All I Ask(33)

“Great.”

“Yeah, I love my daughter more than anything in the world. I wouldn’t give her up for anything, but since Chastity came along, I never feel like I have it together—ever. I doubt myself constantly and not a damn thing goes smoothly. There is nothing more rewarding or scary than being a single parent.”

I shift a little and the canvas falls. Shit. I rub my hand over my face and groan.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” I try to shift to hide the painting again. There are some secrets that a woman should be allowed.

“No, there’s something on your face,” he says as he steps closer. He reaches his hand toward me and I freeze. I’m not even sure that I’m breathing because I don’t trust myself completely.

Derek and I were never afraid of being physical when we were younger. We were always snuggling up together, hugging, and whatnot, but it’s been years. It’s been so long that I don’t know how to keep myself in check. I no longer have the shell that I built up to protect me. And now I know…there was something between us all along. How do I fight him now? How do I protect myself because while Derek hurt me once, we were just friends then. This time, knowing what I know now, losing him would destroy me. My heart wouldn’t recover.

Not to mention, while there might be this illusion of something more, it could never work. There’s been too much time that’s passed and whatever feelings we might have had before aren’t real now.

We don’t even know each other anymore.

His finger lightly grazes my cheek and my skin burns from his touch. What is wrong with me? His wife died not too long ago and I’m standing here with my heart pounding. I shouldn’t be relishing the idea of his touch. I should be completely immune because my feelings for him have changed.

Haven’t they?

As quick and monumental as the touch is, it’s gone just as fast.

“Paint?” Derek asks as he smudges the blue between his fingers. “Why do you have paint on your hands?”

“No idea.”

“Really?”

I can either lie to him or fess up and lose my secret.

Lie it is.

“I must’ve touched something at the store.”

Derek’s brow rises, just the one, letting me know he clearly didn’t buy it. “And after sitting out here for how long…it’s still wet on your hand?”

“It could happen.”

“It could, but it’s not very likely.”

Now his curiosity is probably piqued. Sure enough, he looks down at the ground and tries to see around me. I shift, trying to keep it hidden, but that gave it away, and now I’m so screwed.

Derek acts as though he’s going to move to the right and I move that way to block him, but he adjusts quickly and reaches to the left, grabbing the canvas.

“Please…”

I’m not sure what I’m asking him. It could be please don’t, please tell me you love it, please don’t judge me, or please give it back and we’ll never speak of it.

But what I really mean is, please give me back my heart.





Chapter Seventeen





Teagan




Present



“This is amazing, you painted these?” Derek asks as he stands in what I pretend is a gallery, which is really a closet in the back of my parents’ store that they don’t use and never go in. This is my safe place. It’s where I hang my paintings to dry. My favorite ones are still hanging because I can’t bring myself to take them down.

“I did.”

“I can’t believe how beautiful these are, Tea.”

There was no getting out of telling him once he grabbed the painting, although it had sand on it and wasn’t exactly a beach scene anymore. However, as imperfect as it is, I’m sort of in love with it.

It’s messy, much like my life. It has texture—I’ve never thought to add sand to the paint before—but it’s also still vibrant.

“You don’t have to lie,” I say with a bit of nervous energy. “I know they’re amateur and not that great, but painting is my outlet.”

“Why do you think I’m lying?”

“Because you’re not cruel and don’t want to tell me they’re shit.”

His eyes go back to the painting. “I’m not lying, Teagan, they’re really beautiful. I haven’t seen paintings with this perspective before. Have you ever tried to sell any?”

Or maybe he is cruel. “No. No one even knows I do this. This is my hobby that I don’t talk about, and now that you know what I was hiding, we can never speak of it again.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you always do that?” he grumbles.

“Do what?”

“That!” Derek says with a growl. “You answer questions with a question—still. I figured you would’ve grown out of it by now.”

I grin, liking that it irritates him. I don’t even realize I do it. It’s just easier than trying to guess and be wrong. If people were more forward and didn’t beat around the bush, I wouldn’t have to keep asking them to clarify.

“It’s a habit.” I shrug.