Read Online His Brand of Passion by Kate Hewitt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Hewitt
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more in perplexity than irritation. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I think we can manage to eat dinner together,’ Zoe said lightly. ‘And, in any case, I want to talk to you about your decor.’
The look of patent disbelief on his face was both funny and satisfying, Zoe decided. ‘My decor? Are you serious?’
‘Completely.’ She took her plate over to the sofa and sat down cross-legged, slurping another forkful of noodles before she resumed. ‘I want to get some more things from my apartment.’ His eyes widened and she held up one placatory hand. ‘Don’t freak, this isn’t a permanent measure. But I like my things. They’re
colourful.’
‘I wasn’t freaking,’ Aaron answered as he sat across from her, his own plate balanced in his lap.
‘An eye flare is freaking for you,’ Zoe tossed back. ‘You are the master of control.’
‘Now that’s a compliment.’
‘In your world, maybe.’ She realised she was enjoying this banter, and the smile that twitched Aaron’s lips made her heart sing. ‘Anyway, back to the decor thing. I need to get some things from my apartment.’
‘I can have someone take care of that.’
‘I’d like to do it myself. God only knows what one of your minions would pick out.’
Aaron raised his eyebrows. ‘My minions?’
‘I need to go through it and see what I can bring back here. Not too much, just a few more paintings and things.’
She watched him process this, wondered how alarming it was for him to have her moving more of her stuff in. And, while it made sense, Zoe knew she was pushing just a little. She didn’t really want to examine why.
‘Fine,’ Aaron said after a moment. ‘I’ll arrange a car and driver. But I don’t want you to exert yourself. No lifting things.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She smiled, his concern warming her heart—even if it shouldn’t. He was just dealing with the situation. She was the one painting rainbows.
Three days later Zoe sat at a table in the East Village’s community centre art-room, watching as Robert, a very self-contained boy of six, surveyed the materials she’d set out.
‘What do you feel like doing today, Robert?’ she asked gently. ‘Crayons, markers, paints?’ Robert had been coming to the centre for nearly a month, ever since his dad had walked out without any warning and hadn’t been in touch since. He had barely spoken, had never touched the art materials, yet his mother kept bringing him in the hope that something would ease the pain he held so tightly inside.
‘Maybe you could try a mandala today,’ Zoe suggested, taking one of the simple designs of curved shapes that children often found soothing to colour. She placed it in front ofhim and Robert stared down at it silently for a few seconds before he finally selected a crayon and began to carefully colour in the shapes.
Zoe watched him, occasionally making some encouraging observation, when about halfway through Robert thrust his crayon away and reached for a black marker. She watched him in silence as he vehemently scribbled black marker all over the paper, obscuring the careful design. When the page was nearly all black, ripped in some parts from the force of his scribbling, he put the marker back in the jar and sat back, seemingly satisfied.
Zoe rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sometimes we feel like that, don’t we?’ she said quietly. In truth she could relate to Robert’s deliberate destruction. There was your life, all carefully set out in pleasing shapes, and something happened that cancelled it all out, scribbled over your careful planning.
Robert had felt like that when his father had upped and left. And Zoe felt like that now, pregnant and alone. Despite the friendliness of that first evening, Aaron seemed determined to avoid her whenever possible. Zoe had tried to draw him out, but the emotional effort exhausted her. She didn’t want to have to try so hard. She wanted something to be easy, she acknowledged ruefully. But there
‘I think we can manage to eat dinner together,’ Zoe said lightly. ‘And, in any case, I want to talk to you about your decor.’
The look of patent disbelief on his face was both funny and satisfying, Zoe decided. ‘My decor? Are you serious?’
‘Completely.’ She took her plate over to the sofa and sat down cross-legged, slurping another forkful of noodles before she resumed. ‘I want to get some more things from my apartment.’ His eyes widened and she held up one placatory hand. ‘Don’t freak, this isn’t a permanent measure. But I like my things. They’re
colourful.’
‘I wasn’t freaking,’ Aaron answered as he sat across from her, his own plate balanced in his lap.
‘An eye flare is freaking for you,’ Zoe tossed back. ‘You are the master of control.’
‘Now that’s a compliment.’
‘In your world, maybe.’ She realised she was enjoying this banter, and the smile that twitched Aaron’s lips made her heart sing. ‘Anyway, back to the decor thing. I need to get some things from my apartment.’
‘I can have someone take care of that.’
‘I’d like to do it myself. God only knows what one of your minions would pick out.’
Aaron raised his eyebrows. ‘My minions?’
‘I need to go through it and see what I can bring back here. Not too much, just a few more paintings and things.’
She watched him process this, wondered how alarming it was for him to have her moving more of her stuff in. And, while it made sense, Zoe knew she was pushing just a little. She didn’t really want to examine why.
‘Fine,’ Aaron said after a moment. ‘I’ll arrange a car and driver. But I don’t want you to exert yourself. No lifting things.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She smiled, his concern warming her heart—even if it shouldn’t. He was just dealing with the situation. She was the one painting rainbows.
Three days later Zoe sat at a table in the East Village’s community centre art-room, watching as Robert, a very self-contained boy of six, surveyed the materials she’d set out.
‘What do you feel like doing today, Robert?’ she asked gently. ‘Crayons, markers, paints?’ Robert had been coming to the centre for nearly a month, ever since his dad had walked out without any warning and hadn’t been in touch since. He had barely spoken, had never touched the art materials, yet his mother kept bringing him in the hope that something would ease the pain he held so tightly inside.
‘Maybe you could try a mandala today,’ Zoe suggested, taking one of the simple designs of curved shapes that children often found soothing to colour. She placed it in front ofhim and Robert stared down at it silently for a few seconds before he finally selected a crayon and began to carefully colour in the shapes.
Zoe watched him, occasionally making some encouraging observation, when about halfway through Robert thrust his crayon away and reached for a black marker. She watched him in silence as he vehemently scribbled black marker all over the paper, obscuring the careful design. When the page was nearly all black, ripped in some parts from the force of his scribbling, he put the marker back in the jar and sat back, seemingly satisfied.
Zoe rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sometimes we feel like that, don’t we?’ she said quietly. In truth she could relate to Robert’s deliberate destruction. There was your life, all carefully set out in pleasing shapes, and something happened that cancelled it all out, scribbled over your careful planning.
Robert had felt like that when his father had upped and left. And Zoe felt like that now, pregnant and alone. Despite the friendliness of that first evening, Aaron seemed determined to avoid her whenever possible. Zoe had tried to draw him out, but the emotional effort exhausted her. She didn’t want to have to try so hard. She wanted something to be easy, she acknowledged ruefully. But there
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