The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(43)

The crusty, rich croque madame she’d eaten had topped her family’s mac and cheese in the satisfying comfort-food category. And this dessert—there weren’t words. “I am.”

“If nothing else, lunch was worth the trip, right?” He leaned back, long limbed and lazy.

Casual moments like this made it tough to swallow, and not just because the gargantuan bites of pastry and ice cream were lodged in her throat. She felt helpless in the face of her attraction to his nonchalant elegance. If nothing else, being around him had made the trip worth it. “Do you eat here often?”

“Not too often. There are so many restaurants in the city I try not to limit myself.” He gestured around. “But I do love the lighting here. Plenty of interesting shadows. It’d make for some provocative images.”

As usual when he spoke about work, his gaze turned daydreamy. “I’d love to see the world the way you do,” she said on a sigh.

“Oh no. I don’t think you’d like it inside my head.” He chuckled. “It gets a little crazy.”

“Crazy good, maybe. I see the world through glass, but you seem to see it through a kaleidoscope. The way you describe colors . . . like that time you told me that grass wasn’t green. I thought you’d really lost your mind until you made me study it in the sunlight and see the blades that looked gray because of shade, or the ones that looked white in the sun. The yellow and green and blue blades, too. That was the first peek I ever got into seeing the way an artist does.”

“I don’t remember that, but, God”—he grimaced in a self-mocking manner—“it sounds so pompous. You should’ve laughed at me.”

“It wasn’t pompous. We were on the porch steps at Arcadia on a gorgeous summer day before my injury. You’d come home from somewhere and sat with me for a few minutes while I waited for Peyton. I didn’t know what to say, so I talked about the weather—about the clear blue sky. Then you started in on how the ‘sky’ isn’t really blue and how it can be orange and pink and purple at sunset, and then moved on to the grass not being green. It was interesting.”

A pleased smile played at his lips. “Sounds like I was trying to impress you.”

She snickered. “More likely you were bored and searching for something interesting to talk about.”

“You’ve never bored me, Claire.” He stared at her, tapping his thumb on the table. “Who knew a stray comment would make a lasting impression?”

If only he knew how everything he’d done back then had left an imprint. She’d been content to follow him around like a puppy, basking in any bit of interest, lapping up any knowledge he had to share. That hadn’t changed much, she supposed. His attitude—even when bordering on obnoxious—still fascinated her. “You must have so many stories from all the places you’ve gone. The things you’ve seen. What strikes me most, though, is how, even with the most gut-wrenching, graphic images you’ve taken, there is hope. It’s a true gift.”

His previously pleasant smile melted into a solemn expression. “Thank you, Claire. That means a lot coming from you.”

She fidgeted under the weight of his gaze as it wandered over her face, intent and searching.

“You’re welcome.” She swallowed the last bit of pastry. “Have you decided when and where you’ll go for work next?”

“Karina and I are still in research mode. We like to focus on a granular perspective, but it’s almost impossible to suss out a unique story from here.”

“I’d rather not know too many details because I’ll worry the whole time you’re away. If you’re gone a few weeks, I’ll empty the grocery aisles from all the stress eating.”

“Thanks for caring . . .” He shifted, crossing his feet at the ankles, and tossed back a healthy swallow of wine, his eyes still fixed on her face. A tremor shook her while she waited for him to finish his thought. “Let’s assume today is the start of a new trend in which you gradually get more comfortable going farther distances from Sanctuary Sound. What’s your dream trip? Where would you go, and why?”

She scraped her dish in a desperate bid to get all the hot fudge off the bottom. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, you must have some idea.” He sipped more wine.

She shook her head. “I don’t. I never let myself think about it, I guess. Makes it easier to be happy at home. Where would you suggest I go?”

“Everywhere! A ride down the canals of Venice followed by a private concert by Andrea Bocelli. A trip to Jerusalem to visit the Western Wall and Temple Mount. The bamboo forests of Kyoto. The deltas of Botswana. The lavender fields of France.” He leaned forward while her mind drifted along the river of those ideas. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to visit major cities like Copenhagen, London, and Paris on a massive decor shopping spree.”

Claire smiled. “Is that a hint? Do you want special pieces from those places for your apartment?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just making an observation.” He reached his hand across the table but stopped short of clasping hers. “Although those are all great cities. We could take a business trip.”

We. When he’d said that word, her heart practically flew out of her chest. But then the words “business trip” knocked it back into its cage behind her ribs.