She was up all night. She'd lined her textbooks up on the kitchen table and settled in after changing into sweatpants and an old t-shirt.
Her notebooks stared blankly back at her, and as the hours dragged on she began to find it increasingly difficult to concentrate.
But the first exams were the following day, so she downed a cup of coffee and tried to return her focus to the endless pages of literature and art form before her.
The coffee didn't have the desired effect, and within the hour her eyes began to droop. From somewhere in her mind she felt herself slipping closer and closer to the table.
Damn it.
•••
It was the sun that woke her up the next morning. The clouds from the previous day had cleared up, and rays of blinding light flashed off of the metal refrigerator. She squinted her eyes against the sudden brightness.
She'd managed to shove most of her papers off of the table while she slept, and she grumbled sleepily as she gathered them up.
Falling asleep had not been part of the plan, and she was not prepared whatsoever for the exams taking place that morning.
Or any morning.
She made quick work of her outfit, slipping on her usual worn jeans, tribal cardigan, and oxfords. Her brown hair fell in haphazard waves around her shoulders, and she quickly gave up on trying to smooth it out.
As she worked through her morning ritual, she found her thoughts shifting to Caden. It was frustrating, because although he was no longer in the picture he still dominated the way she saw herself.
It had always been that her hair was too messy. Her clothes didn't match. She hadn't bothered putting on any makeup. She'd put on too much. Eventually it began to sink in that there was always going to be something wrong with her in his eyes.
She reveled in her newfound freedom, though shadows of doubt still lingered in her mind.
What if he was right?
But no, she'd already decided not to think about him. He had treated her terribly for years, and she'd finally gotten the nerve to break things off. She was ready to move on in her life.
So why was it so hard to let go of that need for him to approve? To have anyone approve?
With these thoughts in her mind, she grabbed her backpack from her bedroom and tried her best to stop overanalyzing everything.
Pulling the door to her apartment shut behind her, she turned the key in the lock. Satisfied by the answering click, she set off towards the university.
She walked everywhere she went. She didn't have a car, and it was easy enough to catch a bus to any location out of walking distance.
As it was, it had been difficult to reassure herself that she could afford to go to school. Adding a car to the list of things she needed money for was something she'd finally decided to avoid for the time being.
And she really didn't mind. It had forced her to see parts of town that she may have otherwise missed. Like the cafe.
She'd learned early on what places had good food, what places were good to draw in, and what places offered a quiet sanctuary away from the many students living in the neighborhood.
The university came into view ahead of her, and she steeled herself against the coming day.
•>•>•>
The first exams had gone terribly. A throbbing headache began behind her forehead, and she resisted the urge to let her face fall against the table in front of her. It was tempting.
After her classes were over she'd wandered towards the cafe, and ended up seeking refuge from the cold. She just hoped that the silence would last longer than it had the previous day.
She glanced back down at the blank canvas before her.
As usual, she had set her drawing materials out across the table and was attempting to get in some sketching. Deciding on a subject was always the most difficult part.
She finally decided to try sketching one of her professors. Willa Carter was a mousy woman with lean, delicate features who taught several of her art classes. She often had paint smeared across her clothing, and her gentle demeanor was only one of the reasons why she'd become Rowan's favorite professor.
And to top it off, she absolutely loved it when her students used her as inspiration for their art.
She quickly sketched an outline and began filling in the shapes, marveling at the paper as a half decent drawing of Willa emerged.
It had always fascinated her that you could start with a white piece of paper and end up with something so incredibly lifelike that it was almost eerie.
A sudden burst of cold air told her that the door had been opened, and she tried to hide her surprise when she saw who it was. Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised at all, though.
The man with the grey eyes had entered the small cafe and settled in at the same table he'd been occupying throughout the past week.
He slipped off his black leather gloves and shook small droplets of melted snow from his hair before resting his eyes on her.
She felt her embarrassment rising as she realized that she had once again been caught staring and tried to return her focus to the partially finished drawing.
The ringing of a nearby phone served as a brief distraction, and then she was peeking at him again from her peripheral vision.
He had wrapped both of his hands around his mug and was looking intently out of the window.
She couldn't place what it was that she found so interesting about him, but he held an aura of mystery, and it made it difficult for her to focus on anything else. Of course, it had been that way with Caden at first. You just never know what a person could end up being like after you really get to know them.
She'd learned the hard way that sometimes it's the people you think you know the most who end up being your greatest downfall.
She leaned back in her chair and grabbed the sketchbook, trying to figure out what it was missing.
A sigh escaped her lips as she began brushing a few light strokes around the eyes, which were both her favorite part of a portrait and her biggest struggle. They needed to be just right; it was about getting that depth in them. The kind that reveals things no one would ever say out loud.
She had become so engrossed in her work that she didn't see him approach her.
"That's a very impressive drawing." His voice was deep with a rough undercurrent, and startled her so much that she lost her grip on her pencil and watched it go tumbling across the table and onto the floor. Not an uncommon occurrence with her.
He quickly leaned down to retrieve the troublesome object, and set it gingerly before her.
She found herself staring at his hands.
They looked completely average. Slightly tanned skin. Nothing about them told her what kind of a man he was, though.
Not like her father's, which were rough and calloused from years upon years of working with harsh chemicals and metals.
And not like Caden's, which had been smooth and unblemished from never seeing any hard labor at all.
She looked up through her eyelashes and realized how tall he really was now that he was standing in front of her. He towered over her, casting a shadow on the table, and she guessed him to stand at around six feet, like her father.
Up close, his eyes were a stunning grey, and they penetrated her own in an expectant gaze. She suddenly remembered that he had said something to her.
Her face heated up. "Sorry?"
A small smile graced his lips. "I was just commenting on your drawing. It's beautiful."
And so are you, she thought. "Thank you."
There was a brief silence as they took each other in. She couldn't deny her curiosity. He was fascinating to watch.
A million different emotions seemed to touch his features in those few seconds, and she knew that kind of person.
They feel everything, but don't outwardly express it. And they either use it for good or for bad. Either they hide their emotions to protect or they hide them to destroy.
He seemed to find whatever it was that he'd been looking for, because his face visibly relaxed. "Would you mind if I sit with you?"
Nervousness shot through her at the question as his motives were still unknown, but she nonetheless nodded and watched him settle into the chair across from her.
His gaze was heavy as he watched her through hooded eyes. "What's your name?"
"Rowan." He cocked his head, and she continued. "My parents were sure that I would have red hair like my mother. They picked out the name before I was born."
He hummed in acknowledgement. "Understandable. My name is James." He held his hand out, and she met him in a handshake, watching his large fist swallow her own. His skin was rough against hers, and she held back a shiver at the pure masculinity radiating from him.
"Are you a teacher?" she suddenly blurted, feeling a blush creep up her neck at the question. She hadn't meant to ask, but it had been weighing on her. She wasn't about to let that particular storyline pan out.
"No. Do I resemble one?" His lips curled up in a faint smile.
She quickly shook her head. "No! I was just wondering, is all. It's strange to see someone older here." She nearly face palmed at this last comment. First she was staring at him creepily, and then was essentially calling him old.
A surprised laugh escaped
him. "Is it? And how old do you think I am?" His eyes glittered with amusement.
She hated when people asked that question, but took a wild guess. "Thirty?"
He gave her an appreciative nod. "Close. I'm twenty eight."
She was relieved that she hadn't been too far off. The worst thing was to offend someone by placing them many years older than they actually were.
"And you?" he asked, the question bringing her back.
"Twenty." She took a sip of her coffee and nearly spit it out. It had gone cold.
"I'm assuming you're a student here?"
She nodded. "Art major."
He leaned back in his chair and gave her an assessing look. "Interesting."
She laughed nervously. "I know it probably sounds stupid. Most people think it is."
"I never said that, and I think anyone who does needs to take a look at the bigger picture. You're stepping out of the constraints of a traditional career path, and I think that's very courageous," he said, his voice suddenly serious.
Silence settled over the table and she frowned down at her hands, which were smudged in charcoal.
Not everyone thought the way this man did. Even her parents had criticized her desire to pursue art.
But Caden had been the worst.
He had never laid a hand on her. Instead, his weapons had been words. He'd used them to degrade her in every possible way; to persuade and manipulate and make her feel absolutely worthless.
When she looked back on things, she knew that the signs had always been there. They were there from the very first time she met him. But she supposed that was all part of the way he worked, and she hadn't caught on until she was in too far to get out.
It had been during a time of solitude that she finally realized what was happening. He'd been away on a business trip, and she had begun to reflect on some of the things he'd been telling her.
She looked back up at James, who had his elbow over the back of the chair and was watching her silently.
Caden had spun a web in her mind that she didn't know how to escape.
Could she trust this man? Could she trust herself?