No Love Allowed(38)

Watching her work was fascinating. One second she would be smiling at something she had done. Then she would frown, pick out a new tube of color or switch out her brush, and continue. Once in a while she would swipe her thumb against her cheek or chin and leave a streak of paint there.

Every time she flicked her gaze at him, his stomach muscles clenched. It was similar to that moment of suspension before the roller coaster plunged down the first hill. He anticipated her looks, but when they came they still sent a thrill through him.

About fifteen minutes later, Didi’s frown hadn’t stopped. She looked from the canvas to him, then back again. Something must have dissatisfied her, because she removed it from the easel, making sure he hadn’t seen the painting by turning it away, and picked up a fresh one.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She studied him again. “You’re distracting me.”

He smiled, stretching. “Want me to put my shirt back on?”

Tearing her eyes away from the motion, Didi suggested, “Maybe we just need to talk.” She picked up a thicker brush from the set she had bristles down in a jar. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“I work out at least four times a week. Anything else you want to know?”

“What’s your deal with love?”

His mouth dried up and his throat closed. “You’re not pulling any punches, huh?”

“Well . . .” She squeezed a new dollop of paint onto the collection she already had. “You’re the one who gave me free rein. Next time set parameters.” She pursed her lips at the canvas, then flicked the brush over the center. “So, what’s your hang-up with love? I figure something must have happened for you to make not falling in love your number one rule. What, someone break your heart or something?”

Squeezing the back of his neck, he cleared his throat. “Something like that.”

“Who’s the lucky girl?”

“My mother.”

The brush paused midair. She looked at him for a brief instant, then continued painting. “Oh?” was all she said, and yet that one word seemed to have flicked some sort of switch in him, because he started talking.

“I witnessed firsthand what love can do to a person.” Grabbing the lip of the stool between his legs, he allowed his shoulders to slump forward. He picked a spot on the floor and kept his gaze there, letting himself remember. “My mother killed herself when I was twelve. It was a shock to everyone because she was the happiest person in the world. Never a smile out of place. I think it was most shocking for my father. JJ loved her. It was in the way he looked at her, like she was his entire world.” He swallowed the hard lump that had formed in his throat. “Once, I caught them kissing in the kitchen. My mom had been in the middle of flipping pancakes. The house smelled of cinnamon. I remember waking up to their laughter, and when I got to the kitchen there they were in each other’s arms. Even when they knew I was there sticking my tongue out, because yuck—kissing.” Distantly he thought he heard Didi giggle. “Even after they’d stepped out of each other’s arms, my father kept looking into my mother’s eyes like he was seeing her for the first time.”

“What happened?” came Didi’s whispered question.

“I honestly don’t know. One day she was there, and the next she wasn’t. I tried asking my father about what had really happened, but he refused to talk about it. He still does, actually. He’d rather drown himself in work than face the loss of my mother. And he grew . . . cold. Distant. Not even his brother could get through to him. Trust me, my uncle tried. If it didn’t have to do with work, he didn’t care about it. There were days when we didn’t have anything to eat because he’d fired all the staff, and there was no one to go grocery shopping. That was when I started spending more time at Nathan’s house.”

“Caleb . . .”

He breathed, even though it didn’t seem like any air entered his lungs. “That was when I realized all love does is hurt people. It lulls you into a false sense of security, and then bam! You slam into a brick wall of pain. A shit ton of pain. Love destroys people to the point where they don’t even care who else they hurt in the process.” His knuckles turned white, he was gripping the stool so hard. “I promised I would never allow myself to suffer the consequences of falling in love. Never turn into someone like my father because of the pain of losing someone.”

Soon after he stopped speaking, fingers pushed into his hair, bringing his head to lean against her. He released his grip on the stool and wrapped his arms around Didi’s waist. He buried his face against her belly. If the front of her overalls happened to get wet, she didn’t complain.

They held each other like that for what seemed like the longest time. Yet he didn’t care. He wanted the moment to last forever. If only to live within the relief she provided. Her touch was a balm to his pain.

With the resurgence of his grief for his mother and the unconditional comfort Didi gave, one thing became clear. . . .

“My birthday,” he murmured after an eternity of silence.

“Your birthday?” she asked back, as if making sure she had heard him right.

He looked up at her. In that instant she seemed unreal. Like an angel sent from heaven to save him. “It’s not part of our agreement, but . . .” The words caught in his throat