Selah slammed the car door. Glaring at Grace, she spoke in rapid Spanish. She reverted to English. “I was worried! I thought you’d had an accident! Don’t keep him so late.” She didn’t give Grace a chance to speak as she hurried up the walkway and went inside the house. The front porch light went out.
Grace got back in the car and sat for a moment, fighting tears. She felt wrenching loss after having had a whole week with Samuel, knowing it would be Friday before she would see him again, and then only for two nights. She hadn’t had any luck finding suitable, affordable childcare, even after months of looking. Was she being too particular, demanding too much in the way of recommendations? Was she afraid to hurt Selah, who had been so supportive over the last year? Selah hadn’t been concerned about Grace’s feelings this evening. She had looked at her like an enemy, spoken harsh words, some of which Grace understood. Ungrateful. Irresponsible. She cried most of the way home.
Unlocking the cottage door, Grace dumped her purse and keys on the table. The empty crib made her cry again. She got ready for bed. An hour passed, then another, and she still couldn’t sleep. She got up when the digital clock glowed 12:34.
Pulling on a thick terry-cloth robe, Grace went outside. The pavers felt cold against her bare feet. She inhaled the crisp night air. The lights were on in Roman’s studio. Apparently, he was having a sleepless night, too. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked up at the stars, flung diamonds on black velvet. She wanted to pray, but didn’t have words for what she was feeling, what she needed to ask.
My son. Lord, my son, my son.
Wiping tears away, she sighed. The chill had begun to penetrate, driving her inside. She sat on the sofa and read her Bible until her eyes grew heavy. Rather than face the empty crib in the bedroom, she pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and covered herself. The pillow smelled faintly of Roman’s aftershave. She dreamed of him and awakened breathless. Disturbed, she lay awake again.
Oh, Lord, help.
Grace inhaled the strong scent of fresh paint when she entered the main house the next morning. She made coffee, filled a mug, and headed for the studio. Roman stood at the back wall, making wide sweeps with a paint roller, covering whatever he’d painted there recently. “Good morning. Have you been up all night?” She felt her cheeks warm, wondering if he would ask how she’d known he’d been up at all.
“Had to get something off my mind.” Roman made one more broad sweep before dumping the roller into a rumpled tarp. Vibrant colors and shapes bled through the muddy beige. She tried to discern what he’d hidden.
“I saw you on the patio around midnight. You’re not sleeping any better than I am.”
She didn’t look at him. “What were you painting?”
“Nothing worth talking about.”
Nothing good, by the tone of his voice. “Could you paint Jesus?” She offered him the mug of coffee.
“I didn’t see His face.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing hers. “It’s the others I remember clearly.”
Grace worked in the office until noon. When Roman didn’t come down, she took a sandwich and iced tea upstairs to his studio. He sat, one hand buried in his hair, the other tapping a pencil on a blank sheet of paper. She set the plate and glass on the stand beside his work area. He glanced at her, and she noticed the shadows beneath his eyes. “Talia called. She has some prints for you to sign.”
He tossed the pencil into a tray. “How many?”
“Two hundred. She set the price at one thousand each.”
“How much would you pay for one of them?” She didn’t want to answer. He lifted a brow, his mouth curving in a sardonic smile. “Don’t look so guilty, Grace. I wouldn’t hang one on my wall, either.” He swiveled on the stool. “Problem is, I’ve lost my momentum. I don’t have a clue what to draw or paint right now.”
“It’ll come to you.”
He gave a bleak laugh. “Maybe God has a problem with my work, too.”
“Maybe He has something else for you to do.”
“Such as?”
She wished he’d stop looking at her. “I don’t know. Ask Him.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You just talk to Him. I do it all the time.”
“I don’t hear you talking all the time.”
“You don’t have to pray out loud.” She looked at the blank sheet of drawing paper. “Hector told me when he painted pottery, he’d start with an ordinary shape. A cactus, for example, or boulders.” Roman had plenty of those on his property.
“As you know, cacti and boulders aren’t my thing.” He looked her over. “I’d be more inspired if you posed for me.”
Her mouth fell open. He must be kidding. “Very funny. If you want a model, I have a file of letters from a dozen beautiful women very willing to do that.”
“I’m not asking you to take your clothes off, Grace. Just sit for an hour. It might get me started on something other than what I’ve been doing.” He nodded toward the wall he’d buffed that morning.
Grace’s whole body went hot. She couldn’t sit for an hour with him looking at her. She shook her head, mortified at the warmth that spread up her neck into her cheeks. “If you need inspiration, try what Hector does. Start with a line.”
Roman smiled slightly. “Okay. Give me a line.” He handed her the sketchbook and a pencil. “Let’s see if it inspires me.”
Grace went over to the windows and tried to match the horizon. She put the sketchbook and pencil on his worktable. “See what you can do with that.”
He gave a dry laugh. “I should’ve known you’d want a landscape.”
She stopped in the doorway and faced him. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Roman. But maybe working on a landscape rather than painting whatever it is you hid on that wall would help you sleep at night.”
“And what about you?” He looked at her intently. “What’s keeping you awake at night?”
Her heart pounded. “Nothing you can fix.”
Roman saw Brian sitting on the patio wall Tuesday afternoon, obviously waiting for Grace. He stood when she came down the path, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. Roman ground his teeth and moved away from the window. They’d probably be heading off to whatever quiet, romantic restaurant Henley had picked for the evening.
He didn’t like the kind of heat building inside him. What right did he have to feel hurt or angry?
Think about something else. Don’t speculate on what might be happening over there right now.
Picking up the sketch pad, he focused on the simple curves Grace had drawn. He imagined shapes forming, muted colors, shadows. Grace wasn’t going to get a landscape out of him. He’d give her something else to think about. Sitting at his drafting table, he used her line to begin his work.
Sunset was a blaze of bright orange and golds, high streaks of purple that suited his mood. Everything seemed quiet at the cottage. Maybe Grace and Prince Charming had gone out for dinner while he was sketching. A light was on, but then she might have left it so she wouldn’t have to walk into a dark house.
Driven by curiosity, Roman went downstairs. Pain radiated from his calf as he went out the front door. Henley’s tan Suburban was still parked at the cottage. Roman muttered a foul word under his breath. So much for chaste kisses.
He had to get out of the house, or he’d do something stupid. Grace didn’t belong to him. She could be with whomever and do whatever she wanted. What could be better for a girl like Grace Moore than a youth pastor?
Burning up inside, Roman went back to his studio walk-in closet, where he kept all his paint supplies. Grabbing a backpack, he stuffed in a couple cans of spray paint and a hard hat with lamp. He might not be able to climb ladders or do parkour anymore, but there were places that screamed for a piece of graffiti. He did an online search of pedestrian tunnels in Los Angeles County, pulled up a map, studied it briefly, and made a quick plan.