Change of Heart (The Flanagan Sisters, #2) (23 page)

“Better. I can’t stop grinning. I feel free.”

“That’s great.”

“How’s your work going?” Carly asked him.

“Really good. I’ve only got a couple more pieces to do.”

“What date is the exhibition again?”

“The fourth of December – it’s three weeks away. I got the invitations this week. I’ll give you yours when we get back.”

Carly had a horrible feeling the date meant something, but she pushed it aside. With her new process of delegation, she could give whatever it was to someone else. She pulled up in front of Evan’s house and turned off the engine. “What have you got planned for the weekend?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said, helping her carry her things inside. “What’s all of this?”

“I said I’d cook dinner,” she said.

“I didn’t think you knew how to, what with the state of your fridge.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Mama would never allow any of her girls to go out in the world not knowing how to cook.”

She put her bags on the bench and gave McClane a pat.

“What are you making?” Evan asked.

“
Salpicón
.”

“Do you want a hand?”

“No. If you’ve got more painting to do, go and do that. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” She was quite looking forward to making dinner. On the few days a week she didn’t have business dinners she’d never felt like cooking. It was hard to get enthusiastic about cooking for one.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll figure out where everything is.”

He left and Carly got to work. There was a radio in the kitchen, so she switched it on, making sure it wasn’t too loud, and began chopping what she needed.

***

W
hen dinner was almost ready, Carly wandered into Evan’s studio. He was standing in front of the easel, his eyes focused and his hand moving quickly across the canvas. She stood there watching him for a minute. His bangs were hanging over his eyes and he kept flicking them away. His shirt was the one she thought of as his painting outfit, because he wore it often. It must have been white once, but was now covered in splotches of different colored paints. He wore denim shorts and his feet were bare. It struck her that he was so comfortable in his skin. He wore what he liked, he cut his hair when it interfered with his work, and he didn’t care what anyone thought of him.

It must be so liberating to be so confident, to not second-guess every decision and be happy with who you were.

She was learning a lot from the man she loved.

The only time she’d seen him doubtful was about his work. She hoped she could help him with that.

As she stepped into the room, he acknowledged her with a wave, his eyes not leaving his painting. “Almost done.”

She waited where she was for a couple of minutes, not wanting to interrupt his process, when he put down the brush. “Done.” He breathed out a big sigh and moved his neck from side to side, stretching it.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said.

“Great. I’m starving.” He wiped his hands on a rag and cleaned his brushes.

“Can I have a look?”

He nodded.

As she walked over to the canvas, his eyes never left her. It was a little disconcerting.

She turned her attention to the painting. It was his back veranda. A woman was lying on the outdoor couch sleeping, and McClane was curled up next to her with one eye open as if he was checking out the painter. There was a protectiveness about the dog, but also contentedness as well. The woman’s face was partially obscured by her hair, and she seemed peaceful. Carly recognized herself, but she’d never seen herself at peace. Is that how Evan saw her?

“You don’t like it.” The disappointment in his statement was clear.

She turned to him. “No, it’s lovely. I’ve never seen myself so relaxed. Did you make it up?”

He shook his head. “It was the day you came for the movie night.”

She examined the painting again. “You really are incredible, Evan.” She slipped her arms around his waist.

He hugged her back. “Thank you.”

“Let’s have dinner and you can tell me more about your exhibition. When do you need to finish the paintings?”

“The gallery needs them about a week before the show, so I’ve got a couple of weeks to finish and frame them. I’m using the same framer as I did for the local exhibition, though he’s a bit pricey.”

They were the kinds of details she’d never considered. All of Evan’s paintings had had frames at the exhibition, but not every artist had. “Can I help you pay?”

“No, I have enough savings.”

She wanted to ask how much, wanted to help him, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate it. “Is the curator good?”

He nodded. “She’s got a good eye and people respect what she shows.”

Carly served the food and he took a seat.

“How’s Hayden going with his new role?” he asked.

“He’s enjoying it. So are the executives.”

“I’m glad. Is it giving you enough time to do what you want?”

She nodded. “I have the whole weekend free.”

“I’m glad. I’ve got a lot planned.”

“Are you going to tell me what?”

“Nope. You can wait until tomorrow.”

She didn’t press him. She was quite looking forward to the surprise.

They finished dinner and stacked the dishes.

“Want to take McClane for a walk with me?” Evan asked. “He hasn’t had much attention lately.”

“Sure.” She grabbed a light jacket from her bag. Winter was slowly approaching, and there was a pleasant coolness in the air.

Evan whistled to McClane and the three of them strolled outside. They walked down the back of the property while McClane darted this way and that, sniffing out different smells.

“What drew you to rent this place?” Carly asked.

“The quiet. I’ve spent most of my life in cities – New York, Boston, Milwaukee, Detroit. I was tired of being surrounded by people all the time. I needed my own space.”

She understood completely.

“But people and places are so much a part of my work that I don’t want to be too far away. I do like socializing, just not all the time. This place is perfect for the moment, until I get the urge to move on.”

Carly’s footsteps faltered for a second before continuing.
Move on?
“You don’t like staying in one place?” she asked, hoping her voice was casual.

“There was never a reason to stay before,” he said. “And so much of the world left to explore.”

She was silent as the hurt sliced through her heart. He wasn’t planning on staying. Did he think what they had was a nice distraction until he moved elsewhere? Because that’s sure as hell not what she thought. She enjoyed talking to him every night on the phone and spending time with him. She’d learned a lot about herself being with him and she’d gained confidence to try more things.

She
loved
him.

But he obviously didn’t feel the same way.

McClane trotted over to them and she let go of Evan’s hand to pat him. She was an idiot. She shouldn’t have gotten too involved, shouldn’t have fallen in love with the first man who’d treated her like a woman. She should have known he wasn’t after anything more. She was a foolish, naïve girl.

The dog saw something and dashed off. Carly stood, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to protect herself from the hurt.

“Are you cold?” Evan asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We can go back, if you like.”

“No, I’m fine.” She couldn’t help leaning into his warmth. She should draw away, but she wanted to take advantage of every moment while it lasted. “So there wasn’t anyone worth staying for?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Most women got fed up of me ignoring their phone calls or forgetting dates because I was painting. They didn’t understand like you do.” He squeezed her shoulders. “This is the longest relationship I’ve had since college.”

The admission made her feel a little better.

They reached the border of the property and turned to walk along the fence line. “It must have taken your mother such a long time to do her garden,” said Evan.

“It was only about a year,” Carly told him. “When they moved in, she designed the garden and we got Barker Landscaping in to review the plans and do the hardscaping. She just needed to source the plants.” It had been such a thrill to buy it all for her.

“She’s done an amazing job. It’s so peaceful.”

It was. Carly enjoyed taking walks through the garden when she went for lunch. “She had many years without any land, so she’s making up for lost time.” It was so different from the apartment where they’d grown up. She’d shared a room with her mother, and her sisters had the other room. There was no garden, no green anywhere near the complex, but her mother had grown herbs on the kitchen windowsill.

“What was it like when you first arrived here?”

“Scary.” It was the first time Carly had admitted that to anyone. “I’d promised Papa I would take care of the family and I couldn’t understand everything people said. The American accent is so different from the Irish brogue of my father. It took me ages to figure out what people were saying.” She’d been too scared to admit she didn’t understand, and would nod her head at anything she was told.

“What about your mother?”

“Mama didn’t learn English until we’d been living here at least a year. Papa had learned Spanish and taught us English, but Mama hadn’t been interested. I made her learn when she was struggling to get a job.”

Evan frowned. “How can a, what, nine year old, get her mother to do anything?”

“I borrowed a book from the library and I sat with her every day. I wouldn’t do my homework until she’d done hers, and she wanted me to succeed.” Carly had been adamant. She’d understood that they wouldn’t go back to El Salvador, and the only way her mother was going to get on in Houston was to learn English. She’d begun to teach Zita as well, so by the time her younger sister went to school, she was speaking it like it was her native tongue. On the weekend, they spoke English one day and Spanish the next.

It had also given her mother something to argue about, something to interact with the girls about, because the first year after their father had died had been hard on them all.

“So you taught her English?” He seemed impressed.

“We all had to learn and improve. Communication is so important and Mama needed something to do.”

“It took her a while to get a job?”

Carly nodded. “She grieved for over a year, but eventually she found her feet.”

“What do you mean she grieved for over a year?”

She hated remembering that year. She’d been so scared all the time. Caring for her sisters, taking care of her mother, managing the money. “She was an empty shell after Papa died, going through the motions. She left most of the care of the girls to me. I picked up Bridget from school and we’d catch the bus home together, and then I’d make dinner and make sure everyone had showers and read them a story before bed.”

Evan frowned. “What did Carmen do?”

“She cried a lot, or sat on the couch staring at nothing. There was a family in the apartment next to us who had a little girl the same age as Zita, and so I arranged for Zita to play there at least twice a week.”

Evan looked appalled. “Geez, Carly. I can’t imagine what it was like for you. You were only a kid.”

She shrugged. “I had to look after everyone. I was the oldest, and besides, I used to care for the girls when we were on the farm. Mama and Papa worked long hours.” It was the way things were in the country. “All the arguments about the English lessons eventually got through to Mama. She got better after that.”

It had been such a huge relief. Carly had been at the end of her tether.

“And you’ve been looking after everyone since then. No wonder you didn’t know how to take anything for yourself.”

They arrived back at the house. Carly was tired of talking about herself, remembering the bad times. She wanted to live in the now, particularly if Evan was moving on. “Is it too early to go to bed?” She winked at him.

He grinned. “Never.”

E
van woke to an empty bed. Damn, he was supposed to have woken before Carly so he could make her breakfast in bed. He mustn’t have set his alarm properly. He peered at the clock, it was only seven. He’d set his alarm for eight, hoping she’d sleep in. No such luck.

He slipped out of bed and pulled on some shorts, before following the coffee smells through to the kitchen. Carly was cooking.

“Good morning,” she called, looking far too perky for this time of the morning.

“Morning. What are you doing up so early, Carly? Didn’t we agree to sleep in?”

She smiled. “I did. I didn’t get up until half past six. I thought you might like some breakfast.”

He poured himself a coffee, took a sip to get his brain functioning and then hugged her from behind. “I was going to cook for you.”

“Oh. Well, you’re too late. Take a seat.”

He did as she asked. She was rolling some dough on the bench and something brown and mushy was simmering in a fry pan behind her. “What are you making?”

“
Desayuno Salvadoreno
,” she answered. “Salvadoran breakfast.”

He frowned. “Where did you get the ingredients?”

“I bought them when I bought the dinner things yesterday.”

Carly flattened the balls of dough between two plates and he realized she was making tortillas. He’d always thought they came in a packet. “Can I help with anything?”

“You could feed McClane. He’s been giving me sad eyes since I started cooking and I wasn’t sure what to feed him.”

Sure enough McClane’s eyes were droopy sad and there was a bead of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth. Evan chuckled. “All right.”

By the time he was done, Carly had three pans on the stove and various things were frying. He watched in fascination as she stirred one, flipped another, knowing exactly what she was doing. He’d not expected this side of her.

In no time at all, she was dishing up. She handed him the plate. “Fried egg with tomato, fried plantains, pureed black beans, tortillas and sour cream,” she said, pointing out each item.