When he glanced at her she wore a soft blush and smiled, but there were lines of tension around her eyes. If that guy gave her one more mind fuck, Parker was going to go ballistic.
He hated seeing her upset for no reason. Okay, she had a reason, but was Bishop really worth it? The man only seemed to make her sad.
“I have an idea.” He turned the car off the next exit and followed it down a ways.
She gave him a suspicious smirk. “Not Japanese.”
“If you’re in the mood for fish, I can do you one better.”
They settled in for the drive and he centered the conversation around easy things, hoping to distract her from whatever had upset her earlier. Parking was always a nightmare in the city, but he found a lot a few blocks away from their destination and it was a nice day for a walk.
Once he paid for parking and pocketed his keys, he grabbed her door. “Come on.” He took her hand and led her east.
“Where are we going?”
“You said your day sucked. We’re gonna fix that.” They reached a set of wide cement steps and he paused.
She eyed him curiously. “The aquarium?”
“Why not?”
She laughed and echoed his reasoning. “Why not?”
Being that it was the middle of a weekday, the lobby was clogged with school age children and teachers looking like they’d rather be at happy hour. Parker paid their admission and first took her to the food court, which was as noisy as a middle school cafeteria.
He ordered two hot dogs and a couple sodas then carried them to a simple table in the corner, barely big enough to fit the lunch tray. Isadora smirked as he poured the sodas into paper cups full of ice.
“Not what you had in mind?” he asked.
“Not at all, but somehow better than anything I imagined.”
“Wait…”
He leaned over the brick divider where an indoor garden bed grew marigolds and plucked a flower. He popped it into the empty soda can and placed it in the center of the table between their paper plates and dogs.
“Ambiance for m’lady.”
Blushing, she bit into her bun. “Are we going to see some exhibits after this?”
“Of course. But I’ll expect you to be on your best behavior, Miss Patras, being that we’re guests today. No running, inside voices, and there will be a test tomorrow.”
“A test? I forgot my notebook.”
He tapped his temple. “Then you’d better pay close attention.”
They finished their lunch just as one of the nearby classes walked their trays to the trashcans. A frazzled teacher called for everyone to find their buddy and line up by the ramp leading out of the food court.
She glanced at him. “Will you be my buddy?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
They ditched their trays and trailed behind the class, which seemed made up of nine-year-olds. Though they were stragglers, they remained close enough to hear everything the teacher and the aquarium guide said. They traveled through a tunnel surrounded by sharks, watched stingrays feed, and spent a good five minutes talking like characters from Finding Nemo when they visited sea turtle exhibit.
As the class made their way outside they joined another group and gathered around an open tank to watch a live show.
“Who wants to feed the hippos?” a woman asked, her voice echoing over a speaker.
All the children cheered as an aquarium worker searched for a few volunteers, selecting a little boy and a little girl.
“Raise your hand,” Parker urged, nudging Isadora.
“No!” She flushed, shrinking into his side.
“Why? Have you fed hippos before?”
“No, but I think she’s looking for smaller volunteers.”
He scoffed and yelled, “Right here!”
The woman running the show looked their way as Parker pointed at his reluctant buddy.
“Come on down,” the lady called and Isadora’s blush darkened from soft pink to deep ruby.
Before she could object, he nudged her in the direction of the other volunteers. “Go on. This is going to be on the test.”
Isa was adorable with the group of children. The woman in charge muted her microphone and Parker watched, as she enlisted Isadora’s help in getting the kids into position. A large watermelon was quartered and they were each given a slice.
“On the count of three, we’re going to toss them in. Everyone count with me!”
Parker smiled, watching Isadora and the children turn toward the open tank with their big slices of watermelon. Her nurturing instincts were so evident in that moment, the way she gently placed a hand on one little volunteer’s shoulder and pointed to the tank, whispering something into the boy’s ear and smiling. She was a natural with children, kind and patient, and he really liked seeing her interact with them.
He counted with the crowd. “One … two … three!”
It wasn’t clear who enjoyed themselves more, the children, the hippos, or the grown woman laughing as water splashed the line of volunteers. He was pretty sure it was the latter.
“You’ve all been great helpers!”
Isadora came back to the bleachers, laughing and wearing a spot of pink on her damp blouse. “I did it!”
He took her hand and squeezed. “You were awesome!”
“They’re a little scary up close,” she joked, but he could tell she was glad she volunteered.
“Ready to go see the penguins?”
They blew off the rest of the afternoon, jumping from one class trip to the next. At the end of the day, they sat out front on the big cement steps eating ice cream cones and watching the kids climb onto school buses.
“Thank you.”
He cocked his head and smiled at her. “For?”
“This. Everything. Being you.”
Leaning close, he pressed his cold lips to her cheek and she turned, meeting his kiss head on. His eyes closed for the briefest moment when everything seemed perfect, but then he reluctantly drew back. “Miss Patras, the children.”
She giggled and took a swipe of ice cream with her tongue. “You make me feel like a kid, Parker.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
She licked a dribble from the side of her cone. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever really felt like that, even when I was young. You make life fun.”
“What else should it be?”
“I guess … nothing.”
He tossed the point of his cone into his mouth and wiped his fingers with the tiny napkin. “I think I’m always trying to have fun because my childhood was cut short. Maybe we’re alike in that way. You were only a little older than I was when your dad left. The two of us have a lot of missed opportunities to catch up on.”
“Yeah.” She nodded, staring off at the children as the last bus loaded. “There’s a lot I wanted to do when I was younger, but I never had the chance.”
“You still have time.” He followed her gaze as the teacher trailed the last student into a yellow bus. He glanced at Isadora, seeing a sort of hidden yearning in her stare. “Do you want kids, Isa?”
She smiled and then, as if not realizing how her expression changed, bit her lip. “Moms have babies in their twenties.”
“Not all moms.”
She was no longer eating her ice cream. “I raised Lucian and Toni. Asking for more seems greedy.”
“It’s not greedy. What do you want?” The buses pulled away and the city quieted for a moment.
“I know every family has their issues. Every marriage has its struggles. And every situation’s different. What works for one person isn’t necessarily the answer for someone else. I guess I just want to be happy.”
He stared at her as she looked straight ahead. Knowing she was thinking of Bishop in that moment, thinking of their past and wondering about her future, he tried to imagine how he was fitting into that future. He wished he had some wise words to say about the missed opportunities of her past, some way of telling her it
would be okay.
“Sometimes, life changes in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it’s bad, but a lot of times it’s good. You just have to keep an eye open for possibilities.”
He caught the exact moment she shut away her disappointment and slid on a mask as if she wasn’t entitled to hope for such things.
“We should get back,” she whispered then laughed and held out her hands. “I’m a sticky mess. We’ll need to find a sink before we go.”
He hoped she’d eventually get everything she deserved and let all the disappointments go. But he knew that was something she’d have to experience, not something anyone could promise.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
When they returned to her house she seemed her usual self again, but every once in a while he’d catch her frowning, only to have her cover it with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He waited in the foyer for her as she hung her purse in the hall closet.
They didn’t spend much time in the other rooms of her house and there were a lot of areas he hadn’t entered. When he visited they usually hung in the den, the kitchen, or her bedroom. Pacing by the stairs, he nudged open a door and found a dark room that smelled musty and unused.
“That’s the library.”
He turned, not hearing her approach. “You have a library? Why don’t you use it?” Isadora loved books.
She shrugged. “It still has a lot of my dad’s old stuff in it. You can go in if you want.”
He stepped across the threshold and she switched on a light. Dark burgundy walls with ornate mahogany moldings rose over ten feet.
The furniture was medieval and covered with a layer of dust. A gaping fireplace stood at the other end, two winged chairs cozied around a marble table just large enough for the ornate chess set that sat on top. One wall had windows with thick velvet drapes, but the other wall was covered, floor to ceiling, with books.
“You don’t like this room?” His fingers traced over the aged spines. A lot of titles written in French and what looked like German.
Isadora stood beside the chairs, looking small and uncomfortable. “I was never allowed in here when I was little. My dad had certain parts of the house he forbade us to enter. His study was another one. I hardly go in there either.”
He faced her and frowned. “But you bought the house from him a few years ago?”
She nodded. “It’s mine. I had to work for a couple years and bank all of my income to afford it, but I did and I know I can change it. I just…” She shrugged.
It didn’t make sense for her to avoid a room as gorgeous as this one. Those walls should hold her books. No wonder he always found novels piled in random corners of the house. “It’s a beautiful room.”
“I know. But it’s dark and dreary. Maybe if it was painted a different color, but you know me and colors. I’d have to hire a decorator and—”
“I’ll help you paint it. We don’t need a decorator.”
Her lips parted. “You know how to paint?”
“Anyone can paint.” Although… “I mean, I’m no Michelangelo, but I think I could paint a room.”
She glanced at the high walls, her gaze slowly moving around the room. “I never considered doing it myself. We always had servants that handled the renovations. I try to fix things here and there, but I usually end up calling a contractor.”
Flattening his palm on the wall, he inspected the paneling. “We could totally paint this. What color do you think would look nice?”
“I … don’t know. Something lighter I suppose.”
Overlooking the fact that she saw the world in different shades, he moved to the windows and drew back the heavy drapes.
“I can see you sitting here, in the sunlight, reading some ridiculously romantic love story like Jane Eyre, on an overstuffed chair. You’ll need a table to hold your tissues, because you’re a sucker for broken heroes and happy endings.”
He moved to the corner where a slightly creepy statue of war figures stood four feet high. “Over here you’d have something ornate, something you found at a rummage sale that was one degree above garbage, but you couldn’t bear to see it turn to trash. Maybe a tarnished birdcage or a broken grandfather clock that ticks but never chimes. Whatever it is, you love it, because no one else could and it’s secretly your favorite object in the room.”
He moved to the desk, drawing back another curtain. “This would go. You’d have a delicate desk, something sturdy, but absolutely feminine, probably with clawed feet.”
She stared at him, mouth agape.
“Did I get it all wrong?” he asked, unsure what to make of her expression.
“No,” she laughed. “That sounds incredible. How did you…”
Relieved, he smiled. “I know you, Isadora.” He knew her by heart.
The center of her throat pulled tight as her breathing accelerated. “What color would the walls be?”
He glanced at the dark tones and scrunched his nose. “I think something cheerful, like a light, buttery yellow.”
A slow smile curved her lips as she glanced around the room. “I think that sounds lovely. Will you really help me do it?”
“Of course. Just say when.” He moved to the chessboard and bent low, blowing out a gust of air and sending dust motes scattering into the filtered light. “Now this is pretty cool. Do you play?”
“Occasionally. Do you?”
“No. I never learned, but I always wanted to.”
She shifted a chair to face the board and sat. “I can teach you.”
“Really?”
She laughed at him. “You just offered to paint an enormous room in my house. I think I can handle teaching you chess.”
He turned the other chair and sat across from her, his gaze crawling over the intricate pieces. “I’ll be the Aristotle to your Plato. I’m ready for my first lesson.”
She adjusted the table. All but four pieces were on the board, lined up in neat little rows. “Well, it’s all about protecting the king. He’s this one and this is his queen.”
He listened as she described how each piece moved and what their limits were. “This is the knight. Of all the pieces, he and the queen are my favorites.”
“Why?”
Her lips pursed as she stared down at the board. “She can move as far as she wants in any direction. She’s fearless. And the knight… He’s unpredictable. He’s the only piece that can jump others to get where he wants to go—the usual rules don’t apply to him. He’s versatile.”
As he analyzed all the pieces his brow creased. “And what are these?” He lifted the four that were lying beside the board.
Her lashes hid her eyes. “They’re the bishops.”
He understood then. When he’d blown off the dust, certain pieces were out of place. The pawns were shifted from the front lines and the queen was moving toward the opposition. All the bishops were knocked out of the game. “Were you the last person who played?”
She nodded and took the pieces from his hand. “The bishops can only move diagonally—”
His hand closed over hers, stilling her from placing the pieces back on the board.
“Why did you knock him out of the game?”
Her face tipped away and her lips trembled. She seemed to struggle to find a decent explanation, but eventually, she whispered, “Because he broke my heart.”
Five little words and he was ready to throw something. His throat tightened as a single tear slid down her cheek. “When, Isa?”
Her head shook and she wiped the tear away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” He took the pieces from her and set them aside. Sliding the game out of the way, he pulled her chair closer and took her hands in his. “I know you moved those pieces a long time ago, but did something happen today?”
She sniffled. “What happened today has nothing to do with him.”
“What happened?”
She looked at him, her eyes glassy and full of innocence. “I realized I’ll never go b
ack to him again. It’s over.”
His heart lifted, seeming to lodge in his throat, but before he got excited, his relief was punctured by her palpable sadness. He needed to understand what happened. “Why?”
She blinked up at him. “Because I’m in love with you.”
He stilled. His hands suddenly as numb as his face. “You’re…”
“I love you, Parker. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I realized I don’t need you to say it at the same time. I can be patient and over time maybe—”
He cut off her words, pressing his mouth to hers. It was a terrible kiss, his mind too hung up on her confession for him to actually focus on what he was doing.
Pulling back, he laughed. “You love me?”
She licked her lips and smiled shyly. “I’m not sure when it happened, but I might have fallen the day you knocked me over—literally and figuratively.”
He kissed her again, shocked and amazed and bursting with enough energy to run a marathon. “Say it.”
She giggled. “What?”
“Please say it.”
She smiled up at him. “I love you, Parker.”
His eyes closed as he fell back in his chair, hand on his chest. Peeking through his lashes, he laughed at her expression.
He sat up and took her hands in his. He couldn’t leave her wondering. “I love you, too, Isadora.”
Her smile fell and her eyes flooded. Her lips trembled and when she blinked, twin tears fell down her face unchecked.
“Why are you crying?”
Shit, he didn’t mean to make her cry. He stood and searched the room for tissues, not finding any.
“Damn it, this is why you need a tissue table in here.” He bunched the hem of his T-shirt around his finger and wiped her eyes.
She laughed, which only made her cry more.
“You’re like a watering can.”
She caught his arm and pulled herself up so they were standing face to face. “I’m crying because I’m happy. These are good tears.”
His arms dropped to his sides as he stared at her. Really saw her, every perfection and every imperfection that made her the right woman, the most genuine woman he’d ever known. He was never letting her go.
“It’s over with Bishop? You’re really through with him?”