Free Miss You Mad: a psychological romance novel by Thea Atkinson Page B

said. "Let the light shine through, Daniel."
    I chewed my lip, wondering whether showing vulnerability would get me into her pants again. Before I could make the assessment, my mouth just sort of blurted out the admission.
    "My father passed away just before Christmas. Because of me."
    Rather than looking shocked, she looked intrigued. "Poison?"
    I laughed, catching the tease. "Nope. Tea."
    Thankfully, she didn't laugh at me.
    In the short pause something, a strange image, came into focus within my brain. She had mentioned a forest of trees. Of course, the painting in the video wasn't complete yet, but as the scene on the projector in my mind narrowed and focused into a sharp image, I realised it was the one she talked about.
    "I've seen that painting." I scraped the last bit of lobster from my bowl and popped it into my mouth.
    She didn't look surprised. "I figured you'd visit the site," she said.
    I grinned because I simply couldn't find the words to admit it.
    She might as well have reached straight into my fantasy world and put her fist through the glassy image. "You're imagining me right now aren't you?"
    "How did you know?"
    She gave me a dry look. "You don't think I've seen that look before?"
    "Sorry," I said.
    "Oh, it's okay. It doesn't really bother me. It's just flesh. Skin. Did you like it?"
    Now we were getting somewhere. I wiggled my brows at her. "Loved it."
    She rolled her eyes and I thought of Jesse. Quickly, I squished that little image into a doughy ball and kicked it to the back of my brain. One does not want to imagine his sister while he's planning to ravage a woman.
    "I meant the painting."
    "I guess so. But it doesn't make any sense. Why are the trees people?"
    "They're not. It's about seeing things in places you don't expect. The faces in the shadows of the tree bark are only there for as long as the light is in just the right position. One moment the light hits the bark just the right way and those people are visible, the next they're gone."
    "That's nice."
    "Nice? It's life. If you don't pay attention to things, they disappear. We disappear. We view everything from our perspective---but what if we're really just shadows waiting for the right light to be seen by someone else?"
    For some reason, I thought of Dad and the way he'd painted our house after my school chum died. I squirmed in my chair.
    "That's too deep for me. I'm a shallow kind of guy. I prefer the white things. The bright things."
    "Most people are. I am. Tell me more about your father."
    "No. You tell me more about why you are here."
    We faced off across the table. She stared me down, and I stared her up. Neither of us would give in. Obviously, her secret was as heavy as mine.
    Neither of us spoke until after the main entrees had been brought. Mine, steaming grilled haddock took up too much room on my side and I had to shuffle my coffee to the outer edge. Hannah didn't seem concerned that no conversation peppered the air.
    Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. "My father had diabetes."
    She looked up, interested.
    I continued, aware that I was talking way too fast. My feet and my mouth seemed to be in some sort of race. "Ever since I can remember, his diabetes was the main focus of the house. He was an old fisherman. Big. Really big man. He fished in the worst winter weather. I remember one storm; no one went out. But Dad called his hired men and told them to be at the wharf at 4 a.m."
    It was tough eating while talking so fast. I started to choke on a bit of potato. I thought of old Scrooge; I sure hoped no ghosts would visit later should that potato lodge undigested somewhere in the upper lining of my stomach. Hannah pushed my water glass toward me. I took a swallow, and promptly choked on that. I sat coughing and spluttering water all over my dinner.
    Hannah remained nonplussed. Patiently, she lifted her glass to her lips and drank. Then she cut out a nice square from her chicken breast. I spluttered; she chewed.
    When I finally caught