It’d be different. Nice.
“I think you’d like it. It’s a weekday, so the crowds won’t be too bad.”
“I just—” Her tone made him come up short.
Shampoo threatened to drip into his eyes. He wiped it away with his wrist. She sighed, rinsing the conditioner out of her hair before trading places with him again so he could scrub at his own.
His eyes were still closed, and her voice only barely rose over the pounding of the water.
“I was thinking maybe I’d head out and do my own thing today.”
Oh. “Oh.”
“I mean, I’ve only got three full days left, and I haven’t gotten nearly as much drawing done as I’d planned to. I’ve still got all these things to figure out before I go home. And I’ve been having fun with you, but . . .”
She trailed off, but he could fill in the blanks. He was a diversion. A distraction. She had other things to worry about.
The whole thing made him feel sort of hollow.
Holding his tongue, he took a little longer under the spray than he really needed. She had limited time here and a lot to do, but he had limited time, too. Limited time with her. Limited time to spend not bored and alone and spinning his wheels.
When he couldn’t pretend to have any more soap in his hair, he sighed and turned around. “Fine. No problem.”
Her expression was hopeful in a way that just squeezed the emptiness harder. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Whatever you need to do. We can hit Versailles tomorrow.” He hesitated, working to sound nonchalant. “If you have time.”
“We’ll see.” She had a mesh pouf in her hand and started working a softly scented lather over her chest.
He flexed his hands at his sides. Then gave up. Keeping his distance was fucking stupid, especially in a five-by-two-foot tub.
“Here. Let me.”
He reached out and took the sponge from her, grazing her skin as he did. She consented, flipping her hair out of the way and turning so he could soap her back. He traced the sloping lines of her body with an intensity that surprised even him. Memorizing.
“The thing is—” She cut herself off, and he paused, surprised. “With wanting to go work on some art stuff today.”
“Yeah?” He returned to sliding the sponge along her curves.
“Remember how I came here to find myself?” Her inflection held the same self-mocking lilt to it as the first time they’d met. When she’d admitted to being an artist and a dreamer, and had begun to wrap him around her finger.
So he echoed it, too, his smile wry. “It’s a romantic notion.”
“But it’s actually true.” She turned, and he let his hand drop to his side. She took the sponge from him and bent to soap her legs. When she straightened up again, determination colored her expression. “I got accepted into an MFA program.”
His brows rose toward his hairline. A master of fine arts? That was a pretty big deal. “Wow. Congratulations.”
Pride warred with demureness in her tone, making her voice pitch higher. “At a really good school, too. At Columbia. In New York, so I can keep my apartment and everything.”
“So what’s the debate?”
“I didn’t want to put all my eggs in one basket. So I applied for a bunch of jobs, too. And I got offered one of them right before I left.” She hesitated before adding, “At an ad agency. Entry level, but it would pay the bills.”
“Well, that’s great, too.” Insane that she would even be considering it when she had a chance to pursue what she obviously loved, but great. He guessed.
She pointed toward the water, and he shifted, making room for her to trade places with him. As she stepped beneath the spray, the lather twisted and ran, sliding in foaming sheets along her form, and his throat went dry.
She rinsed herself off in a way that must have been designed to torture him, then hung up her pouf and sluiced the water from her eyes. “I can’t do both, is all. I have to decide.”
“Is it really that much of a decision?”
“Yeah. Just the biggest one ever.” She twisted her knuckles. “So this whole trip—it was supposed to be about finding inspiration, or discovering myself, or whatever. But it’s about deciding some things, too.”
He couldn’t hide his confusion anymore. “But you love art.”
She made a snorting sound. “I love eating, too.”
“But you love art.” He wasn’t letting that go.
“Love isn’t always enough, you know. People don’t make a living painting.”
It sounded like she was parroting back someone else’s words.
He shook his head. “You could.”
She dropped his gaze, and he reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist.
“You could,” he repeated.
She leaned in and kissed his chest, then rested the side of her face there, inviting him to put his arms around her. “Guess I still have to prove that to myself,” she said.
He held her close and bit his tongue.
She had no idea how lucky she was, having the opportunity to decide. Once upon a time, he would’ve given anything for that chance. Instead, there’d been his father’s college and his father’s company and his father’s entire fucking life laid out in front of him. Even when he hadn’t hated what he was doing, he’d had that hemmed-in, caged feeling pushing on him.
And here Kate had all these options. All these dreams.
He wouldn’t be the one to stand in the way of her choosing to follow them.
“Okay.” He pulled away enough to press his lips against her temple. “I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but I understand.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He let her go, then reached for his bar of soap. Moving quickly, he lathered it up and spread the suds across his chest.
When she spoke again, it was tentative. “Any idea what you’ll do today?”
“Not sure.” He hadn’t really planned on having a day to kill on his own. “Catch up on some things I suppose.” He probably had a lot of emails to delete. That would take at least ten minutes.
“Will you spend it here?”
He slowed the motions of his hands. “Do you want me to?”
She shrugged, then stepped aside so he could get under the spray. “I don’t think I’ll be gone the entire day. I could meet you when I’m done? Maybe relax a bit before dinner.”
He’d like that. “Sure.” He ducked his head under the water. Once he’d slicked his hair from his face, he said, “I’ll head back here by late afternoon?”
“Okay.”
A few hours, cooling his heels by himself. That was practically nothing.
It would feel like nothing, after. When she was gone for good.
He didn’t want to think about that now. He finished rinsing off and sluiced the water from his eyes. Despite the curls of steam, she looked cold, standing near the back of the shower. He held out a hand in invitation. “Come here.”
She came without resistance. Pulling her flush against his body, he opened his mouth against hers, drinking her in. He closed his eyes. And held on.
chapter FIFTEEN
Kate had let herself get way, way too comfortable with Rylan doing all the work on their adventures together. It gave her an uneasy, restless feeling, realizing how much she’d come to rely on him.
She mentally shook her head at herself. Well, not today. Today, she sat in her seat on the Metro on her own, watching the signs go by. Navigating the system and the language barrier all by herself.
Part of the appeal of foreign travel was finding your way around, after all. Immersing yourself in a whole new place, hearing different words in different tongues. She’d been missing that part of the experience, letting him do all the talking for her.