Page 22 of Falling for Red
“Student debt is no joke.”
“What did you study?”
“Something extremely employable,” she says, deadpan. “Art history.”
“Yeah?” I can’t help but chuckle. “Did you want to work in a museum or something?”
“I had some big dreams of being a curator or helping artists find their audience. But all it got me was my ex-husband.”
“You brought it up.” I nudge her gently, wanting to know more. There’s a story here, and I want to understand what she’s been through. I’m also aware that digging into her last relationship is risky territory, but I need to know who she really is.
“I guess I did.” She giggles and pulls her hand away from mine. “I was working at a gallery, and he was this suave older guy that had a really good eye and bought a few things from me.”
“How much older are we talking?”
“I met him when I was twenty-three, and he was thirty-eight.”
I raise my eyebrows slightly.That’s a decent gap.
“The security he offered me was more appealing than it should have been. I realize that now.”
“Security?”
“I was broke, and here was this guy who was like ‘move in with me, let me pay off your student debt, let me make life easier’ …” She trails off.
“So he was a rich older man?”
“The older successful finance guy and the younger creative girl. A stereotype, I know.”
“He’s South American?” I ask, recalling how she said her daughter is of South American descent.
“Yeah. He was born and raised in Argentina and moved here to get his MBA and then built his career in Chicago.”
Hopefully she isn’t looking for a guy with money.I do well enough but am not rich by any means, although I’m trying to create more income streams by investing in real estate.
“So, you’re in your thirties now?” I’ve been assuming that.
“Thirty-two. Gabby is four. So if you’re trying to do the math in your head … I got married at twenty-five, had Gabby when I was barely twenty-seven. The divorce started when I was thirty, and here we are.”
“In Lake Geneva, Wisconsin of all places.” I nudge her before looking out at the lake. There’s something grounding about this place, and I wonder if that’s part of why she’s here—searching for peace.
“I know. I’m still figuring out if small town life is for me, but I do really like it here.”
I’m happy she likes it here. “Did you grow up in Chicago?” I ask, because she walks really fast.
“Sort of … in the suburbs.”
“The city has never spoken to me. Not that the Middle East spoke to me or Germany either, but the military brought me to both places.” Places I’m perfectly fine leaving in the past.
Her eyes flick to mine. “You were deployed?”
I nod. “Almost the entire time I was in the Marines.”
As a group of walkers appears, heading toward us, I instinctively shift behind Claire to give them space. My hands graze the small of her back and lingers on her hips a second too long because I’m staring at her ass. Can’t help it. Once they pass, I fall back into step beside her.
“That’s kind of crazy,” Claire says, glancing over, smiling more than before.
“Definitely,” I agree, my voice a little rougher. “Four years in the military was plenty. After that, I liked the idea of being in service to the community, so yeah … firefighter.”
