Chapter Nine
Landon surrendered to the gesture drawing exercise if only to give himself time to wrap his head around the impossible situation.
He’d thought he and Rose would meet again in a scene out of a rom-com, eyes locking over sketchpads, hands blackened with charcoal: one, a prospective student who needs showing around; the other, a seasoned veteran of the contemporary art program, buoyed by the optimism only those who’ve started all over again have any claim to.
They would immediately go for coffee at her favorite shop, and he’d charm her the same way he had when they were college freshmen—with his shrewd humor and easy laugh.
Coffee would bleed into cocktails, then dinner, and when they finally glanced at a clock, they wouldn’t be able to explain how an entire afternoon and evening had passed in each other’s company.
But this was not a rom-com, and Landon could not call a do-over on their second first meeting.
In this timeline, Landon would forever be the creep who wanted to immediately spend more time with a woman he’d just seen naked.
No, not seen—studied. Because that’s what life drawing was, Landon now knew.
A study of the human figure. And in any other situation, accidentally finding himself in a class where the assignment was to draw a naked woman would have been a welcome twist. But not today.
And certainly not with this particular naked woman.
“Next pose,” the professor called, and Rose bent her body into a c-curve, resting her head in outstretched fingers. Still flexible, he thought, fighting the urge to smack himself.
As the professor had promised, the poses were quick—barely enough time to sketch more than an impression.
“Next pose,” he said again. Rose knelt on the ground and stretched her hands up to the ceiling.
Charcoal streaked across paper. “Next pose.” She stood like a dancer, one leg up in a ballerina’s passé, arms in front of her in a wide circle, fingertips almost touching.
Landon did his best to translate the movement to paper, filling in her long legs and elegant arms with inky black.
Just draw, he counseled himself. Just draw.
By the time the warm-up was through, six mini Roses filled Landon’s sketchpad, their torsos twisting and turning, their arms stretching and reaching.
Though the mini Roses were full of life, the Rose at the front of the class was subdued, her expression determinedly neutral.
Landon hoped he was maintaining even a fraction of her neutrality.
He knew he would catch fire given access to the smallest spark.
The professor clicked his teeth behind Landon. “You know,” he said, “these are rather good.”
Landon bit down on the inside of his lip before he could say something stupid, like, Well, I’ve been studying her naked body for almost fourteen years, so I should fucking hope so, and squeaked out a cool “Thank you.”
“Take a break, Rose,” Professor Amos said over Landon’s shoulder. “Five minutes, everyone. Then we’ll settle in for the session.”
Landon stretched his arms like a cat and flexed his fingers.
It surprised him how tiring such quick sketches were, though he was sure it was all part of the method and madness designed to lull the willing artist into a state where genius was possible.
Rose took her time finding the robe she’d dropped, and Landon’s body twitched with recognition.
His Rose had been the same way, albeit not so publicly.
After a hot bath or particularly long shower, she’d always taken her time before so much as putting on a pair of underwear.
I need to give my body time to adjust, she’d said when he’d finally asked her.
I was in the water so long, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d grown gills.
He’d been grateful the question had not triggered any self-consciousness in her, because it was a ritual he loved.
What’s better than finding your wife naked in bed, cheeks flushed, reading a book?
Almost nothing. Had new Rose carried some of her old proclivities with her?
The thought was thrilling to Landon. Maybe new Rose wouldn’t be very different from the woman he’d married.
Maybe they wouldn’t have such wide gaps to bridge.
Landon wanted to remain inconspicuous but knew he was doing a terrible job hiding the fact that he only had eyes for Rose.
It turned out he was in luck—at least as far as being perceived—because it seemed that Rose had eyes for everyone.
She circled the room, speaking to each artist who’d captured her every move with charcoal and pencil.
Landon had always prided himself on being a rational man, one who very rarely freed up mental space for such toxic emotions as jealousy.
In fact, he used to like when men hit on Rose at bars.
He hadn’t even minded when she’d flirted back.
Have your fun, he’d thought. At the end of the night, she’s coming home with me.
So it was a shock to his well-maintained system to feel the toxin so viscerally.
Every turn of her head, flip of her hair, hand to her chest hit him square in the heart.
This Rose wasn’t his. At the end of the night, he had no idea who she was going home with. Only in his rom-com fantasy was it him.
“You’re new.” Landon’s entire body clenched.
Rose had made her way to him, at the center of the class’s semicircle.
Landon thought he’d been ready for this moment.
For months he’d been driven by this singular desire: to see Rose again.
So why did he feel he was on his way to the guillotine?
He needed another minute to make sure there was nothing on his face that would give away just how monumental this all was.
He stared at his drawings, and with the entire English language at his disposal, settled on “Yes.”
“Do you mind if I look?”
Landon didn’t mind if she did anything at all, so long as it was in his presence. “No.”
Rose considered his work a long time without speaking.
Long enough that Landon worried their five-minute break would be up before she could pass any sort of judgment.
He breathed her in, and she smelled exactly the same, like sunscreen and lavender.
Landon wondered how it was she could take a forgetting pill and still somehow smell like sunscreen and lavender.
Rose placed a hand on the back of his chair. “I like what you see in me,” she said. “I’ve seen a lot of these. I always like something, even when the artist is a real beginner. But these are different. I’m having a hard time putting my finger on it.”
He bit down on his lip again. “I’ve never done this before.”
“You wouldn’t know it.” Landon couldn’t fight the impulse any longer.
This was it—this was the moment he’d been waiting for these long, lonely months.
The moment she would see him again for the first time.
The moment their souls would recognize each other, and she would feel an indescribable pull to be with him, near him.
He turned around in his chair, just enough that their eyes met.
Her eyes were the same brilliant blue they’d always been, so dark they were almost gray.
Like a shark, he’d once told her. Though he couldn’t explain it, today, for the first time, he noticed a few gold streaks.
How many times had he stared into Rose’s eyes the last fourteen years?
How had he never seen them? Her blue eyes gazed into his brown, and Landon waited for some confirmation of the undeniable magic between them.
But trumpets did not sound. The earth did not open. The heavens did not part and anoint the promise of a new union. Rose blinked, and the moment was over.
“I feel like you captured some of my essence,” Rose said, turning back to the drawings. “Not just my movement. There’s something about the way you see me in motion. I don’t know if I have the words to describe it.”
“Essence is one of those things,” Landon said, not sure how much of his hurt he was concealing. “I think the whole point is that there are no words to describe it.”
Rose giggled, the sweet sound like the tinkling of bells. Had she always laughed this beautifully? Fourteen long years of hearing her laugh, and Landon had never thought to describe it in such romantic terms. “So he is an artist. You’re trying to decide whether the program is right for you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m having the prerequisite midlife crisis.”
She laughed again, smiling wide enough to show her teeth, still incandescently white, still crooked along the bottom. “I thought we might have something in common.”
Landon’s heart thundered in his chest. Did the piece of her that smelled like sunscreen and lavender still know him? It wasn’t possible. He knew it wasn’t. “What made you think that?”
“I’ve got a pretty good eye for people who’ve taken the pill. I’ve read that happens sometimes.” Landon froze. “You’d be surprised by how many pill takers start master’s degrees. Mostly in the arts. Here I was, thinking I was special.” She winked. “I still think I’m special.”