Take a Chance on Me(36)

Expression easing, he laughed. “This isn’t the Victorian age, Maddie; there’s no one to think you improper.”

“But still, it doesn’t look right.”

“I promise, your virtue is safe.” He brushed an open palm over her knee. “For now.”

The touch was electric. Unable to help herself, she scoped out his broad chest and lingered over the clean lines of his body, wishing she could reach out and touch the valley of his hip and the stretch of muscles across his stomach, and trace the intricate pattern of the tattoo that scrolled over his hard bicep.

God, he was a work of art.

He squeezed her thigh—not hard, just enough to remind her that he watched her.

She blinked, tearing her gaze away. A hot flush crept up her chest. Flustered, she blurted, “I used to paint.”

Surprise flashed across his features. “But you don’t anymore?”

She frowned. Why had she said that? She hadn’t told anyone in years. “No, not anymore. I used to draw too. A little sculpture, but I never was very good at that.”

She tried to recall the weight of the charcoal in her hand, the smudge of black on her fingers, the sweep of lines across clean white paper, and found she couldn’t. It had been so long, the memory was like a fuzzy dream belonging to another girl in another life.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked.

She stared at the chocolate comforter until her vision blurred, then lied, “It just happened.”

“What about marrying a man you don’t love? Did that just happen?”

She reared back as though she’d been struck.

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

“I loved him.” The indignant words were automatic. She’d been telling herself they were true for so long that she believed them.

He laced his fingers over his stomach in what she assumed was an attempt to be casual. “Did you?”

“Yes.” Of course, she had . . . kind of . . . only—she bit the inside of her cheek—not in the way she was supposed to. But that was her fault, not Steve’s. Steve was perfect. Except, somehow, she could never find a way to make him perfect for her.

“I don’t believe you.” Mitch’s tone was matter of fact.

A little flicker of temper sparked inside her, but instead of repressing the emotion the way she always did, she let it flame to life. She shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t believe you want to own a dive bar in a dinky little town.”

His amber eyes flared with warning, and his jaw hardened. “I like the town fine.”

“Do you?” she asked, repeating the same question he’d asked her.

“Yes.” The word sounded as if he’d been chewing it too long.

They stared at each other, the air rife with tension. This was a crossroads. She was tired: tired of pretending, tired of never saying what she truly thought or felt. She had a choice—stay safe and on the surface, have fun with him until her time in Revival was over, or be real.

She took a deep breath and chose real. “I met Steve when we were fifteen. It was a case of opposites attract. I was a real wild child, and he was on the high school honor roll, the captain of the junior varsity football team, and an all-around good guy.” She tucked a curl behind her ear and offered Mitch a tentative smile. “Quite simply, he was a catch.”

Once again, Mitch’s hand covered her knee, and his strong palm felt so good, so right, that muscles she hadn’t known were tense relaxed. “You were a wild child?” His tone was so incredulous, Maddie couldn’t help but laugh.

“You have no idea,” she said, letting some of the good memories she’d locked away creep back in. “The principal of my very strict all-girls school, Sister Margaret, had my parents on speed dial.” She leaned in close, conspiratorially lowering her voice. “I even have a juvenile record.”

That crooked grin flashed. “For what?”

She waved an arm in the air. “Oh, you know, the usual: vandalism, some shoplifting, harmless stuff like that.”

“Why, Maddie Donovan, aren’t you a surprise?” He chuckled, stroking up her thigh before returning to the safe territory of her knee. “What happened?”

She sobered, the lightness leaving her in an instant. “About four months after I started dating Steve, I was in a bad car accident. My dad died. I was in a coma, and when I came out of it, I needed over six months of rehabilitation.”

“Jesus, Maddie,” Mitch said, his voice strained. “I’m sorry.”

If he only knew the half of it. But she didn’t want to talk about that. Couldn’t talk about it. It wasn’t the point she was making anyway. She only wanted him to understand how she’d ended up almost marrying a man she hadn’t loved the way she should. She drew a steadying breath. “Steve never left my side. He helped my mother with whatever she needed while she fell apart with grief. He took care of me because she couldn’t. How many teenage boys do you know who would do that?”

“Not many.”

Maddie’s throat tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She swiped under her lashes before they could fall. “Everyone kept telling me what a saint he was, how perfect he was, how indispensable.” A tiny sob caught in her throat. “I just didn’t know how to leave.”