She’d just been thinking basically the same thing, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “An organized mind is a boring mind.”
One dark eyebrow lifted and she noticed he did that a lot when they were talking. Sardonic? Or just irritated?
“You paint, too?” he asked, nodding at the drawing table set up beneath one of the tall windows.
“Draw, really. Just sketches,” she said. “I do the illustrations for my books.”
“Impressive,” he said, moving closer for a better look.
Tula steeled herself against what he might say once he’d had a chance to really study her drawings. Her father had never given her a compliment, she thought. But in the end that hadn’t mattered, since she drew her pictures for the children who loved her books. Tula knew she had talent, but she had never fooled herself into believing that she was a great artist.
He thumbed through the sketch papers on the table and she knew what he was seeing. The sketches of Lonely Bunny and the animals who shared his world.
His gaze moving to hers, he said softly, “You’re very good. You get a lot of emotion into these drawings.”
“Thank you.” Surprised but pleased, she smiled at him and felt warmth spill through her when he returned that smile.
“Nathan has a stuffed rabbit. But he needs a new one. The one he has looks a little worse for wear.”
She shook her head sadly, because clearly he didn’t know how much a worn, beloved toy could mean to a child. “You never read The Velveteen Rabbit?” she asked. “Being loved is what makes a toy real. And when you’re real, you’re a little haggard looking.”
“I guess you’re right.” He laughed quietly and nodded as he looked back at her sketches. “How did you come up with this? The Lonely Bunny, I mean.”
Veering away from the personal and back into safe conversation, she thought, oddly disappointed that the brief moment of closeness was already over.
Still, she grinned as she said, “People always ask writers where they get their ideas. I usually say I find my ideas on the bottom shelf of the housewares department in the local market.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Clever. But not really an answer, either.”
“No,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around her middle. “It’s not.”
He turned around to face her and his warm brown eyes went soft and curious. “Will you tell me?”
She met his gaze and felt the conversation drifting back into the intimate again. But she saw something in his eyes that told her he was actually interested. And until that moment, no one but Anna had ever really cared.
Walking toward him, she picked up one of the sketches off the drawing table and studied her own handiwork. The Lonely Bunny looked back at her with his wide, limpid eyes and sadly hopeful expression. Tula smiled down at the bunny who had come along at just the right time in her life.
“I used to draw him when I was a little girl,” she said more to herself than to him. She ran one finger across the pale gray color of his fur and the crooked bend of his ear. “When Mom and I moved to Crystal Bay, there were some wild rabbits living in the park behind our house.”
Beside her, she felt him step closer. Felt him watching her. But she was lost in her own memories now and staring back into her past.
“One of the rabbits was different. He had one droopy ear, and he was always by himself,” she said, smiling to herself at the image of a young Tula trying to tempt a wild rabbit closer by holding out a carrot. “It looked to me like he didn’t have any friends. The other rabbits stayed away from him and I sort of felt that we were two of a kind. I was new in town and didn’t have any friends, so I made it my mission to make that bunny like me. But no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get him to play with me.
“And believe me, I tried. Every day for a month. Then one day I went to the park and the other rabbits were there, but Lonely Bunny wasn’t.” She stroked her fingertip across her sketch of that long-ago bunny. “I looked all over for him, but couldn’t find him.”
She stopped and looked up into eyes filled with understanding and compassion and she felt her own eyes burn with the sting of unexpected tears. The only person she had ever told about that bunny was Anna. She’d always felt just a little silly for caring so much. For missing that rabbit so badly when she couldn’t find him.
“I never saw him again. I kept looking, though. For a week, I scoured that park,” she mused. “Under every bush, behind every rock. I looked everywhere. Finally, a week later, I was so worried about him, I told my mother and asked her to help me look for him.”
“Did she?” His voice was quiet, as if he was trying to keep from shattering whatever spell was spinning out around them.
“No,” she said with a sigh. “She told me he had probably been hit by a car.”
“What?” Simon sounded horrified. “She said what?”
Tula choked out a laugh. “Thanks for the outrage on my behalf, but it was a long time ago. Besides, I didn’t believe her. I told myself that he had found a lady bunny and had moved away with her.”
She set the drawings down onto the table and turned to him, tucking her hands into her jeans pockets. “When I decided to write children’s books, I brought Lonely Bunny back. He’s been good for me.”
Nodding, Simon reached out and tapped his finger against one of her earrings, setting it into swing. “I think you were good for him, too. I bet he’s still telling his grandbunnies stories about the little girl who loved him.”
Her breath caught around a knot of tenderness in the middle of her throat. “You surprise me sometimes, Simon.”
“It’s only fair,” he said. “You surprise me all the damn time.”
Seconds ticked past, each of them looking at the other as if for the first time. Simon was the first to speak and when he did, it was clear that the moment they had shared was over. At least for now.
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes.” She took a breath and an emotional step back. “I just need to move my chair into place and—”
“Where do you want it?”
She looked up at him. He was just home from work, so he was wearing a dark blue suit and the only sign of relaxation was the loosening of the knot in his red silk tie.
“You don’t have to—”
He shrugged out of his suit jacket. His tailored, long-sleeved white shirt clung to a truly impressively broad chest. She swallowed hard as she watched him grab hold of the chair and she wondered why simply taking off his suit jacket in front of her seemed such an intimate act. Maybe, she thought, it was because the suit was who he was. And laying it aside, even momentarily, felt like an important step.
As soon as that thought entered her mind, Tula pushed it away.
Nothing intimate going on here at all, she reminded herself. Just a guy, helping her move a chair. And she’d do well to keep that in mind. Anything else would just be asking for trouble.
“Over there,” she said, pointing to the far corner.
“You want to move that box out of the way?”
She did, pushing the heavy box of books with her foot until Simon had a clear path. He muscled the oversize chair across the room, then angled it in a way so that she’d be facing both windows when she sat in it.
“How’s that?”
“Perfect, thanks.”
He