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“When was the last time you painted?” She asked when it was clear he wasn’t going to start the conversation.

“Does a touch up job on my truck count?”

“It only counts if it was on a canvas.”

He rasped his hand across his chin. Some days, like today, were clearly can’t be bothered to shave days. Other days his square jaw was untroubled by dark shadow. Bristle or no bristle, he was eye catching either way. “I’d be at school then, maybe thirteen? I dropped art as soon as I could. Couldn’t see the point of it.” His green eyes found hers. “You still enjoy painting?”

“I don’t do it regularly anymore, not since I bought the studio, not enough space. But I’m excited to be doing it today. There’s something soothing about brushing paint onto a canvas, and creating art is really inspiring. Not everything has to have a purpose,” she added pointedly. “Some things bring joy just by looking beautiful.”

He acknowledged her statement with a small incline of his head. “I agree, but real beauty is natural, not manufactured or created.”

His gaze caught hers, held it for long enough that she wondered if there was something he was trying to tell her. “I won’t let Mom know you said that.”

“She still paints?”

“Yes. Wherever they are in the world, she gets out her brushes and paints, then ships the canvas to her agent over here to sell.”

He didn’t say anything in reply and she wondered if he was bored with the conversation. Well, if he was, she’d let him have his quiet.

They’d walked another block before he broke the silence. “Were your parents always so distant from you?”

She looked at him in surprise. “They’re not distant.”

“Yet they’re not here now, when you need them the most.”

“As I already said, they offered but I told them to go back.”

He grunted. “They should have ignored you. You lost your brother, Anna. They have each other to help with the loss of their son. Who is here to help you?”

She looked straight into his direct green gaze. “Colin made sure I have you.”

He blinked, looked away. “I’m a poor substitute for family.”

“Maybe I should be the judge of that.” He turned to look at her and she shrugged. “I love my parents, they phone weekly, sometimes more, they’re good people. But they’ve been in their bubble of two for a long time now, ever since Colin and I left home. Since then Colin was the person I really talked to, who I went to for emotional support.” She swallowed, feeling a lump of emotion slide up her throat. “I thought it was a two-way street, but I was wrong.”

Luke halted, and the hand he placed on her shoulder forced her to turn and face him. “Why do you say that?”

“He knew he was dying months before he told me.” Tears welled and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stem their fall. “I trusted him with everything, my dating failures, the trauma of losing patients I thought would pull through, my loneliness after the last guy I thought was IT, ran for the hills when I told him I was falling for him.” Damn it, she couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop blurting things she didn’t want Luke to know. “How could my brother keep something so important as dying from me?” Her voice cracked and the tears began to roll.

She gasped as a pair of strong arms surrounded her, one hand on the back of her head, drawing her farther into his embrace, resting her cheek on the soft quilt of his puffer jacket. Whether it was his warmth, or the show of compassion from such a stoic man, she felt her body relax, the tears lessen.

“I don’t know if it’s any consolation,” Luke said quietly. “But he only told me after he’d told you.”

“It’s not.” She sniffed and burrowed further into his chest. “I hate to think of him coping with the diagnosis alone.”

Luke’s arms tightened around her like a band. “Me, too, Anna. Me, too.”

“Why?” Her question was muffled against his jacket so she leant back a little to look up at him. “Why do you think he didn’t trust us with knowing earlier?”

* * *

Luke stared into Anna’s tear-filled eyes and felt a sharp tug on his heart. He wished he had an answer for why Colin had kept his illness from them for so long, for both their sakes.

Had his best friend somehow known Luke had let his mum down at the end? Had he not wanted Luke to do the same to him? Then changed his mind because he’d not wanted Luke to go through the same guilt he had with his mum?

Knowing she’d died without him by her side . . . it still haunted him when he wasn’t careful enough about locking the lid on those memories.

None of that was important right now. Not when Anna needed his help. “I think he wanted to spare you,” he told her truthfully, cupping her tear-soaked face in his hands. “The less time you had knowing he was sick, the less pain he figured you’d go through.”