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"Ecstatic," he replied, placing me back on my feet. But not before his lips grazed my cheek, sending a flutter of butterflies down my spine.
We got to work, laying down tarps to protect the wooden floors and taping off the edges of the walls. The process was more time-consuming than I'd anticipated, and with Austin constantly getting in my way - accidentally, he claimed - it took even longer.
"Stop moving!" I laughed as he bumped into me for the umpteenth time.
"What can I say? I'm irresistibly drawn to you," he smirked, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. The spark between us was palpable, and I had to fight the urge to get lost in his eyes.
Instead, I wriggled free, grabbing a paint roller. "Enough distractions. Let's get painting!"
He chuckled, picking up his roller. We started on opposite walls, the rhythmic sound of rollers gliding across walls filling the space. Every so often, I'd sneak a glance at him, admiring the way his muscles flexed as he worked. He was a sight to behold - all tousled hair, rolled-up sleeves, and intense concentration.
And then, out of the blue, a splatter of paint hit my cheek. I turned, eyes narrowing, to find Austin trying - and failing - to look innocent.
"You did not just do that," I threatened, wiping off the paint with the back of my hand.
"Prove it," he challenged, a sly smile on his lips.
Two could play that game. I dipped my roller into the paint tray, sneaking up on him. With a swift motion, I swiped it down his back, leaving a streak of paint in its wake.
Austin yelped, turning to face me, his expression a mix of shock and amusement. "Oh, it's on now."
What ensued was an all-out paint war. We chased each other around the gallery, dodging behind walls and furniture, paint flying everywhere. By the end of it, we were both covered head to toe in paint, laughing so hard our sides hurt.
Breathless, Austin cornered me, his body trapping mine against a freshly painted wall. "Surrender?" he whispered, his breath tickling my ear.
I looked up into his eyes, the world around us fading away. The tension between us was palpable, electric. "Never," I replied defiantly, pulling him down into a passionate kiss.
As our lips met, all thoughts of paint wars and gallery preparations were forgotten. All that mattered was the feel of Austin's body pressed against mine, the taste of him on my lips.
But eventually, reality intruded, and we pulled apart, both panting. Austin rested his forehead against mine, his gaze intense. "I think we made more of a mess than progress," he commented, looking around at the paint-splattered room.
I laughed, pushing away from the wall. "Maybe, but it was worth it."
Austin grinned, pulling me close once more. "Anything with you is worth it."
And as we got back to work, cleaning up the mess we'd made and finishing the painting, I couldn't help but feel a warmth in my chest. Because even in the midst of chaos and paint wars, one thing was clear - Austin and I were a perfect match.
Once we'd cleaned up the paint-spattered gallery and admired our handiwork on the walls (which, to be honest, looked pretty damn good despite our playful diversions), it was time to move my art supplies from the cabin to this new space.
Carrying canvas, paints, and brushes wasn't the hardest part. The most cumbersome items were my easels and the bulky wooden cabinet I'd accumulated over the weeks, filled with countless drawers of supplies.
"I swear, Paisley," Austin grunted as he lugged the cabinet into the back of his truck, "you artists and your... stuff."
I smirked, stepping closer to him. "Oh? And what would you suggest? Finger painting?"
He raised an eyebrow, pausing to look me over. The intense expression he gave me, mixed with the lingering paint smears on his face, made my heart race. "Now that could be interesting."
The drive to the gallery was filled with more of our banter. The air between us was thick with anticipation, each flirtatious jab serving as a reminder of the connection we shared.
Unloading was, unsurprisingly, much harder than loading. The steps leading to the gallery's entrance were steep, and every time I saw Austin strain with a load, a pang of guilt would strike me. I wasn't exactly travel-light when it came to my art.
After we had settled everything in the gallery, I found him looking at the paints and brushes scattered on a table, a hint of longing in his eyes.
"You know," I began, walking over to him, "we're surrounded by all this paint. Want to try your hand with me?"
He looked at me, a cheeky grin forming. "Together? On one canvas?"
"Why not?" I replied with a challenge in my eyes. "Scared you'll mess up?"
