“Yeah,” I said, searching for the right words. “He said we didn’t need to rush anything. That we’ve got time to figure things out.”
There was a brief pause before Ivy chimed in, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Vinnie, that’s actually really sweet! He’s not just in it for the physical stuff. He’s showing you that he wants to really get to know you.”
“Exactly,” Amelia added, her tone supportive but still playful. “And honestly, when the time is right, it’ll happen. But it sounds like he’s taking you seriously, and that’s a big deal.”
I smiled, a sense of reassurance settling over me. “You’re right. It just felt . . . different, you know?”
“Different is good,” Ivy said, practically cheering.
Amelia chimed in, her voice full of playful encouragement. “Exactly! And look, when it happens, just make sure you enjoy every second. But until then, it’s kind of hot that he’s holding back, right?”
I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Yeah, it is.”
We chatted for a little longer, their excitement and encouragement making me feel even better. By the time we hung up, I was feeling more at peace, and the insecurities I’d been grappling with earlier began to fade away into the autumn night.
Chapter 19
THE NEW WEEK ARRIVED with a renewed sense of purpose, and I threw myself into transforming the gallery into the beautiful space I’d always envisioned. Each day was a step closer to making my dream a reality, and the blank walls and empty rooms took shape under my direction.
Ethan, true to his word, was there to help me every step of the way. He showed up at the gallery most evenings after work, rolling up his sleeves and diving into the work with a determination that I found both comforting, andridiculouslyattractive. He handled the heavy lifting, installed the lights, and assembled the furniture, with an effortless strength that made my heart race every time I glimpsed his muscles flexing under his shirt.
Watching him work was a guilty pleasure, one I indulged in far more often than I should have. There was something about the way he moved—so focused, so capable. And when we stole kissesbetween painting walls and rearranging furniture, those moments were electric. Some kisses were quick and playful, but others lingered, simmering with a heat that left me breathless and wanting more.
Amelia and Ivy pitched in when they could, their enthusiasm infectious as they helped with decorating. But they were also careful to give Ethan and me space, especially in the evenings.
Those late nights in the gallery quickly became my favorite part of the day. After hours of work, we’d collapse onto the floor, or the makeshift couch, and we’d talk for hours, the conversation flowing easily as we got to know each other on a deeper level. I found myself opening up to Ethan in ways I hadn’t expected, sharing bits of my past, my fears, and my dreams. And he was wonderful—patient, kind, and genuinely interested in everything I had to say.
The tension between us was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but I found myself savoring it. The slow build-up made every touch, and every glance, feel even more meaningful.
Yet, there was a part of me that ached with a different kind of longing. As the week wore on, I couldn’t help but wish I could share this part of my life with my mom. I wanted to call her up, to tell her about the gallery, about Ethan, about how everything was finally coming together. But every time the thought crossed my mind, the memory of our last conversation—the sharp words and the unresolved pain—quickly chased it away. The years of emotional distance between us felt too vast to bridge right now, so I left that wound untouched.
Friday arrived faster than I expected, the week a blur of activity and stolen moments. By the time evening rolled around, the gallery was looking like the space I’d always dreamed of—warm, inviting, and full of character. The lights were installed, the furniture was arranged just right, and the walls were freshly painted.
All that was left to do now was set up the social media accounts for the gallery, and hang the artwork next week. It felt surreal to be so close to the finish line, knowing that soon, people would fill this space, admiring the art.
The exhaustion was starting to catch up with me, though and, after tidying up the last few things, I decided to call it a night. As much as I wanted to keep pushing forward, my body was begging for rest, and I knew I’d need my energy for the final stretch.
I left the gallery feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that we’d accomplished so much in such a short time, and the cool night air felt refreshing as I made my way home, the quiet of the town soothing my tired mind. By the time I climbed into bed, it was just before 9 P.M.
I nestled into my pillows, my body sinking into the comfort of the mattress as I let out a long, contented sigh. Despite the exhaustion, there was a sense of peace settling over me—a feeling of accomplishment, of things falling into place. I was about to drift off when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A smile tuggedat my lips as I read the message, my heart doing a little flip at the thought of seeing him again.
There was a pause, and then his reply came through, making me laugh.
I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as I imagined what he could possibly have planned. The anticipation was enough to make my already tired mind race with possibilities.
His reply was almost immediate, and I could practically hear the playful tone in his voice as I read his message.
I set my phone down, my eyes growing heavy as I settled deeper into the blankets. Despite the lingering curiosity about what he had in store for me, the exhaustion won out, and I soon drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face.
I woke up earlier than expected, the soft light of dawn filtering through my curtains. The room remained cloaked in a gentle hush, as the world outside had not yet fully awakened. I stretched beneath the covers, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles from the week’s hard work. Despite the exhaustion of the previous night, my mind was surprisingly alert, humming with a quiet energy that I couldn’t ignore.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand—7 A.M. The thought of Ethan’s surprise tugged at the corners of my mind, but he hadn’t said what time he’d be over. The house was silent, the perfectatmosphere for creativity and, as I lay there, inspiration started to take root, growing and spreading until I couldn’t resist it any longer.
With a newfound sense of purpose, I threw off the covers and padded to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. The rich, comforting aroma filled the air as I brewed a fresh pot, and I savored the warmth of the mug in my hands as I made my way to the living room.
I set my cup down on the table, the steam curling into the air as I began gathering my paints and brushes, a familiar excitement bubbling up inside me.
