He looks at me intensely the whole time, then when we’re alone, he says, “Say what you want. Call it love-bombing or madness, but that night, time stood still. I forgot what I was, who I was. And now we have Theo? We’re connected, bonded, forever. No matter what happens, we’ll always have a piece ofusin the world, Ava. A piece of me. A piece of you.”
“Plenty of people have kids together,” I say. “But don’t enduptogether.”
“I’ve got no interest in what other people do,” he replies fiercely. “The fact is, I’m committed to doing the right thing.”
I wave my fork at him. “You’re getting ahead of yourself again, Rafe.”
“Maybe. But you like it.”
I glare at him. At least I try to. “I never said that.”
He smirks. “You didn’t have to.”
He’s so arrogant… and so correct. I focus on my food to hide the cacophony of emotions surging through me.
I’ve dreamed of this. During those long, lonely pregnant months, when I thought I was destined to be a single mother. I imaginedhim returning and declaring he was committed to me and our baby.
“What about you?” he says after a long pause. “I know you’ve always loved art, but did you always want to be a collector?”
I look up, smiling. Okay, so he’s trying to stick to the rules, at least.
“I… wanted to be a painter once,” I murmur. “I mean, maybe I still do. I was painting quite a bit before I got pregnant with Theo. But then I got the job at the gallery and now with Theo… it’s tough.”
“You never mentioned it,” Rafe says with a sort of wonder in his voice. “That night, you talked about loving art since you were a little kid. You lit up with it, Ava. But you never saidyouwanted to be an artist.”
“It was just one night,” I tell him.
“No,” he says seriously. “It wasn’tjustanything.”
“Well, my point is, I couldn’t mentioneverythingthat night,” I murmur.
“What sort of things did you paint?”
“Uh, surrealist portraits,” I say, my cheeks heating up. “I’d look at a person or an animal and ask myself whatIsaw when I looked at them, then paint that.”
“Maybe you could do one of me,” he says, winking. “With devil’s horns and blazing red eyes.”
He’s not far off the direction I would take if I painted him, honestly.
“You deserve the time and freedom to paint,” he goes on, tone becoming serious. “I could give that to you.”
My heart leaps, and I almost tell him yes.Yes, Rafe, forget what I said. Forget the fact that we hardly know each other and our main bond is one magical night and the child that came from it. I’m ready to commit right now, right here. Forever.
“Rafe…”
He holds his hands up. “I know, I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. I just think you deserve it… deserve everything.”
We eat quietly for a while. I’ve never experienced silence like this on a date before. It’s not awkward or forced. It’s more like we’re both just comfortable enough to switch off without feeling the usual pressure to perform.
“So,” I say finally. “You know what I do with all my time. What about you?”
“Work.”
“Just work?”
He nods. “I work. I exercise. Then I keep working. Finally, I crash. Pass out for a while.”
“Some might call that sleep.”
