She knew what he meant. Intimacy was about so much more than physical contact. “I want to keep this feeling and I don’t know how.”
“I think if we’re both trying to keep it, then we’ll keep it. I love you, Liza.”
“I love you too.” She shifted so that she could see his face. “What happens now?”
“I make you one of my famous bacon sandwiches.” He kissed her. “And then we’re going to spend the rest of the day sharing our dreams and planning, the way we used to. I want to know every single thing you’re thinking. Maybe we should go back down to the beach.”
He pulled on his jeans and left the room while she lay there, feeling too lethargic to move.
She could hear birdsong through the open window and when she moved to the window she could see that the hot sun had dried off the last of the rain from the garden.
She could hear Sean clattering around in the kitchen and smelled the tantalizing scent of sizzling bacon.
She took another quick shower, dried her hair and pulled on one of the summer dresses she’d bought in the village. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and sent a text to Finn, explaining that she wouldn’t be able to make dinner.
She no longer felt guilt, or regret. She knew that the time she’d spent with Finn had been nothing more than a brief distraction for him, but for her it had helped her refocus. She was grateful for that.
By the time she walked into the kitchen Sean had a stack of thick-cut bacon sandwiches and a fresh pot of coffee.
“We ought to call the girls.” She ate one of the sandwiches. “How have they been this week?”
“Their usual selves until they found that article. Then they suddenly started being very caring. It was a little unsettling to be honest.” He grinned at her. “Caitlin made me breakfast in bed yesterday. The smoke alarm went off four times because she burned the toast. And the two of them have been spending an hour a day working in the neighbors’ garden, although Alice and worms are not a happy match.”
“This transformation occurred without so much as a conversation?” She finished the sandwich. “That was good. I haven’t cooked much this week. I’ve raided the deli in the village most days.”
“But you cooked for Angie last night? It looked like an elaborate meal.”
She could lie, but she didn’t want their fresh start to begin with a lie. “I cooked for Finn Cool.” She saw a question appear in his eyes. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m not in a hurry.” He listened quietly as she told him all of it, from Finn’s appearance in her kitchen, through to dinner.
“It’s typical of my mother not to have told me that she knew him so well.”
“She’s always been secretive.”
“I think she’s private rather than secretive.”
Sean put down his sandwich, half-eaten. “So how worried should I be?”
“About what?”
“About the fact that you’d dressed up to cook dinner for another man. You enjoyed his company—I can see that.”
She felt her cheeks go hot. “We talked. He made me feel—interesting. I felt like an individual, instead of someone’s wife, mother or teacher. I often think of myself in relation to other people, and that’s something I have to change. We talked a lot about creativity and following your passion.”
Sean’s gaze held hers. “Passion?”
“For art and music.” She’d come close to kissing Finn, but she hadn’t done it. She’d made a choice. There was no need to share that. This whole week had been about making her own decisions. Decisions that weren’t dictated by the needs of others. “Talking to him made me think about things more deeply. This week I’ve woken up every morning excited about the day. I’ve walked on the beach. I’ve read books without feeling there is something else I should be doing. I’ve sat and enjoyed the garden without thinking about all the tasks building up. I’ve eaten food I haven’t had to cook. And I’ve painted, and I can’t tell you how good that felt.”
Sean nodded. “What have you been painting? Oils? Pastels?”
“A bit of everything.” How much should she tell him? “Finn wants to buy two of my paintings for his beach house.”
Sean was silent for a moment and then gave a brief smile. “He’s clearly a man with good taste. How does he know about your painting?”
“I talked to him about it. And I showed him some pictures of my old work.”
Sean breathed deeply. “I haven’t seen you this fired up and enthusiastic for a long time.”
“Our conversations helped me make sense of what I wanted.”
Sean pushed his plate away. “I’m sorry I made it difficult for you to have those conversations with me. That was number four on that article, wasn’t it? Do you still share your dreams with your partner? That one hit me hard. I realized I don’t know your dreams, and there was a time when I did. I remember the first time you told me you wanted to be an artist. You’d never told anyone that, and I felt like the king of the world because you’d shared that secret with me.”
“That was an impractical dream. It’s hard to make money that way, and I never wanted to be a starving artist.”
“But as life got busy, I didn’t nourish your creative side. I feel terrible about that.”
“It was my responsibility.”
He stood up and held out his hand. “Show me what you’ve been painting.”
She slid her hand into his and led him to the summerhouse. “I had a big clearout before I turned it back into my studio.” She opened the door and Sean stepped past her and looked at the canvases stacked against the wall.
“These are all new?”
“Some I’ve painted this week. Some are old works that I dusted off.”
She didn’t mention the one she’d painted in a fever of inspiration that was now upstairs in her mother’s bedroom ready to surprise her on her return.
Sean stood in front of the canvas that Finn had admired. “This is it?”
“Yes. He likes the ocean.”
“It’s stunning.”
“So is his house. An architect’s dream. You’d love it.”
“We have to find a way to build you a studio in London.”
She tidied away a few paints, more for something to do than because it needed doing. The shell that Finn had given her rested on the narrow windowsill, a reminder of that morning on the beach. Was it wrong to keep it? No. It didn’t make her think of Finn, it made her think of the moment she’d decided to take up painting again.