You saw my work in New York?” It truly hadn’t occurred to her that he might have seen her paintings during his years living in the city. He’d worked so many hours when they were together that she couldn’t imagine him taking off time to visit a gallery.
“I had a business meeting with the owner of one of the galleries, and once I saw your work there, I went looking for more.”
“Why?”
He reached for her hand. “Because your art is a piece of you, Reese. I bought every piece I could get my hands on, until I had no place else to keep them.”
“You bought them?”
“I told you that I never stopped loving you, and I meant it. After you left, your paintings were the only way I could be close to you.”
He gathered her into his arms, but even though that was exactly where she wanted to be, she pulled back, saying, “I’m covered in paint.”
But he pulled her in close again. “It’s your paint, Reese. And I love knowing something of yours is now a part of something that’s mine.”
That was something the old Trent would have said, but New York Trent would have been worried about his clothing and one of his colleagues seeing a stain on his fancy suit. She took pleasure in the marked difference.
“I’m so happy you made it, Reese. Despite what happened between us, your dreams of showing your work in galleries came true.”
“It almost didn’t happen,” she admitted.
He slid his warm hands up her arms and asked, “Why not?”
“Oh, Trent.” She tried to take a step away, but he held her gently. “It’s so hard to talk about that time of our lives.”
“Reese, we made mistakes, but I know we can learn from them so that we don’t make the same ones a second time. Please talk to me.”
Could they really learn from their mistakes? Because she sure felt like she was falling right back into his arms just as quickly as before, and she was just as powerless to resist.
“I went by your gallery again,” he said softly when she didn’t respond. “You named it after us, didn’t you?”