He cleared his throat. “I’d better go chop some firewood.” He needed a physical outlet, or he’d end up doing something they’d both regret.
“Robert.” She stopped him at the door.
He looked back at her.
“I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted another person.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment before closing the door behind himself. Her words both pleased and terrified him. Because he wasn’t sure he trusted himself around her.
Forty minutes later, Robert dropped his second armful of split logs in the wood box and looked at Jessie.
She stood behind her easel, so absorbed she hardly noticed he’d come back in. He studied her, refusing to let his eyes linger on the way she chewed her top lip while deep in concentration. Instead, he looked at her eyes, alight with joy. He loved watching her face while she created works of art.
He recalled the way she used to close her eyes while molding clay on the potter’s wheel. Watching her hands shape the clay had been one of his favorite pastimes. It calmed and mesmerized him.
He shifted his gaze to her hair. Her brown roots showed through the blond locks that hung straight and slightly tangled.
Jessie could become so absorbed while painting that she often forgot to eat. He wandered to the kitchen and noted a lone cereal bowl in the sink.
“At least she ate breakfast,” he murmured to himself. “But it almost seven p.m.”
Finding the leftover spaghetti in the fridge, he pulled it out to heat for dinner. Because that’s what a friend would do.
Hewasn’tdoing it because he didn’t want to leave yet.
He hummed absently while he tossed a salad. His hands stilled as he realized what tune he hummed. Tim McGraw’s “It’s Your Love” had been his and Jessie’s song. It was an oldie, but it fit them so well. Heat filled his face, and he stopped humming, only to hear Jessie’s softer tones join in.
Did she realize what song she was humming? Or was she too absorbed with her painting?
Fifteen minutes later, he had everything ready on the table. Keeping his distance, so he wouldn’t startle her, he called her name. “Jessie, dinner is ready.”
She jumped anyway. “Oh, you didn’t need to fix dinner.”
Robert folded his arms and grinned. “What time is it?”
Jessie turned her gaze to the window. Her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth formed an “O” when she realized it was almost dusk.
“And what did you eat for lunch?”
Fighting a smile, she dropped her gaze to his shoes. Color flooded her cheeks.
Robert chuckled. Hopefully, she’d forgotten for a little while that she was hiding from an abusive husband.
“Come on, let’s eat.”
Jessie cleaned her brushes, then joined him at the table. “Thanks for this. It’s easier to slip back into old habits than I thought it would be.”
Was that what he was doing with Jessie? Slipping back into old habits?
As comfortable as Jessie was to be around, he didn’t like to think of her as a habit. Because habits—especially bad ones—became addicting. And he couldn’t become addicted to Jessie again. He would never recover when she left again.
And she would leave. Because nothing had changed. Jessie was still too talented for this one-horse town.
Chapter 12
Patrick watched as Sylvia drove out of the parking lot of Knight’s Grocery. He pulled Jessie’s Infiniti out and followed Sylvia onto Main Street. Despite his desire to find Jessica, he kept his foot steady on the gas. Drawing the attention of the Sheriff’s department that seemed to be everywhere lately was the last thing he needed.
He kept a car between himself and Sylvia so she wouldn’t spot him tailing her.
