Page 108 of Breaking All The Rules
It took her another beat or two before she finally coaxed her legs into moving to the couch, where she’d placed the object in question earlier while waiting for him to arrive. She was relieved to see him enter and close the door after him. He ambled closer and was probably about halfway to her position when she reached over the back of the couch and grabbed the rectangular-framed three-by-three sketch, propping it along the top for him to see.
He halted abruptly, and she watched his face as his eyes roamed over the charcoal lines of the ranch house and the pastel shades of the landscape as the sun set.
“Beatrice,” he murmured eventually, his tone hushed as his gaze met hers. “It’s…”
Goose bumps prickled along her arms. “If you don’t like the frame, I can get it changed.” She’d chosen a rustic, wooden style to suit the internal decor of the ranch. “Or it can come out of the frame altogether.”
“No.” He stalked forward until he was a foot away from both it and her, taking his time to admire it again. “It’s perfect. It’s”—his eyes flicked to hers and locked—“exactly what I wanted. Mom will absolutely love it. Thank you.”
Bea smiled, almost giddy with relief. She knew it didn’t make up for the way she’d behaved, the way she’d ended things, but once she’d decided she was coming back to Credence, the urge to sketch the ranch as Austin had asked her to do all those weeks ago became an imperative.
And it had felt wonderful—not fighting her instincts, not pretending it was just doodling or unimportant. Embracing it. The lines of the ranch had flowed from her in less than an hour, sketching them from memory and the rose-gold hues of nostalgia for those Sunday afternoons drinking spiked iced tea with Austin’s family.
He stepped in, taking the frame from her and sliding it down to lean against the cushioned back of the couch. Turning to face her, he was close now, his hip pressed into the couch. She turned, too, mirroring his pose, her blood pumping thick and slow through her system as she realized she could just reach out and touch him. If he let her.
“So. You…are an artist?”
Bea’s smile faded. “Yes. You were right. I am and I always have been.” It felt good to say it again. To declare it to the other man she loved. “Just like my mother.”
“Your mother’s an artist?”
“She was.”
He raised an eyebrow. “She’s retired, or…”
“She died,” Bea supplied, filling in his blank. “When I was ten.”
“Oh, Beatrice.” His brow creased. “I’m so sorry.” His gaze was soft with empathy which soothed the rawness of her emotion.
Bea shook her head. “It was a long time ago,” she said quietly.
“Did she…” He stalled. “Was she…?”
“She died in a car accident.”
Grimacing, he shook his head. “God…that’s awful.”
“There was a man in the car with her, who was also killed. A much younger man. They’d run away together a couple of weeks prior.”
“Ah.” He nodded slowly. “That’s why you were skittish about being with me?”
“Yes. And why I’ve spent a lot of my life denying and suppressing that part of me that was clearly artistic. My dad had been through a lot with my mom, so creativity wasn’t…encouraged. Between him and my grandmother, who moved in with us after my mom died, there were a lot of rules. A lot of…redirection. I understand why; I was always drawing and I was good at it, but they loved me and were terrified that I’d be a chip off the old block. God…I was terrified I’d be a chip off the old block.”
“And then I came along and…”
“Uh-huh.” Bea smiled. “I was breaking all those rules, but you were like ground zero. The ultimate don’t-go-there. Until I couldn’t stay away any longer, and then I justified it as being okay, because I wasn’t running away with you. We weren’t in a relationship. Which, of course, we were.”
He reached for her hands and lifted them to his mouth, dropping a kiss on her knuckles and Bea’s heart skipped a beat. “Fucking-A we were.”
Austin tucked their hands against his chest and Bea reveled in their nearness. “But actually. You weren’t my ground zero at all. It was this.” Bea tipped her head sideways at the framed sketch. “I was terrified of this. Surrendering to this pull inside me that’s always been there. Surrendering to art. Because my experience of art as a kid was quite fraught, and there was so much emotional baggage attached to it. Which was why advertising was such a great fit.” She gave a wry laugh. “There’s no crying in advertising.”
He chuckled but sobered quickly. “I’m so sorry, Beatrice. About everything you’ve been through. And especially because I never asked you about this stuff. It always seemed like you could bolt at any minute, and I didn’t want to scare you by pushing too hard too fast. But I knew there was deeper stuff. And I should have been ballsier.”
“No.” Bea shook her head. “You gave me openings and I didn’t take them, and for that I’m sorry.” She took a steadying breath as her gaze locked on his. “I’m sorry I was too busy not falling in love with a twenty-five-year-old guy I’d just met that I actually missed the moment it happened.”
A deliciously slow smile morphed into a very sexy grin, the last remnants of wariness in his gaze evaporating. “You love me?”
Bea laughed. “I do.” She slid her hand onto his cheek. “I wasn’t looking for you, Austin. I came here to get away from things, start over, figure some things out, but here you were, and now I can’t imagine my life without you.”
