Between You and Me

“Wait, before you do . . . look.” She pointed across to the armchair and smiled. “I got a gift today.”

“What?” Too worried to care about a gift, he glanced over at the chair in annoyance. Then stopped cold. It was a painting. “What is that?”

“Your lovely girlfriend sent it to me. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Annmarie’s tired eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “Look closer at it.”

Logan went to the chair and picked up the canvas to study it. It was about a foot square. He knew Tess loved to paint, but she’d never let him watch her paint. He’d only seen pictures of her work on her phone, once he’d convinced her to show them to him. She’d been afraid to share them; too humble. Also, it was too intimate a thing to reveal that piece of herself to anyone. But she’d shown him.

“It’s really good,” he murmured as his eyes caressed the canvas. Greens, blues, browns, white . . . “You know what this is?” he asked, turning back to his mother. “It’s the view outside her house. Up on Red Mountain.”

“I thought so.”

“That house is crazy gorgeous—the whole back wall, from the ground floor to the top, is glass. Like a big panoramic window instead of a wall. And this is the view. She really captured it beautifully . . .” Swirls of snow, a sea of forest pines, the majesty of the mountains under a bright blue sky. And her initials, modestly small black letters in the bottom right corner. His fingers caressed them. “She sent you this?”

“It came today,” Annmarie said. “Awfully thoughtful of her.”

“Yes, it was.” He eyed a flowered card on the chair that must have been under the painting. He picked it up. “Mind if I look at this?” he asked.

“Go right ahead,” Annmarie said.

He held the small painting in one hand to read the card with the other. Tess’s handwriting was elegant and lovely, just like her.

Dearest Annmarie,

I heard you’re not feeling well, and hoped a little gift might cheer you up a bit. Forgive me for being presumptuous in assuming you’d want a piece of my work, but you asked to see it several times, so I hoped you weren’t being merely complimentary and meant what you said. (I think you must have; you’re a no-nonsense woman.) So I hope you’ll enjoy this painting. I worked on it while I was there this winter . . . while I spent time with your son. We used to sit on the couch together and talk while staring out at this view. While we did, I fell in love with him a little more each day.

And bonus, I fell in love with you too. Hoping you’ll feel that love in this gift.

xoxo

Tess

Logan felt light-headed. Like the air in the room had evaporated.

“She calls me once a week, you know,” Annmarie said. “Has since she left.”

“I didn’t know,” he managed.

“Yup. On Mondays. Just to say hi, and check on me. When I called her today to thank her for this, she sounded so sad. She hated that she didn’t know I’d gotten worse. You and I keep shielding her from it. That’s not fair. She cares about me.”

“I know she does,” he whispered roughly.

“I apologized for shielding her and promised I wouldn’t again. She thanked me and told me, in as few dignified, tactful words as possible, that you two aren’t speaking anymore. She sounded miserable.” Annmarie shivered again. “I’m too tired to argue with you about it now. That tea sounds like a good idea. Could you please?”

Logan nodded, set down the card and painting, then willed his legs to get him into the kitchen.

Tess loved him. His mother had seen it clear as day, but he hadn’t. Maybe he would have if he hadn’t had his self-absorbed head up his own ass, as his mom had pointed out the other day. He hadn’t seen anything. Nothing but his own fears and insecurities. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own crap and looked at her, he likely would’ve known. And not pushed her away, and not hurt her, and . . . crap.

He leaned against the counter for a minute, head spinning. Holy hell, she loved him. He was the luckiest man on earth if that was true. He had to ask her. Damn, he had to fix things. If he even could . . . he had to try.