He holds up two fingers, and she smiles, then turns and leaves.
“So are we going to talk about what’s next?”
I know he means about my studio, but the underlying subtext raises the room temperature a few degrees.
For us, there isn’t a what’s next. There can’t be.
For the studio… I have no idea.
“I’d prefer to lick my wounds later.” I tug my sweater down over the top of my jeans, wishing I had something less snug tucked away in the studio.
Sitting across from the one-who-got-away makes me hyperaware of every post-Phoebe curve—ridiculous, since we’re not a thing and won’t be. But he looks at me in a way I haven’t been looked at in averylong time.
“You mean, you want to lick your wounds in private. Not aroundme.”
Bingo.
My eyes lift to his, unable to resist the slight push he gives.
“I can handle it.”
“Don’t doubt that for a second.” He absently stirs the hot chocolate Meri sets before him. “How did you get into photography, then?”
What?
It’s never been Aiden’s style to let things go, but I appreciate the abrupt change of subject, especially to one that feels safe-ish.
“I took a few classes for an art credit; a professor said I had an eye, so I kept going.”
His gaze stays focused on his mug. The side facing me reads “little full, lotta sap.” I wonder if the side facing him says the same, or if he even realizes its relevance. Finley uses a variety of mismatched artisan mugs from local shops, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Meri deliberately picked them out.
“I never knew you had an interest in it.”
I never mentioned it to him back then, and not for the first time, I wonder how much we held back from one another because of distance.
“It wasn’t a big deal then. It was one of those things I wanted to try, you know? I hadn’t really had the chance to get a camera in my hands at that point.”
“What happened to teaching?”
It’s a sore spot, but I know he doesn’t realize that. He couldn’t.
My dream of teaching crashed when those two pink lines showed up, and I realized I’d be raising her alone. My parents were still working; daycare and bills didn’t care. Photography gave me fast income, flexibility, and clients who were kind enough to let me shoot with a sleeping baby on my chest.
“I graduated, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He clears his throat and straightens, leaning back against the booth.
“Before or after you get married?”
“Just going straight for the jugular, are we?” I raise my mug to my lips, giving little care to how hot it feels on my tongue.
Maybe if I burn it badly enough, it’ll keep me from having to discuss my ex, Phoebe’s father.
“Just trying to know you again.”
“Is this why you want to sit down and talk?” I hardly believe that is his intention.
“Not really. But I think we’re past what I had in mind after spending all afternoon working on flood cleanup.” His eyes twinkle with laughter, and I relax a bit. “I’m just curious about how you ended up here—all the way from Texas.”
