by Janette Rallison, Heather B. Moore, Luisa Perkins, Sarah M. Eden, Annette Lyon, Lisa Mangum
Steve didn’t laugh. “If that were the usual story, no one would ever leave their houses.”
“What about your last girlfriend?” she asked.
He grimaced and took another swallow then he ended up coughing into his napkin.
“That bad?” Winona said.
He lifted his glass. “We probably would have stayed together if I were drinking this.”
“Ah.” She understood. He didn’t need to say anything more. But did that mean he hadn’t had a girlfriend since getting sober? For six years? He seemed to read the question in her eyes.
“It’s true,” he said. “I haven’t been serious with anyone since I dried up. Ironic, I know. It seems I only attract women when I’m messed up. No one likes sober Steve.”
“Leisa seems to.”
“I wouldn’t consider that a compliment.” He smirked, his blue eyes focused on her. “She probably has a crush on you too.”
“Who has a crush on someone?” Cynthia showed up carrying a platter of hors d’ouevres, which looked like a variety of melted cheese sauces and thick slices of crusty bread.
“We’re talking about Leisa,” Steve said.
Cynthia laughed. “Still after you, huh?”
“She’s after the gallery.”
Cynthia kept laughing while she nodded. “What’ll the two of you have?”
Only then did Winona realize they hadn’t been given menus.
“Are you okay if I order for both of us?” Steve asked.
“No problem.” She leaned back in her chair. She’d never had anyone order for her, and she was impressed when Steve did so in Italian. But that also meant she had no idea what she’d be eating.
When Cynthia left, Winona said, “Are you Italian?”
“Nope. I know about three dozen words— and they’re all related to food.”
“Sounded good to me,” Winona said. “What did you order?”
“It’s a surprise.” His gaze held hers. “But you’ll love it.”
Steve leaned against the wall of the corridor, exhaling. Seconds ago, he’d seen Winona to her door. And he’d almost kissed her. Almost.
He was being an idiot. Winona was completely off-limits, and one part of him wondered if that was why he was attracted to her. But the other part of him knew that wasn’t true.
It was time to put a stop to all of this temptation. He pulled out his cell phone. One thing that he’d learned in his AA group was that he always had to be completely honest. Any lie he allowed into his life would multiply faster than he could blink, and soon he’d be back to pacing in front of the liquor store. The first lie to Genevieve had been pretty white, but now he was getting in too deep. He typed out a text to her.
I have to bail on your niece. She’s beautiful and sweet, and I’m attracted to her. Sorry to let you down, but I can’t keep my promise of being her tour guide. Hopefully she’s seen enough of the city to venture out on her own.
Steve pressed send then pocketed his phone, already feeling better. That lasted until he got on the elevator and the doors shut, then he felt lousy. He missed Winona already. The way she’d opened up to him had been charming. Beneath her reserved shell was a soft, warm woman who was the most unselfish person he knew.
Over lunch, she’d become more and more comfortable with him, and soon she’d told him things he was sure she’d rarely talked about. She’d given up a sure promotion to help her aunt this summer. When her ex-boyfriend had broken her heart by cheating, she’d felt like it was her fault. She was afraid to let anyone down, especially her boss and her clients, often revising ad campaigns to their specifications at all hours of the night. And she’d wanted to celebrate six years of sobriety with someone she barely knew.
He hadn’t felt judged by her; she hadn’t been repulsed by his confessions. She’d focused on his successes, not his long list of failures, which he’d told her plenty about. And she’d been nonplussed about it all. She’d even given him a tight hug at her apartment door. Thus, the almost kiss. It would have been natural, and he could have sworn that she would have welcomed it.
But he couldn’t do that to Genevieve, who trusted him. Steve could never disappoint her.
As Steve stepped into his apartment, the empty rooms brought on a familiar loneliness. He locked his door and flipped on the lights— too bright for his somber mood. He turned them off again and crossed to the window to look out over the late-summer New York afternoon. Clouds had stirred up, and it looked like it might rain again.
He thought about the two hours he and Winona had spent talking at lunch. She had brought up a good point. Why had he hardly dated since he became sober? Was it because his past relationships had brought him too much emotion? Was he afraid to feel something that might tempt him to go numb again?
His phone buzzed, and Steve checked it, surprised that Genevieve had texted back already. It had to be after midnight in Europe.
I thought I could trust you. I’m sorry too.
Steve blew out a frustrated breath. He moved to his couch and sat down, composing an even longer text. Don’t worry. You can trust me. I’m staying away. It would tear me apart if I thought I hurt her. I want to be completely honest with you so you know why I’m not touring with her anymore. Winona is unexpected. And to tell you the truth, it scares me. I’m sorry.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Instead of blackness behind his eyelids, he saw Winona’s expressive face as she sat across from him at the restaurant. The gold and green in her eyes as she asked about previous girlfriends. How she looked away as she talked about Paul cheating on her. Heard her laugh when he told her about his worst disaster-date ever, which had involved a taxi, an angry actress, and four hundred dollars. Then he watched Winona grow mellow talking about her mom.
And he still hadn’t seen her art. But he knew, without even looking at it, that it would be multi-faceted, like her.
Someone knocked on his door, and his eyes snapped open. If it was Leisa, he hoped she’d give up soon and go away. The person knocked again, and Winona called his name.
Steve shot up off the couch and ran his hands through his hair. What did she want? He’d just told Genevieve that he was leaving Winona alone.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened the door. Winona was back to wearing her lounge pants, which he found completely endearing.
“Genevieve called,” she said.
Steve’s heart froze. Had Genevieve told her what he’d said? He couldn’t tell by Winona’s expression whether she was mad or annoyed.
“She did?” he asked.
Winona stepped forward, surprising Steve, and even more surprising, she put her hand on his chest and pushed him back into his apartment. Then she shut the door. Her eyes looked dark in the shadows of the room.
“Yes, she did,” Winona said in a quiet voice. “You might think I’m crazy, and I probably am, but…” She placed her hands on his shoulders and tugged him down toward her.
She’s going to kiss me, was the last thing Steve thought before Winona pressed her mouth against his.
I can’t believe I’m kissing Steve. Heat shot through Winona’s arms, moving to her torso and throughout the rest of her body. Thinking about kissing Steve had made her warm enough, but actually kissing him made her melt.
When Genevieve had called her and confronted her about what was going on with Steve, Winona was floored. Steve had feelings for her? It seemed impossible, but Winona knew she returned the feelings.
She’d spent an hour in her apartment, pacing. Trying to talk herself out of going up to Steve’s place. Trying to deny what she felt, what she thought. Maybe if she kissed him, she’d get over him and she’d realize that all guys were the same.
But now she knew— kissing Steve was not the same. He’d certainly been surprised, but once he got over that, he took his time exploring her lips, then her jaw, then her neck. She found herself gripping his hair and pulling him closer.
For a brief moment, she wondered
if she was doing this because she was lonely, simply craving affection. But deep down, she knew she was okay with loneliness. She was okay by herself. His mouth was slow and caressing now, as if he didn’t want to let her go. And that was fine with her.
His hands moved up her back, and he moved his mouth to kiss next to her earlobe. “Good talk with your aunt?” Steve whispered.
“No,” Winona said, completely breathless. She drew away so she could meet his gaze. Her heart thudded at the serious look in his eyes, and something else, something she couldn’t exactly name, but that she feel too. “It was an awful conversation. She said I should go home. She doesn’t want me to rebound.”
“What did you say?” He was equally breathless.
“That I’d think about it,” she said. “But I want you to know it’s my decision. Not my aunt’s.”
He straightened, his hands staying at her waist, his eyes intent on hers. “Kissing me?”
“As long as you don’t mind, I think I can make this kind of decision.”
“Genevieve asked me to stay away from you.” He let out a small sigh. “I promised her I would, but now I’m regretting that.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “How mad will Genevieve be if I go back on my promise?”
She touched his face, running her fingers over the scruff on his cheeks. “How mad will I be if you don’t?”
“Hmmm. Only you can answer that. What’s your vote?”
“Genevieve will get over it.”
He grinned. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Besides, I still have to take you to see The Metropolitan.”
Her lips quirked into a smile. “Maybe I should stick around one more day then.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “What about the Empire State Building? You can’t go back to California without seeing it.”
Her hands snaked around his neck. “I saw it as a kid.”
“It’s completely different now,” he said.
She wanted to close her eyes and melt against him. “Really? Then I’d better see it again.”
“Then you can’t leave until at least Saturday.”
She laughed. “I hate traveling on weekends. Too busy.”
“And there’s nothing better than Central Park on a Sunday.” Their mouths were so close together that Winona wasn’t sure which breath was hers and which was Steve’s. “The Italian restaurant has a Monday night dinner special, and Broadway is best on Tuesdays.”
“Hmm,” she said. “What will Genevieve think?”
His lips found hers for a long kiss. Winona was now melting even faster. Even though she knew it was a bit crazy to be kissing Steve, she let her instincts guide her for once.
When he pulled away, he said, “I’ll tell her that you can make your own decisions.”
“But I’m in her apartment.”
“Then stay here.”
She let out a small gasp. “Steve!”
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She started to protest again, but it was lost in another kiss. His phone buzzed, and although it was nice that he was ignoring it for her, it kept buzzing. “You can get that.”
“It can wait.”
She disentangled herself from him and stepped away. “What if it’s Genevieve?”
His eyes shot to hers, panicked. “Do you think she planted a camera?”
Winona laughed. His phone started buzzing again, and he finally pulled it out of his pocket. “I should get this. I’ve been waiting for this call for three days.”
“Jeanmarie,” Steve said, his heart thudding, both from kissing Winona moments before and now finally speaking to the elusive artist he hoped to book.
“Steve,” the woman’s cool voice came through the other end. “I don’t know how you expect me to be in your show with such little notice.”
“I understand, and that’s why I offered to lower the commission by ten percent.” Thirty-five was standard; he’d offered her a good deal.
“Ten.”
Steve exhaled, glancing over at Winona, who had busied herself sorting through his vinyl record collection. Normally, it would have bugged him to have someone touch his records, but he knew she would be careful. “Twenty-five is more than fair.”
Jeanmarie barked out a laugh without a trace of humor in it. “Twelve percent.”
Steve exhaled. There was no easy way around this, especially since his mind was spinning circles around what just happened with Winona. “Let me run some numbers, and I’ll call you back.” He hated to disconnect, especially when she’d waited three days to call him back. But he couldn’t think straight. Not with Winona in the room. He was tempted to turn down Jeanmarie and use Leisa anyway, although that would be no better than gallery suicide.
Winona sat on the couch now, thumbing through an art album on the coffee table. She didn’t say anything when he sat by her. He watched her profile, wondering at the conflicting emotions she’d stirred inside him. He also wondered how real her feelings were for him. Her aunt had warned him that she was fragile.
But when she turned to look at him, all he saw was determination in her gaze.
“My aunt is not going to be happy about this,” she said, her smile wide.
Steve’s mind took a second to catch up. He reached for her hand and linked their fingers. “Are we going to rebel, then?”
She nodded, and he thought his heart might have skipped a beat.
Her phone rang, and he said, “You can answer that.”
She pulled it out. “My mother. I’ll call her later.” She ended the call, and Steve found himself staring at her screensaver. Something told him it was Winona’s work. “Can I see that?”
Winona looked down, and her face flushed. She made a move to pocket her phone, but Steve put his hand over it. “Please?”
Winona exhaled, then released the phone. He felt her eyes on him as he studied the piece— a regular photograph enhanced with bursts of color. The girl in the picture looked about fifteen. She sat on wet sand near the ocean, her knees pulled up, a too-big prom dress flowing around her. The girl’s eyes were soulful, like her prom date hadn’t gone well. Yet, the spark in her eyes told Steve that she’d be okay; she was a strong girl turning into a strong woman.
“This is gorgeous,” he said when he found his voice. “Are there more on your phone?”
Winona leaned over. She swiped the screen then tapped the photo icon, then scrolled to a picture file and opened it.
Steve tapped on picture after picture. Each photograph had been digitally altered and colored, adding explosions of color and emotion. They were breathtaking.
“Have you ever sold any of these?” he asked.
“A few for book covers.” Her voice sounded timid. “I took those off the market so the images aren’t duplicated for covers.”
“How long does one take you?”
“The actual work is only a few hours, but the decision-making process can be days or weeks.” She reached for the phone. “But I’m not ready to make them public. They’re sort of my way of journaling, I guess.”
He was currently looking at an image of a stormy afternoon. A young man stood near a tree, his eyes hooded. Darkness swirled about him, while the clothing around his heart was brilliant orange. It made Steve think of a young man standing in the middle of turmoil with a soul was determined to fight through it.
Winona slipped the phone from his fingers. “I don’t know how to explain it, but after selling a few for book covers, I felt like I was letting a part of me go. I took them off the market. They can still be seen at a digital art site, but I’ve turned down any inquiries.”
Steve stared at her. One part of him said that she was crazy— she created beautiful, modern art and could make good money selling it— but the other part of him said that she was simply amazing. She created art for art’s sake, not for profit. Artists of that caliber were rare.
Before he could say anything, her phone rang. Her mother again.
“Maybe I should take it this time,” Winona said.
Judging by the one side of the conversation he heard, it was clear that Genevieve had called Winona’s mother. When she hung up, Steve braced himself to hear that even though they’d only kissed once, they were done.
“Wow.” Winona turned to him. “She called you rebound guy. I feel like I’m fifteen, being lectured on the boy who asked me on my first date.”
“Was his name Steve?”
“Jack,” she said, letting a small smile break through.
“And what did you do when you were fifteen? Did you go out with Jack?”
“I did.” Her smile grew.
He laughed. “So there’s a history of rebellion in you after all. With the way your mom and aunt are taking this, you’d think I’d just asked you to elope.”
Winona nodded, her eyes dancing with amusement. “They are taking this a little too seriously.”
“Not that I don’t want you to take this seriously.” He felt his face heating up, but he plunged on. “I mean, I don’t take it lightly that you burst into my apartment and threw yourself at me.”
She leaned closer, their faces only inches away. “Is that what happened?”
“It’s how I remember it.”
“Hmm.” She eyed him. “So what is going on? That’s what my mother asked.”
“I can only speak for myself, you know. But as I told Genevieve, I like you. I haven’t dated for a long time, and I wouldn’t mind changing that with you.”
She looked down at their hands, which Steve had intertwined together. “That doesn’t sound too horrible.”
“So I’m not rebound guy?”
“Of course you are,” Winona said, looking back at him, eyes soft. “Do you mind?”
He closed the distance and kissed her gently. “Not at all.” He lifted his hands and placed them on both side of her face, slowly running his fingers along her cheek then neck. “I want you to think about something. You don’t have to answer right away.”
“What?” she breathed.
Steve hesitated, wondering if he was about to commit career suicide. But his gut wouldn’t leave him alone. He hoped that he could still trust it. “I want to debut your artwork in my gallery.”
