“Levi?”
He tucks a hand inside a pair of stylish skinny jeans. A tentative smile curls his lips. “In the flesh. How long has it been?”
My cup rattles as I place it back on the saucer. “Um, years.”
“Yeah. Too long.” His shoulders do that hitching thing, where one rises fast and quick on one side, his nervous tell.
I clasp my hands in my lap and focus on appearing cool. “What are you doing in town?”
“I moved back last year. My dad passed away, and Mom wasn’t in the best of health, so it seemed like the right thing to do.” Before I can protest, he takes a seat across from me, then signals the waitress.
“I’m sorry about your dad.” I tap my fingers on the lace tablecloth as realization dawns. “You don’t seem surprised to see me. You’re Mr.Jones?”
A slow blush creeps up his face. “Mr.Darden and I met a few years ago at an art gala in France. He sent me the email. I’m assuming he didn’t realize our history.”
He doesn’t. “Well, let’s hope the rest of my exes didn’t get the email.”
“I was shocked to see your name there.” He winces. “Not because you wouldn’t be a great art dealer; I was just surprised to see it in black and white. I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you. I thought if you knew it was me, you wouldn’t meet with me. Forgive me.”
As always, he’s apologetic and sweet. On the surface. Perhaps it goes deeper. I don’t know.
Our eyes cling for long moments until the connection is broken by the waitress. He orders an espresso, then turns back to me. “I should have just called the number Mr.Darden sent and asked if it was okay to see you.”
I prefer to be prepared when seeing the man who broke my heart, yes. “I don’t like surprises, Levi. Besides, I thought you said it all in Rhode Island years ago.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, then hitches his shoulders. “We’re both living in the same city. We used to be friends, Francesca. Good ones.” He dips his head, a soft chuckle coming from him. “I still laugh about the time we got married with a bubble ring—then it wouldn’t come off your finger. No one would help you, and I gave in and stuck your hand in a bucket of ice.”
“Hmm.”
He smiles. “Then there was the time you were convinced a rat was in your room. You made me take part of a wall in the attic down to the studs. All we found were mouse bones.”
A small twitch comes from my lips. “Those were some freaky bones. So tiny.”
“You made me bury them far from the house.”
I sigh, pushing those memories away. I focus on the ugly parts. “How’s Maribelle?” I saw on Insta where they’d moved to Europe aftercollege. In the early years of our breakup—if you can call it that—I used to keep up with him on my socials.
“She’s married to a vineyard owner. Happily.”
His espresso arrives, and he takes a sip. His lashes lower. “We broke up years ago. She wasn’t you. No one really was. You were the perfect muse, Francesca.”
I stiffen. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Even when it’s true?” A wistful smile flashes over his face. “First love. My muse. It’s hard to forget, Francesca.”
I stare into his soulful eyes. I chew on my lip, my gaze brushing over his shoulders, the blue sweater he’s wearing under a leather jacket. I used to lean on those shoulders as we stared up at the sky from my window in the attic. I stare at his hands, the fingers that used to trace the outline of my skin from head to toe as he memorized me.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “For all of it.”
Emotion pricks at me, threatening to spill over. I swallow, my throat tight. I didn’t mean to fall for my foster brother all those years ago, but I did.
Artistic and dreamy, Levi was the son of the affluent family I lived with for three years. My social worker promised they lived in a dollhouse, and I didn’t believe it until she drove up the driveway to their restored lavender-and-baby-blue Victorian. Three stories high with tall windows, wraparound porches, and a square tower that rose out of the center of the structure—nothing about it was subtle. I wanted to live there forever.
They gave me a room in the attic, a fancy canopied bed, designer clothes, and sketching pads and pencils. They enrolled me in private school, and I managed to make friends. I even liked his dad, one of the few males I trusted. His mother was kind, his little sister a joy, and, well, Levi—I think my young heart fell for him instantly. I’d never met anyone who loved art as much as I did.
I let my guard down and slept without worry.
The sun rose in his eyes.