Page 13 of Vows in Sin

“You did?” I place the food back on the plate, wiping my fingers and mouth with a napkin. “Tell me more.”

A stroke of his beard later, and he’s ready to share. “Nothing fancy, just pencil to paper. I like to draw people. Faces. Try to capture their expressions and personality with only two simple tools. It’s a challenge.”

“Who was your favorite muse?” I ask.

“My ex-wife.” He looks at me, weighing my reaction.

I’m not a jealous girl. Way more of a curious one. I want to know everything about the woman who got this man to put a ring on it. “Tell me about her.”

And he does. He tells me how they met, her quirks, and what he loved about her. He doesn’t say if they had children or pets together. I want to ask, but don’t.

As if sensing my question, he eyes me. “We had one kid. A daughter.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was. When I joined the Bachmans, children weren’t allowed to live in the Village. I would have had to work something out, but I would have. I’d have done anything for her.”

“Lucky girl.” I sense that talking about his daughter is off-limits. “So children weren’t allowed in the Village at one point, but they are, now?”

“We’ve typically kept the Village strictly child-free, having families live at the Parrish, or our town in Connecticut, the Hamlet.

Cash’s brother died, and he adopted her daughter.

” He swallows hard before he says the little girl’s name.

“Janie. Anyway, he was set to become the head of the Village when Rockland retired. So, the ban was lifted. We build a schoolhouse, and his wife, Ella, runs it.”

“I guess that’s a risk. Having them in the city, the place you’re most vulnerable,” I muse.

He looks up from his mug. “Vulnerable? We have higher-tech security than the military.”

I shrug. “Still. Seems risky.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t say I haven’t felt the same way before. But those little ones—” His smile beams as he looks up at me. “They just brighten our dark world, don’t they?”

The look in those green eyes as they study my face makes my empty womb throb, like a clock I’ve never been aware of before is ticking. Whoa! Never felt that before. His words are touching, his green eyes gorgeous, and he’s a loyal protector.

Is this man making me—a self-proclaimed career woman, single as a pringle—want to have a baby? I stare at the crumbs on my plate for answers.

Perhaps the chocolate caused my uterus to ache.

We sit in a comfortable silence and sip our drinks.

He presses a hand to his head with a deep breath. “I’ve never shared like that.”

“How do you feel now?” I reach across the table, my hand over his.

“Lighter. Much lighter.” He thinks a moment, then says, “Want to know what drove Jane and me apart?”

Of course I do!

I play it cool, patting my curls. “I do. If you want to share.”

Pain is etched in his face. “She found someone else.”

“I don’t get that,” I say with a shake of my head. “Why marry if you’re willing to trade it all in for someone else?”

His eyes snap to mine. “Exactly. Marriage is loyalty. Loyalty should be stronger than desire.”

“Exactly.” I knew he was a ride-or-die type, being Bachman and all, but cue the womb throb anyway. “It has to be. Otherwise, how are two people supposed to make it to happily-ever-after?”

That earns me a huge lopsided grin. I’ve really won him over. I take the last sip of my drink, offering, “You could draw me sometime. If you want.”

“I’d like that.” His eyes almost sparkle. “You’d be my prettiest muse to date.”

He’s 100% flirting with me. Didn’t know he had it in him. It makes me feel warm all over.

“I’ve never had my portrait done.” He’s shared so much, but I still want to help solve his problem, or at least, chat with him about it. “You know what goes well with art?”

“What?”

“Wine,” I say. “And cheese.”

I get another smile. Another deep breath.

Then, “The cheese is tricky. It’s like, I don’t know.

Gouda. No, not the cheese. The cheese is simple.

Golden cheese. Cheese made of money. The rats.

They’re the tricky ones. It’s like we’ve meticulously built this empire, brick by brick over time, adding technology as we go.

” He shakes his head, baffled. “But no matter how much we catch up with security, they always seem to be a step ahead.”

I think. “They’re young, you say?”

He nods.

“How young?” I ask.

He eyes me. “Like you. Some are younger.”

I contemplate what he’s said, my mind whirring. He waits as I think, carefully watching my face. “Then they grew up with technology. While you’re playing catch-up, they’ve been living it. They don’t learn about this stuff, they're born into it.”

He considers what I've said before he speaks. He gives me an impressed look. “That’s good…”

We chat more about his problem. Then about nothing. And everything.

His phone pings. He looks genuinely pained as he checks it. “Damn. I have to go.”

He doesn’t want to leave.

I’m hit with utter disappointment. It surprises me. “Okay.”

“Unlock your phone and give it to me.” He holds out his hand, stern face returned.

I obey.

He punches his name and number into my contacts. Our gazes lock. “Call me. Seraphina.”

I don’t want to lie, but I can’t tell him that I will. My name sounds like a song the way he says it.

I say nothing.

I want it too much. This was a date. And as one is supposed to on a date, I feel closer to him. Seen. Heard. And I know him better. He’s got a sweet side. He’s loyal. And has a love of art.

Things I didn’t know.

“Call me,” he repeats. “I mean it.”

I say, “Thanks.”

And watch him walk out of my life for good.