Never Too Hot

Was it possible for her to have fallen in love with Connor already? During her short drive home, her brain insisted on playing out a montage of images.

Protecting her from the falling branch, his heart beating wildly against her back, even harder than hers because he'd been so afraid of something happening to her.

Connor's anguish the night in his bedroom when his fingers had gone numb as he stroked her. Holding his hand but feeling she was really holding his heart.

The way he'd looked at her paintings and seen straightaway what she was trying to get down on the canvas, understanding her in a way few people ever had.

And, of course, all those precious, sweet hours in his arms.

A sharp sense of relief shot through her when she came home and saw that the red truck was gone. She couldn't face him yet. Not when the possibility of being in love was still so new to her, when she felt as if she were strapped into a runaway train that she couldn't even remember getting on.

Walking over to stand in front of her canvas, she stared at the painting she'd been working on.

“Before Love” was how it seemed now. How, she wondered, was she seeing things so differently after such a short time with Connor? After only one incredible night in his arms?

And yet, there was no denying that even the colors in her palette were richer now. Deeper.

A voice in her head told her she should be looking at falling in love with Connor as a disaster, the biggest one of her life. But that scared voice sounded so much like the one that had told her for so many years that she didn't know how to paint, that she couldn't possibly follow her own heart and create something beautiful.

She picked up her brush and then, before she could possibly get ready for it, all hell was breaking loose, her fingers and hands and arms all pushing her to paint as fast as she could.

The images came to her as quickly as she could put them onto the canvases, one after the other. And while there was similar motion and color and energy to the paintings she'd made since coming to Poplar Cove eight months ago, there was something more to these paintings.

More emotion.

More tenderness.

When she finally stepped back to catch her breath, she realized what she was doing. She was painting Connor in all the ways she saw him. Swimming across the lake, doing sit-ups on the beach, but also naked and levered above her in bed, his eyes full of desire as he told her she was beautiful. She was painting him as a hero, saving the world single-handedly. And then, standing in the middle of flames, melting down inside, but doing everything he could to hide it.

She jumped as a sharp sound knocked her out of the zone. Realizing it was the phone, she dropped her brush and ran to get it.

After this morning, the phone felt like the bearer of bad news. What news could be coming now? She prayed it wasn't anything that would hurt Connor more.

“Ginger, darling, it's me.”

Ah, her mother. She plopped down on one of the nearby kitchen chairs. Alexandra liked to tell her all the gossip. And even though Ginger wasn't at all interested in the comings and goings of a bunch of her mother's friends, she was glad for the growing connection with her mother. Amazingly, in the eight months since she'd left the city, they'd spoken more on the phone than they had in person during her whole marriage when they lived just down the street.

“I'm sorry I haven't been in touch since last week. It's been so busy with fund-raising for the upcoming opera season, as you know.”

Her mother cleared her throat and Ginger had the strangest sense that she was uncomfortable.

Alexandra Sinclair was never uncomfortable and it sent a flicker of unease down Ginger's spine.

“In any case, dear, I needed to call and tell you the news. Before you hear it from anyone else.”

Ginger could hear her father saying something in the background.

“No, I can't just hang up without telling her now,” her mother hissed at him, before saying to Ginger, “Honey, when I was at lunch today I heard that Jeremy and his new girlfriend…”

It wasn't hard for Ginger to fill in the blanks. “They're getting married.”

Honestly, she was glad if her ex could find happiness with someone else. Everyone deserved a chance at love.

Including her. And Connor, too.

“Yes, they're getting married.” Her mother made a small sound of distress. “Because they're having a baby.”

Connor walked into the kitchen as she said, “Oh. I see. A baby.” She could feel her limbs shaking, her eyes starting to water. “But he never wanted-”

“Oh honey, you're better off without him. You always were.”

“Mmm,” was all Ginger could manage around the lump in her throat.

Fortunately, her mother wasn't a big fan of emotional scenes. “If I were you I wouldn't give it another thought.”

“No. I won't,” Ginger lied. “I'll talk to you soon, Mom.”

“Ginger,” Connor asked, his eyes dark with concern as he came to kneel in front of her. “What's wrong?”

“My mother called. My ex-husband is having a-”

The final word got lost on her tongue, refused to come, but he'd obviously heard enough of the conversation to guess.

“A baby?”

She nodded, hating the tear that rolled down her cheek.

“You want a baby,” he said again and overpowering longing hit her before she could brace herself.

“More than anything.”

“Did he shoot blanks? Was that the problem? Is that why you don't have any already?”

Laughter was the last thing she'd expected, but his question was so perfectly timed — so perfectly Connor — that she couldn't help but choke one out.

“No,” she said, a split second before her smile fell away. “That wasn't the problem.”

“Then what was?”

“Our marriage sucked for one.”

“Plenty of people have kids when their marriages suck. Take my parents. It was the only thing they did well together.”

“Jeremy didn't want a baby.” No, that wasn't true anymore. “Not with me, anyway.”

“I know I've said this before, but he sounds like a stupid f**k. Why the hell did you marry him?”

She matched the anger of his words with hers. “Because I thought he was the best I could do. Because I couldn't believe he actually wanted me. That he'd chosen me instead of one of the perfect sorority girls throwing themselves at him. It's why I didn't leave for so long. Because I thought I'd never do any better.”