Rowan

Chapter 13 | Rowan

James was waiting for her by the doors, and a soft smile graced his lips at her appearance. "Rowan."

She returned the smile, and realized how relieved she was that they were still talking. For a moment she'd wondered if things were over before they even began.

He pulled the door open for her, and she thanked him as she stepped into the warm cafe, a stark contrast to the bitter weather outside.

They decided on a table in the back, which she was grateful for, and he slipped his maroon jacket from around his shoulders and settled into the chair across from her. And suddenly she had all of his attention.

He was about to speak when a familiar voice rang out above them, and she looked up to see the older woman from the day before. "Finally. I was beginning to worry, there," she said, giving James a pointed look.

Rowan looked between to two of them, and James chuckled as he realized that they had all met before. "Thank you, Maureen," he said, reading her name from the tag on her shirt.

She winked at him. "So, what can I get the two of you?"

"I think I'll try that hot chocolate. I've heard it's good," he said.

Rowan returned his smile. "I'll have the same."

"Alright, then. I'll be back shortly."

James returned his attention to Rowan. "I've been wondering, did you grow up here?"

An uncomfortable feeling took root in her chest. The story of her move to Bozeman was a painful one, and not something she wanted to delve into. "No. I moved here to go to college," she finally said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

Nonetheless, he seemed to pick up on it anyways. His eyes were curious as they regarded her from across the table, but he didn't push her for any elaboration, and she didn't offer it.

Unhappy with the awkward silence, she turned the question on him. "How about you? Where are you from?"

Unfortunately the question didn't seem to have the desired effect as he looked as uncomfortable as she had been. "A small town in New York. I just needed a change of scenery."

Maureen chose that moment to place two steaming mugs in front of them, and the awkward moment was gone as Rowan's face lit up.

James laughed in a response. "I've never seen someone get so excited over hot chocolate," he remarked.

She shook her head. "It reminds me of my childhood, and painting in the kitchen. I always had hot chocolate and cookies. Especially in the fall and winter."

He seemed to take her in. "You've been an artist all your life, haven't you?"

"I don't know if I would say that, but I've had a pencil or paintbrush in my hand for as long as I can remember. I don't know how I even started."

"Do you have a lot artwork?" he asked, his hands wrapped around the warm mug.

She laughed as she thought of the condition of her apartment. "I have more than I know what to do with."

"I would love to see your work sometime." he said, and his expression was genuine.

She cocked her head, staring off into space as she considered the idea. She'd never shown anyone the vast majority of her art, and in a way it was sad. Art is made to be seen. Maybe not understood by all, but at least witnessed. Felt.

"I could take you to my studio. It's in my apartment, but it's only a short walk from here," she offered, her heart racing as she said the words.

As always, he seemed to take deep consideration into the question, and she wondered not for the first time if he'd always been that way or if something had made him like that.

"If you're sure it's okay," he said quietly. "I don't want to barge in or anything."

"Not at all," she quickly said. "I would love to show you."

•>•>•>

It was only about a five minute walk to her apartment from the cafe, but every second of it seemed to drag on with him beside her. Now that they were standing side by side, his height was painfully obvious. Her head came to just above his shoulder.

They were mostly silent, though occasionally one of them would throw a comment in, like when they passed a large group of rowdy students outside of the small theatre.

The temperature seemed to have fallen considerably by the time they reached the apartment complex, and she led him quickly up the stairs to her floor, shoving her key into the lock of 103.

And then he was in her home, and she suddenly felt exposed to him. Her life was laid out before his eyes, and he was taking it all in.

She did a quick once over to make sure she hadn't left anything embarrassing around. She really should have cleaned up a bit before offering to let him in.

It was a small apartment, and hadn't come with any furniture. She hadn't owned a thing before moving, so the small kitchen and living room area included a small couch, a bookcase packed with all her favorites, and a long strand of fairy lights, which she had thrown haphazardly over a curtain rod. It was a bit of a sad sight, but it was college and she'd been lucky to even get an apartment to herself. The dorms would have been worse.

"It's back here," she said, motioning down the hallway. The apartment had come with two bedrooms, so she'd turned one of them into an art studio. It kept all of her supplies out of the rest of the small abode and had become her sanctuary.

His eyes drank in the sight. There were easels lined up along the wall and a desk had been set up by the window across from the door. On it sat jars of paintbrushes and pencils and multiple pads of paper.

But it was the walls that seemed to catch his attention the most because on them were sketches and paintings from years prior and up to that very day. Some were framed, some had been taped up, and others, the bigger pieces in particular, were just leaning up against the wall.

"You have a remarkable talent," he finally said, breaking his gaze from the far wall. "They're beautiful."

She flushed in embarrassment, unused to receiving compliments. "Thanks."

Only then did she realize how close they were standing. He seemed to notice at the same time because his heavy gaze flickered down to her, and he turned to face her fully.

She felt her heart pick up and she remembered that other night, when she'd thought he might kiss her. Was it going to happen now? Did she want it to?

He took a step forward and reached his hands out slowly to rest at the base of her neck, his long fingers so gentle on her skin, his eyes still on hers. And then he tugged her forward, placing the softest of kisses on her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, and she forgot about the fact that they were standing in her apartment, and that he was complicated and a big mystery in the things that he'd lived through prior to meeting her.

And something caught in her mind as she realized that she was really starting to want him to stick around.