Her mind flashed on the kiss at the bus stop. The kiss had been spectacular, full of the same passion Justin had shown the night they’d been at the hotel. But the significance was far more complex. When they’d first been together, they’d set the rules. One night. No holding back. No apologies and no regrets. She’d adhered to those rules to the letter, as they’d suited her. There was no room in her plans for sentiment, no matter that she might crave more than she’d bargained for.
Liar.
There was no “might” to it.
Flinching, she flipped to a new page and began to doodle, not thinking about what she was doing. Justin’s face emerged. It was a good rendition, illustrating his dark hair, lush mouth and piercing eyes. The planes of his cheeks were a bit hollow in her rendition, so she shaded this way and that before she had the picture right to her mind’s eye.
Beneath his image she wrote and underlined a single word. Impossible. Nothing described what was going on between them any better than that. She couldn’t give up the education she’d fought to obtain, and she wouldn’t risk staying in proximity to her mother on a maybe. If she’d learned anything from that woman, it was that relationships couldn’t be counted on to solve a person’s unhappiness. That was up to her to do. She had to seize life by the throat and wrestle it to the ground until opportunity was hers to seize. She’d settle for nothing else, particularly on a maybe from someone who had wounded her emotionally. It would be sheer foolishness.
Ripping the sheet of paper free, she wadded it up and tossed it into the garbage can. No quick pen sketch would ever do the man justice, any more than a single word could describe how she felt about him. She grabbed her stuff and left the therapy room.
Justin was in his office, dark head bent low over some form or another. He glanced up. “Hey. How’d the sketches go?”
“Good. At least I think they’re good.” She handed the pages over, uncertain she’d caught what he wanted.
Justin’s gaze ran over the four pages of drawings she’d done. “Holy crow, Grace. These are amazing. You didn’t mention you were an artist.”
“I’m not,” she said softly. “I just like to draw.” And paint. Oh, she loved to paint.
Finger tracing the Deuce-8 symbol, he shook his head. “Seriously. You’re incredible.”
She’d wanted to hear those words from him, but now they were tinged with irony. She’d wanted someone to tell her she was special, but now that someone had, she was going to walk away from him in two weeks.
She regretted for the hundredth time agreeing to dinner at Justin’s house. Inundated with Justin and his family, she knew instinctually exactly what would happen. She’d make dinner, Darcy would praise her profusely because that’s who she was, and Grace would soak up her praise like a desiccated sponge dropped in a sink full of water. Justin would help her cook, directing her with light touches, complimenting her not only with words but with his eyes, his body. She’d feed him. The intimacy of that gesture, for her, would be her undoing. No, she had to cancel. It sucked. Man, it sucked. But it was better for everyone.
“Do you want help with your case notes?” Justin set the pad aside, his eyes locked on her.
“I—I’m sure I can manage,” she stuttered, her determination to cancel dinner slipping away as she watched him.
He smiled. “Let’s get cracking then.”
“Aren’t you done with your notes already?” He should have been.