Rowan

Chapter 9 | Rowan

The smile that graced his face at the sight of her was almost enough to send her reeling backwards. It absolutely changed him, and she was suddenly struck by how incredibly beautiful he was-and not for the first time.

It warmed a little bit of the cold that had settled around her, lifting it in the same way that a morning fog rises to reveal a glittering sunrise. Except most of the time she didn't feel like a sunrise.

She felt like dust. Dirty, and insignificant, and stuck in place until someone or something decided to brush her away. Heavy and grey in the burdens of a past she no longer wanted to carry.

"You look lovely," he said, pulling out her chair.

She smiled nervously as she sank into the cushioned seat across from him.

He was wearing that deep maroon jacket, and a part of her wondered if he knew how well it brought out his features. And then she realized that she'd been staring, again.

By the intensity of those grey eyes he'd noticed, and was studying her in return.

"Tell me something about Rowan Easton." he said suddenly. "Who is she?"

She let her gaze drop to the table as she contemplated possible answers to that question.

On one hand, she was an artist. And a student, and a chocolate addict.

But then she remembered Caden's view on those things, and how hard he had tried to form her into the "perfect" girl. She had grown to hate labels.

"I am undefinable," she finally said, "And ever changing." A new found strength suddenly rushed through her veins, and she looked up, their eyes meeting in one crashing instant. There was power in answering that question for herself for once. "I construct and deconstruct, and I'm real." And I am scared, and scarred, and maybe a little bit broken. I am dust.

He was watching her silently from across the table, and his eyes had softened. I am too, they seemed to be saying. But that was impossible, because he didn't, couldn't, know those things about her. The heavy, dark things.

The sound of someone clearing their throat finally broke the connection that had formed between them. "You guys ready to order?"

•>•>•>

"Thank you so much for dinner. You really didn't have to pay for mine."

His expression showed faint amusement. "I wanted to." His gaze lifted to the evening sky, and she followed it.

The stars had just begun to show, and she was momentarily taken back. It was breathtaking; the colors along the very edge of the horizon so much like the watercolors on one of her canvas boards at home.

"It's right here," she said, stopping under the streetlight-the one with the white graffiti.

He shifted his focus to the apartment complex before them, taking in the details with the same scrutiny as usual. She wondered what he was looking for when he examined things like that, and if he found whatever it was. Sometimes he looked at her that way.

"I'll leave you here then," he said. Reaching out, he gently took her hand, pressing something into her palm.

Her fingers wrapped themselves around his to their own accord, and his eyes widened imperceptibly.

And then he was leaning in, closer, and closer, and closer, his grey eyes closing in on her own.

And then his hand was yanked out of hers, and he was gone.