the last minute, filled with every wish he had ever written. Why had she brought it with her? Perhaps because for years she had been existing in Tom’s wishes, always searching for the reality where their lives and dreams met. Right then she would have done anything to go back to the dream but knew that was no longer possible; the dream was over. This was their new reality now, and she was devastatingly awake.
Then
That evening Tom and Elizabeth sat in the old lookout with the small gas stove lit against the cold, the sound of birds singing the melody of a passing summer. Tom browsed her sketchbook with much greater care than he did the two canvases she had brought with her, which she had to admit was a disappointing response when she had chosen them so carefully. After a time, he placed the book down and turned to Elizabeth.
“I think you are quite good.” He pointed to the canvases stacked against the wall. “But I’m not so sure about those.”
It was unfortunate, but she gave herself a mental reminder of how much she hated it when her father gave her unburnished praise. “What’s wrong with my paintings?”
“Nothing,” he said, shrugging.
“Then why don’t you like them?”
Hope rose within her as he viewed them again, as if he was giving them a second chance, but was quickly dashed when he shook his head. “It’s just . . .” he said, closing his eyes to think. “They’re not very adventurous.”
Elizabeth was more than a bit put out. “Not adventurous? They took me hours to complete.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
How could that be? Everything needed time and effort, that’s what her father had taught her. Like getting ready for tonight, trying on nearly everything she owned before she settled on the pale-yellow dress. “You will have to explain what you mean, Thomas Hale.”
“It’s like when I left school. If I’d taken ages over the decision, the choice would have felt harder than it was, because I knew leaving wasn’t what I really wanted. But I had to leave; my brother was dead, my father was a mess, and I was the only one left who could do something to help.” The space created as he stood up felt like a void, and she missed his presence as he moved to pick up the smaller canvas, a painting of the local church. “When have you ever seen a wall that straight?” he asked, pointing to the bell tower. “It looks as if you used a ruler.” Admitting that indeed she had was not an option. “You’ve painted what you thought you saw, not what was there. The painting doesn’t tell the true story at all.” He set it aside and sat once again alongside her.
Her focus remained on the quilt, wondering who would sew in the next pieces, but eventually she looked up. “You’re right, I suppose.” Disappointment weighed on her shoulders, and she pulled the hand-stitched quilt up to her waist in defense. She had really wanted him to love her work.
“Don’t be like that,” he said, giving her a nudge. “You just have to learn to let go, be adventurous.”
“Adventurous?” she scoffed. What did he think she was doing now? “Do you know what would happen to me if people knew I was here with you?”
“I can’t imagine your father would be too pleased. Or your fiancé. But,” he said with a smile, “you came anyway.” Heat from his body pulsed against her as he pulled the quilt over his knees, his legs alongside hers. A shiver rippled down her spine as he reached out, stroked her cheek. Thoughts came to her that she had never experienced before today. It took her breath away to think what it would be like if he kissed her. “And I’m glad you did.”
Her lips were dry, so she wet them with her tongue, acutely aware that his hand was still on her face, close enough that she could feel his breath. “I’m glad too,” she told him, having already forgotten about her paintings’ failings.
* * *
Sleep was impossible that night for the thought of his touch. It had been so unexpected, so . . . wrong. Up until that point she had been telling herself that being with him in the lookout was a perfectly reasonable thing, even for somebody close to marriage. But when she considered telling the story of their meeting to James or her father, she found herself hiding the details, like