The following day, I invited Damian on a picnic to the place that Missy had mentioned. I was surprised he agreed. He didn’t mention his phone call, even when I asked if all was well. That bothered me, but it wasn’t my business even though there was a huge part of me that didn’t agree with that statement.
The view was beautiful, Missy wasn’t wrong about that. I had really enjoyed our dinner with the Sharptons. They were such down to earth people. The food had been delicious, the children engaging and sweet. The night had been close to perfect except for the scene before dinner and his damn personal call after it. He wasn’t one to keep things from me. Quiet and reserved, yes, but not secretive and I had to say I really didn’t like it.
Again I adopted the no worries attitude and tried to enjoy the beauty around us. We left the picnic basket near a tree. I had even brought a blanket. I didn’t think for a minute that Damian would sit on the blanket under a tree sharing a meal with me, but I planned on being comfortable.
“Anton mentioned you ran a team of ex-soldiers, a security firm in the private sector. How did that come about?”
I hadn’t expected him to answer and was pleasantly surprised when he did. “After I resigned my commission I needed a livelihood. I’ve got the gym and that helps but not enough to build a life on. The only things I’m good at are fighting, fixing cars and running ops. The military has been a part of my life since I was eighteen years old and like a lot of guys, I felt displaced when my career was over. There’s money to be made in the private sector for men with our skill sets and it helps with adapting to life outside of the military.”
I didn’t want to think about the ops he ran, I had convinced myself he was out of danger when he left the military, but that wasn’t the case and it was scary to think about. His claim of being only good at a few things was bullshit, but telling him that would be a waste of time.
“What about you? I knew art was your passion, but what made you decide to focus on graphic design?”
“I’m not limited in my medium or the scope. I can work marketing campaigns, book covers, technical drawings for architects and I get to choose the work and the client.”
“Your work is beautiful.”
I turned to find him watching me. “You’ve seen my work?”
I wouldn’t say he was embarrassed, but he was definitely off-balance when he confessed, “I own every book you’ve worked on.”
Love washed over me. “You do? How did you know?”
A little grin tugged at his mouth. “Cam. I haven’t read them, but I own them.”
His clarification made me laugh because I couldn’t see him reading romance novels.
“You used to doodle all the time, sketched me and Cam on scraps of paper, your house, a slice cake you were about to eat. Your life as seen through your eyes and hand, do you not doodle anymore?”
“I haven’t. Not in a long time.”
“Your work is very artistic and probably challenging, but your personal sketches, the ones that reflect you and your life, I think that’s a show people would line up to see.”
What a thing to say. I was moved to the point of speechlessness and he used the silence to steer us back to our picnic.
He ate his sandwich while standing. His attention focused on our surroundings. His words from earlier were still swirling around in my head.
Our meal was quiet and yet perfect, the silence not frustrating but comforting. When he suggested we leave a little while later, I didn’t argue with him and walked silently next to him as we made our way back to the car. I thought about a showing of my own art. I forgot that I used to sketch my family. They were usually goofy caricatures but I had loved doing it. After Dad died I stopped doodling. I loved my work, but I wasn’t passionate about my work and Damian picked up on that without me even having to say. We pulled into the driveway and I turned to him.
“Maybe tomorrow we could go into town for a sketchbook and pencils.”
Love looked back at me. “Absolutely.”
The house was quiet, the sun had yet to rise, but I was awake. I headed to the bathroom. I loved having a bathroom in my room, but I didn’t love that Damian had one in his room because that meant I was not treated to the sight of him taking a shower. The memory of him showering at the motel had been burned into my brain and I could recall it with astounding accuracy, and had, several times late at night, as I made myself come.
Moving quietly down the hall, I was surprised to find the kitchen empty. I was sure Damian was up, he was the one to wake the damn rooster. As I prepared the coffee, I wondered how he found this place. Was there a www.safehouse.com that people in the business could search when in a pinch and needed a place to flee? That was a stupid thought because they wouldn’t really be safe houses if there was a listing of them. Silliness aside, the cottage was picture perfect, charming and quaint and so not the kind of place I would expect Damian Tate to secure. Missy had mentioned the previous owner had died. Was it possible she was the woman he had lost? Were we even now living in the house he had shared with her? My stomach roiled at the idea, though I wasn’t sure if it was because of heartbreak or jealousy over a dead woman.