CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Her car was not huge. Liam sat right next to her, smelling of cinnamon from the tea. As the miles sailed by, she sang along with the music unselfconsciously, and he told stories of his travels, making her laugh but also offering moments of struggle. She told stories about hers. The unspoken agreement about what would transpire when they got back to her apartment hummed below everything, breathed in the spare touch he brushed over her hand on the gearshift, whispered in the sound of his voice. Tillie hummed with anticipation, feeling suspended in some magic spell he'd cast with his lively voice, his big hands.

When they pulled into the parking garage, she turned off the car.

"Finally," he said, and leaned in to kiss her. They were sweaty and disheveled in five minutes.

She surfaced, swallowed, smoothed his hair. "Let's go."

"I'll get the box for you."

"You don't have to. I'll have Jon help me."

"Jon, the artist at the show?" He sounded dubious.

Jon was many things, but it was true that strong wasn't one of them. "Okay. I just don't want you to think I'm using you as a pack mule."

"You can use me," he said, and kissed her again before he got out.

It was only two blocks to the apartment, but even Superman was huffing a bit by the time they got there.

And Jared was on the steps.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Tillie cried. "You have to stop this. I'm going to file a restraining order."

"I just want to talk to you!" he said. Again, he'd been drinking. Again, he looked like shit, and as a person who had loved him, she was sad for his pain, even if she was the one who caused it.

She took a breath. "I will talk to you tomorrow, okay? Go home, get some rest, and I will call you."

He stared at her, his red-rimmed eyes daring to hope. "Promise?"

"Yes," she said. "I promise. Now, let me call you a cab, and you can go home."

Standing a little unsteadily, he looked at Liam. "Are you a couple?"

Tillie glanced over her shoulder.

Liam said simply, "I'm sorry, Jared, but we are."

Jared nodded sadly and came down the steps, standing beside Tillie like a child while she hailed a cab. She poured him into it and gave the driver his address. "Promise you'll call," Jared said, grabbing her hand.

"I promise."

As the cab drove away, Tillie wondered if this would interfere again. But Liam, having set the box on the stoop, turned to her. "Was that all right?"

"Yes. Very."

"Good." He picked up the box. "Lead the way."

They paused on the landing halfway up; then Tillie was opening the door, holding it open. He tripped on the threshold ever so slightly, and the loose top of the box tumbled off, followed by a cascade of papers and photos and detritus spilling out. "Damn," he said.

Tillie pushed the papers aside with her foot. "I don't care."

Neither did he. In minutes, they were naked in her bed, kissing as if there would be a war tomorrow, their bodies hot and sliding, their hands exploring. Nothing else mattered but this overwhelming connection. Tillie felt enchanted, narcotically lost in the taste of him, the feel of his skin under her hands. He touched her as if he'd already memorized the manual to her body, and she discovered that he responded to her the same way, as if they were made to fit together. She cried out so long that she should have been embarrassed, but it didn't matter because he joined her, and they kissed, and kissed again, as if the act itself was an incantation, and they were now woven together, a single length of fabric.

She didn't think about how it would feel to tear that fabric apart.

"Do you want a glass of water?" she asked. It was late afternoon, and cloudy skies muted the light in the room.

"Not if you have to get up to get it." His head was tucked against her neck, his hand draped over her ribs. The duvet had fallen off the bed, as they nearly had more than once, and it was getting cold, but she hadn't wanted to move.

"I'm dying of thirst, though."

"Drink from my lips, my lady," he said, lifting up on one elbow to kiss her, and laughed. "I'll go."

"I have to pee, anyway." She looked for something to drape around her nakedness, but there was nothing close by, and honestly, she didn't feel self-conscious in the least. She swung her hips as she padded toward the bathroom, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was watching. He was propped up on one elbow, appreciative.

Peeing away a UTI from so much sex, she washed her hands and face and tender vagina. In the mirror, her face was flushed, her hair tousled, and she thought she looked beautiful. Liam made it so.

He was on his back when she came out, golden and taut. Again, she glimpsed the Renaissance angel she'd first imagined when she saw him for the first time at the gallery. He held out an arm. "Come back."

"In a minute." She grabbed a long sweater off a hook for warmth, then poured two big glasses of water from the pitcher in the fridge. On the way back, she tucked a sketchbook and a box of charcoals under her arms and carried it all back to bed.

"Are you freezing?" she asked. "I can turn on a space heater."

"I'm all right."

"Can I sketch you? Like this?"

A tiny smile quirked the edge of his mouth. "Like one of your French girls?"

She tilted her head, confused.

"You've never seen Titanic ?"

"Afraid not."

"That's just sad," he said. "We're going to watch it together."

"If you say so."

He rolled on his side, head in the crook of his palm. "Tell me what to do."

"Just like that," she said, already sketching. The newsprint was made for fast sketches. She did a handful of gesture drawings, capturing the length of his legs and the width of his thighs, his rectangular torso and the rounds of his shoulders. She drew quickly, looking without emotion or judgment, only trying to see what shapes were really there. After a few minutes, she switched to closer studies. His ribs, wound with tattooed script. Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames, one read. And another, Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you love. It will not lead you astray. She touched the second one. "That's how I feel about painting."

She captured the shape of his head, which made her think so much of an angel that she gave the suggestion of a halo, then sketched his knees and elbows, his hips and genitals, and then his beautiful, beautiful face.

Only then did she realize that she didn't see an animal.

"What is it?" He touched her leg. "You look stricken."

"It's just kind of weird." The charcoal was in her hand, paper at the ready, so she couldn't help but keep sketching—the angles of his ear, the shape of his fingernails. "I don't draw humans as humans. I always see them as animals."

"Like what kind of animals?"

"Everything." She gestured toward the easels and the paintings in shadow. "Wolves, badgers. Today, the Realtor made me think of a black swan, and the server was a fawn."

"Oh, that's quite good. But?"

She showed him the drawing. "I see you as an angel."

He laughed. "I think I've properly demonstrated that I'm mortal."

"Indeed." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It's just odd that I don't see an animal."

"I think I'm kind of sad about that, honestly."

She set the drawing materials aside. "Don't be." She pulled the duvet over them, cold in the gathering dark.

It felt completely natural to fall asleep with him. In some part of her brain, she knew that the whole thing was going to look really foolish in some future time, but this was now. She was enchanted, and she didn't care.

After such a long day, she fell into a deep sleep. At some point, the cat arrived and circled her feet, meowing not like a cat but a girl pretending to be a cat, and then he turned into a girl with big blue eyes and a laughing mouth. Tillie recognized her own face as they ran into a forest, dashing between trees. A dog romped along beside them, and they were all laughing and running, running and laughing, and then abruptly, Tillie tripped and fell, and the fall was long, falling and falling and falling—

Before she hit the ground, she startled herself awake.

Basking in the comfortable familiarity of her own bed, with the delicious surprise of a naked man next to her, his leg against hers, his hand flung over her hip. In the darkness, she saw that he was utterly asleep, like a child, and was pierced clear through.

In the reassurance of his company, she curled into her pillow, tucking her body closer to his, and fell back to sleep. This time, there were no dreams.

A tickle brushed her nose. She swiped at it, but it came back. She dreamed it was a butterfly and reached for the iridescent colors. A girl was with her, the cat girl, and she said, "Let's go back to the woods!"

A soft voice penetrated the dream. "Tillie. Til-lie."

At last, she surfaced, blinking at the light pouring into the studio. Liam was leaning on his elbow next to her, and she saw that he was freshly showered, and dressed. "Oh no! Are you leaving already? You should have woken me up. I would have made you some breakfast."

His smile was gentle as he swept hair off her forehead. "Nah. You were sound asleep, and it's early yet. I have a thing and have to get back to the hotel, but you don't have to see me out. I just wanted to say goodbye."

She reached up and pulled him into her, kissing him, reveling in the crisp cotton under her bare arms. He met the kiss; then her stomach growled. Loudly.

"That's romantic." She laughed.

"Everything about you is romantic."

"Don't get too corny, or I won't believe a word you say."

The lines along his eyes crinkled. "All right, you crass bitch."

"Maybe something in between."

He touched her cheek. "Can I come back tonight?"

She nodded. "Text me."

"It'll be around late afternoon. What if I take you somewhere fancy for dinner?"

"I'm down with that."

"Good." He glanced at his watch, stood. "Is there a luxurious vegetarian you like?"

"Dude. It's New York City. Of course there is."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Make a reservation for after six, and I'll meet you back here."

"Okay." She sat up to watch him go. At the door, he blew her a kiss, and she laughed, but as the door closed, she thought, How the hell did this magic fall into my life?

"Get real," she told herself, getting up to start the day. It wasn't magic. It wasn't some fairy tale. He was leaving in two days, and she would never see him again. Passions born during trips abroad never lasted.

But she could enjoy it for now.