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“It’s just so pretty out there—”
“How much for it?” I asked, my voice sandpaper. My throat was as raw as my heart in that moment.
“Wh-what?”
I took a sip of coffee to soothe the pain, then set my mug on the granite countertop and pointed at the nearly finished painting. “How much do you want for it?”
“Oh. Nothing. I was just playing around.” She ducked her head and picked at the paint that had dried around her nails. “But I could take a few photos to work with, then when my wrist is feeling better, I could start a new one. If you wanted a commission kind of thing.” Her words came faster and faster, like they scared her.
“No, I want this one.” I wanted to hang it in my bedroom so it was the last thing I’d see at night and the first thing I’d see when I woke up. I wanted to rip out the zinnias in the flower boxes and replace them with Marigolds right now.
She sat up, her spine snapping straight, and dropped her hands to her lap. “Really?”
I nodded. “Without a doubt. Tell me how much.”
“Nothing.” She snorted. “I used my left hand, and it’s a mess. It’s not really worth anything.”
It was. She just couldn’t see it.
I took her in, the messy dark hair, the streak of green paint on her cheek, the oversized shirt. She’d changed out of the soccer shirt I’d given her in high school. The sight of it had made my insides melt, even as I’d felt like death. Then I caught sight of the laundry on the couch behind her. The mountain of clean clothes had been replaced with neatly folded stacks. With one hand pressed to the counter behind me, I took in the kitchen too. There were no dishes in the sink. The counters had been wiped down and the floors mopped. A candle I didn’t recognize was burning on the coffee table, permeating the air with the scent of warm vanilla. The TV above the fireplace was on and displaying a crackling fireplace. I was hit with an overwhelming urge to lie on the couch with a blanket on my lap and Marigold pressed to my side.
The woman had been here for a matter of hours, and in that time, she’d made my house into more of a home than I ever had.
With one brow raised, I homed in on her. “You’ve been busy, I see.”
“I was bored.” She shrugged.
This woman. I wanted her. I needed her. I was desperate to keep her here with me, and I was ready to do anything to make that happen. To convince her to come back, again and again, until she believed that she could make this her home. She belonged here every bit as much as I did. Now I had to make her see it.
I tapped my fingers on the counter, biting down on my smile.
With a soft sigh, she stood, ducked down, and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Well,” she said to her feet. “I guess I’ll head out. Should probably get the boys soon and relieve Calla of her duties.”
“Are you hungry?” I spat out in a rush. I wasn’t ready for her to leave.
She didn’t look up as she packed up her painting supplies. “Uh, a little, I guess. I’ll warm up leftovers when I get back to—”
“Do you want to wear what you’ve got on, or do you want to borrow a shirt?”
She paused. “Wha—For what?”
“So we can get food. I won’t take you anywhere too fancy. I know you hate eating in dark places. But that one’s dotted with paint. I’ve got a shirt that shouldn’t be too huge on you. You could borrow it. Sometimes Dallas sleeps in it, but it’s big on him, so he won’t care if you—”
“Liam.” She breathed out a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
I blinked at her. “We’re going out.”
She crossed her arms, which was awkward with the wrap on her wrist, so she uncrossed them. “Why?”
“Because you said you could eat. Let’s go eat. Well, you can eat, anyway. My stomach’s not quite ready for that yet.”
If I could quiet her mind for a little while, then I could show her how good this could be. How we could make it better than before. How she belonged here in this kitchen with me every night.
She scoffed and opened her mouth. But she shut it again quickly and scrutinized me, a little line forming between her brows. Finally, she let out a long breath through her nose. “This isn’t a…date, right?”
I slapped a hand to my chest and gasped, feigning shock. “Not at all. This is simply two very attractive co-parents eating a meal together and discussing a certain upcoming spring event. No dates here.”
She eyed me, not believing even a hint of my BS. “Good. You understand that we can’t do that, right?”
