Now That I've Found You (New York Sullivans #1)(16)

This was the first chunk of time, the first bit of space that she’d had in five years in which to make some big decisions about her future. And if she was going to make a big change, she wanted it to be the right one. Not some rash reaction because she was mad or sad or scared. Or helplessly attracted to a gorgeous painter.

Fact was, so much had happened in the past forty-eight hours that she wasn’t sure she could trust any of her instincts at the moment. Not even when the warmth of the fire felt so good...and Drake’s hot gaze felt even better.

She stole a look at him from beneath her lashes, then felt herself flush as he caught her checking him out. How could he not, when he was watching her so closely? But it was more than just watching. It was as though he was drinking her in, one slow, sweet glance at a time.

The absolute last thing she needed right now was to get involved with a guy. Of course she wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Her world already had way more than its fair share of stupid in it at this point. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be curious, did it? And since she was already sitting here, what could it hurt to learn more about the man drawing her as though his life depended on it?

“Why don’t you paint people?”

More than a little discomfort registered on his face as his pencil stilled over the sketchbook. “It’s a long story.”

“I like long stories.” Everything in her life had been boiled down to thirty-minute episodes, two-minute interviews, six-second video clips. An actual story that took a while to tell felt wonderfully fresh by contrast. “The promise goes both ways, you know. You won’t tell anyone about me and I won’t tell anyone about you.”

His gaze grew sharper, even more intense. “My story has never been a secret.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father is a painter too. A really well-known, respected artist. At least he was until my mother walked out on him six months after I was born, then took her life. The story is up for anyone to see on Wikipedia, timeline and everything.”

He said it as if he were totally over it, as if it not only didn’t bother him that his mother was gone—but also that a major part of his life story was clinically detailed on an Internet encyclopedia site as if there were no human beings with feelings behind it. But how could that be? Rosa might have big issues with her mother right now, but at least her mom had made sure they stayed a family even in those difficult years after Dad had passed away and they hadn’t been able to figure out how they were going to keep paying the mortgage and the grocery bill.

“I’m sorry, Drake.” Though she barely knew him, she ached for his loss. No child should ever have to lose a parent so young. And she knew firsthand how hard it was to deal with people writing about you on the Internet.

“My siblings, and especially my father, were destroyed when she left and passed away. I always figured I was the lucky one because I never really had a chance to know her.”

She hated that he’d had to try to find the silver lining. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“Two brothers and a sister.”

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

He smiled. “How’d you guess?”

“Your voice, your expression—talking about them clearly makes you happy.”

“We’re a pretty tight unit,” he agreed. “We had to be.”

“I lost my father when I was a kid.” Suddenly, she needed to share that with him. “So I know how hard it can be to get by with only one parent left. Your cliffs were my special place with my dad.” But since she still wasn’t yet ready to dig too deeply into her own story—past, present, or future—she asked, “Is that how you found this spot? Because of your father?”

“No.”

His voice was clipped. Definitely different from the way he spoke about his siblings. Did that mean the tight unit didn’t extend to his father?

“My cousin Mia is a Realtor in Seattle. She got a tip about this place coming up on the market for the first time since it was built as a hunting cabin fifty years ago. She’s the master of knowing just what people need.”

“I could use someone like her in my life right about now.” Though Rosa said it softly, she already knew that Drake didn’t miss a thing. “How long did it take your father to recover from losing your mom?”

“He hasn’t.”

Her eyebrows went up. “But it’s been thirty years.”

“Exactly. She was his muse. His obsession. His everything. He stopped painting the day she left. And that’s why I always swore I wouldn’t ever paint women. Because I never want my art, or my life, to be tied that closely to just one person.” He looked down at the sketchbook in his hand. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever painted. The first woman I’ve ever had to paint.”

If someone else had said something like this to Rosa, she probably would have been flattered or creeped out, depending on how weird the guy was. But with Drake, she felt as though warmth infused her, way down deep inside where she’d grown used to feeling so cold.

“These are extenuating circumstances,” she supplied for him, not wanting him to feel bad about breaking his rule—and not wanting to let herself build this up into anything more than two strangers hanging out together for a couple of hours. “I’m sure painting me isn’t about anything more than getting your juices flowing. After I leave, you’ll be off and running again like you were before, and then you can throw that sketchbook into the fire.”