“It wasn’t bullshit, Roy. I told Dr. Woolcott you might not be up for it, and if that was the case, I’d call her by seven. You have a little less than half an hour to decide.”

I shook my head. “Oh my God. You had no right—”

“Stop right there. I had every right. I’m the woman you love, remember?”

“The woman I love who can’t say it back.”

“I love you, okay? I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

God she was beautiful. Like a platinum rose in the wind—that feisty wind right before a thunderstorm.

Yet I had no doubt of her sincerity.

She loved me.

The fiery silver in her eyes showed me that love more than words ever could.

“So…?” she prodded.

I didn’t reply.

“I was staring at the blank wall in my office today, thinking it was like a blank screen that I could cover with art, and a thought popped into my head. Your mind is blank right now. You won’t let the key do its work. This therapist can help you, can put art back onto your wall.”

I gazed at her, at the excitement in her gorgeous eyes.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t had the same thought. You’re the one who asked me to give you the therapists’ names in the first place.”

“Let’s eat,” I said simply.

“Have it your way.” She looked at her watch. “You still have twenty-four minutes to decide.”

Charlie pulled out paper plates and utensils and dished out the takeout. She looked comfortable in my tiny kitchen, like she belonged there.

She did belong there.

I wanted her here. I wanted her here for good.

Damn. A week! We’d known each other for little more than a week. But we’d traveled together in that time, we’d painted each other—I still hadn’t looked at her portrait—and we’d made amazing passionate love.

“I love you,” I said.

She smiled, handing me a plate of chicken and pasta. “I know. I love you too.”

I looked down at the food. One of my favorite restaurants, but I had no appetite. Finally I met Charlie’s gaze. Her sweet lips glistened.

“Charlie,” I said, “what should I do?”

“Only you can answer that question, Roy.”

Nope. She wasn’t going to let me cop out. Not that I thought she might. I knew, as soon as I asked, what her response would be.

How was she so strong? So sure of herself?

She’d had a modest life. A life of poverty compared to mine. Yet she came out unscathed. Surely she had her baggage. Everyone did. But still…

What would Charlie do?

Indeed, that was the question, and I already knew the answer.

“I’ll go,” I said.

She smiled, so beautiful. “I knew you would.”

“But it might not help at all.”