"Draw yourself for me, Bridget."

They were the only words he spoke and as he sat next to me, with the light that was cast from a single lamp on the table, I'd drawn myself for the first time.

His breath raced over my neck as he leaned in to kiss my cheek to thank me and as I turned to him I saw a flash of something I'd never seen before in his expression. It might have been weariness from the emotional toll that the day had taken on him but as I studied his deep brown eyes, I saw a need there that only I could satisfy.

I'd slid the sketchpad onto the sofa next to me and had crawled into his bare lap. As I sat there, with the heat of his arousal pressing into my core, I'd held his strong and handsome face in my palms.

He tipped his chin slightly as if he was coaxing me forward and just before my lips touched his, I said the one thing I'd longed to say to him for weeks. "I love you, Dane."

His hands found my hair and as he curved his lush lips over mine, he whispered the words back into our kiss.

We fell asleep again then, resting on the narrow couch with our bodies pressed against each other.

Now, hours later as my eyes adjust to the space, I scan it looking for him.

I dart to my feet as soon as I notice the page ripped from the sketchpad. I stumble past the coffee table and down the hallway to my bedroom. My hand jumps to cover my eyes as I flick on the light switch in the bathroom and my heart sinks when I realize that the clothing he discarded there, on the floor, last night is gone.

I race back towards the living room, in search of my smartphone but my eye catches on a white envelope perched on my bed. It's resting against the headboard as if it was placed there with a sense of care and thoughtfulness.

My name is written in messy handwriting across the front and as I reach to pick it up, I sob. I know what it's going to say. I know that the message won't be about love that withstands life's trials and tribulations. It won't be a declaration that promises me endless tomorrows.

I flip it over and run my finger under the flap.

I reach into the envelope to pull out a folded piece of white paper. I feel my knees buckle as I lower myself to my bed.

I smooth my hands over the paper wanting to soften the creases. It's a printed confirmation of an airline ticket in my name.  It's one –way from JFK to Paris, leaving two days from now.

I pull open the flap of the envelope wider and spot something else. It's a piece of paper taken from the stack that I keep on my kitchen table. It's the ripped corner of a magazine and written across it in black, bold ink are three simple words.

Go to Paris.

I drop it all on the bed as I pull a dress over my head before I slide my feet into a pair of sandals, grab my keys and phone and race out of the door of my apartment.

Chapter 22

"Dane?" I say his name softly because I don't want to wake her.

It's early. Visiting hours only began ten minutes ago. I'd waited in the lobby of the hospital until the woman behind the reception desk told me I was allowed to go up to the second floor to Cleo's room.

I'd raced around New York looking for him. I'd stopped at the fire station first and when I stepped up the driveway towards the doors that shield the large red trucks from the street, the same fireman I saw a few days ago, came towards me.

Dane had been there, he told me. He was his captain and Dane had talked about me. He knew I was the artist and an hour before when Dane walked into the station to request a three month leave of absence; he hadn't hesitated at all when he gave it to him. Dane's job was waiting for him as soon as he returned from taking care of whatever he needed to tend to.

He'd read Dane's home address from the personnel file that was already on his desk. I punched the numbers into my phone before I ran out of the station, rushed to the subway stop and boarded the train. I sat on the worn seat tapping out a text message to him about needing to see him. I stared at my phone the entire ride, waiting for a response, but there was nothing.

Once the train stopped, I asked for help. A kind man with green eyes waved his arm in the air towards the taxi line on the street. I'd need to take a cab to the house but the fare shouldn't be more than ten dollars he told me. I squeezed his forearm in thanks.

As the taxi pulled up to the curb, I saw the sign. SOLD it said. I asked the driver to wait while I opened the small white wooden gate and walked up to the front door. I knocked, before pressing the doorbell but no one answered. He wasn't there. Maisy wasn't there and when I peered through the open curtains that were meant to hide the front parlor from the view of those passing on the street, I saw empty rooms. Whatever life he'd built in there with Maisy had been cleared out. All that was left was a vacant space, ready for the new owner to arrive to fill it with a different life.

I slid back into the rear seat of the taxi and asked the driver to take me into Manhattan. I knew where he'd be and wasting time waiting for the subway wasn't worth the cost.

I had to get to him and now as I stand in this quiet hospital room and look at his face, I see something I didn't see in the note that he left.

"You're coming to Paris with me, aren't you?

"I'm already packed."

I move towards him and in an instant his arms are around me. He buries his face in my neck and just as his lips slide across my cheek, I sense her presence. I turn and that's when I see the same beautiful face that I did in the museum. She's awake. She's smiling and just as she nods her approval, Dane kisses me softly.

***

"My sister showed me the portrait."

I skim my eyes around the room but all that I find are two bouquets of wilting flowers and a few greeting cards that have fallen over from the pressure of the air conditioning blowing on them.  "I wanted you to have it."

"My husband took it home." She motions towards the door of the room with her finger. "I asked him to hang it in the baby's nursery."

I'm touched by the admission. I wanted the portrait to mean as much to her as it had to me.

"The baby is named Davey," Dane interjects.

"It's David, actually," Cleo corrects him with a smile. "We named him after his father."

Dane taps his hand against the top of the bed near where her feet are covered with a thin, blue blanket. "Everyone is calling him Davey. It's what I'm going to call him."

Cleo smiles as she reaches her hand out to grab his. "He'll like that. You'll come to see him when you get back from Paris?"

The words jar me even though he confirmed right after I'd walked into the room that he was going to move there with me. He's putting his entire life on hold here, to help me follow my dream.

"I'll send him postcards," he says. "Maybe a few presents too."

They speak to each other as if they're old friends. Anyone walking into the room right now would never suspect that something tore them so far apart that they didn’t speak for more than a year.

"Having you here makes everything right again, Dane." Her eyes float from his face to mine before they settle on his again. "I told you Mae wasn't right for you. I knew there was someone perfect waiting for you out there."

The words catch my heart in my chest. I lean back in the weathered vinyl chair that is next to the bed. Dane looks at me for only a brief second before he slides himself closer to Cleo. "You were right. At the time it hurt Maisy when you said that. I cared about her so it hurt me too, but you were right."