Page 28 of Marry Me Tomorrow
“You need a few more minutes before we head to my—I mean our house?”
“I just need a couple minutes to clean up,” she says. “Come on in.”
I step inside, taking in the organized chaos of her cabin. Canvases lean against the walls, brushes and paint tubes scattered across every surface. The faint smell of turpentine and lavender drifts through the air, oddly comforting.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” I say, chuckling as I step over a drop cloth.
“Sorry for the mess,” Jenny says with a shrug, waving a paint-streaked hand. “Soon it won’t matter. I’ll be able to turn this whole cabin into a proper studio.” Her eyes light up as she speaks, her excitement almost tangible. “You have no idea how much that means to me. I’ll finally be able to work on multiple projects at once, have everything set up permanently so I can just dive in whenever inspiration strikes. No more having to tidy up for guests.”
“Well, I’m glad it makes you happy,” I say, my voice softening. “I like seeing you happy.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I cringe internally. Smooth, Trent. Real smooth.
“You like making others happy, don’t you?” Jenny says, tilting her head, her eyes searching mine.
I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. Safer to keep quiet this time.
“I noticed that about you the first time we met,” she continues, a playful glint in her eye.
“You mean when I saved you from becoming a pancake?” I ask, smirking.
Jenny narrows her eyes and points her paintbrush at me, a tiny splatter of blue landing on my shirt. “We don’t talk about that day. It was one of my lowest moments, and you know it. But,” she adds, her voice softening, “you were a bright spot for me. You turned things around, and I don’t know if I ever really thanked you for that.”
“Well, speaking of bright spots,” I say, gesturing to my paint-splattered shirt, “looks like I’ve got some of my own now. Does that mean I get to help paint?”
The horrified look on Jenny’s face when she notices the splatter is almost too much. I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, rushing off to grab a washcloth. “It’s acrylic paint, so it should wash out. I can treat it tonight.”
She dabs at my shirt with the damp cloth, her movements quick but gentle. The warmth of her hand against my chest makes my pulse quicken. I catch her wrist lightly.
“It’s fine, really,” I say, my voice steady. “This shirt isn’t special. Don’t worry about it.”
Her lips press together. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I reply, smiling. “I can just take care of my shirt when I get back to my place.”
“Okay, well let me clean up really quick and we can head over there. I am excited to see the place.” Jenny wipes her hands on a rag before disappearing to clean up. When she returns, there’s still that small streak of paint on her cheek.
“Hold on,” I say, stepping closer. I reach out, cupping her face gently in my hand.
“What are you—”
“Just a second,” I murmur, dabbing at the paint with the washcloth. Her skin is soft, and the warmth of her cheek beneath my fingertips makes me pause longer than I probably should.
“Did you get it all?” she whispers, her wide eyes meeting mine. The space between us feels charged, her breath warm against my neck. My gaze flickers to her lips, soft and inviting. For a brief second, I wonder what it would be like to kiss her.
What the heck, dude? Get ahold of yourself. You can kiss her when you say “I do.”
My thoughts snap back, and I step away, clearing my throat. “Right. Got it all. Let’s head to our place then.”
I set the washcloth down and turn toward the door, stepping outside to put some distance between us.
No, I tell myself firmly, you have no right to kiss her. Kissing her now isn’t what we agreed on. Physical affection only when necessary, and this moment isn’t necessary. Even if she is my fiancée.
Chapter 12
Jenny
