My damsel in distress heart fluttered with new, fresh promise while my mind spun in every direction. Could I trust him? Did he mean that? How could he? He had only recently gotten to know me.
Turning away, he cleared off his desk and coaxed me into sitting on top of it. I glanced around at the tidy space, enjoying the personal touches that seemed so Vann.
Behind his desk was a giant picture of the front half of a bike, driving through a puddle of water. The painting made it seem that water and mud were being splashed everywhere. And since the front tire was the focal point, it took me a second to notice the smaller image of the cyclist in the background, leaning over the handlebars, sporting an intense, wholly focused look on his face.
“That looks like you,” I told him while he dug around for his first aid kit.
“Molly did that for me,” he said, still distracted in his pursuit of antiseptic wipes. “When she and Ezra first started hooking up, I managed to guilt her into it.”
“How’s that?”
He met my eyes briefly, a guilty look in his. “She paints whatever Vera wants and then she started painting for Ezra. I was like, it’s my turn, woman.” He tipped his chin toward the incredibly vibrant and gorgeous masterpiece. “She painted that. And then made me swear I wouldn’t hang it in the store proper. Because she’s crazy.” He said that, but the affection he held for her was obvious in his tone.
“You and Molly are close?”
After finally gathering the supplies he wanted, he knelt in front of me and brandished some alcohol and cotton swabs. “We are. We used to be closer before your brother came into the picture. But she’s still like a sister to me. Always will be. We grew up together.” He blew out a breath and it breezed over the scrapes on my knees. “I mean, it’s always been Vera and Molly. I have barely any memories without those two together.” He looked up at me, a strange expression crossing his face. “Except for when Vera was with Derrek, I guess.”
I frowned at the name I recognized easily by now. Having been friends with Vera for two years, I knew her story pretty well, including how her mom had died and how her dad had fought a serious battle with cancer. Derrek was the asshole that had abused her for years. She’d finally broken up with him and escaped, eventually finding Killian. And now Derrek was ancient history. Thank the Lord.
Vann pulled the thoughts from my head and said, “You know all that though. Since you’re friends with her.”
I nodded, trying not to flinch as his hands moved over my knees and he started administering first aid on my vaguely gruesome injuries. “I mean, I know Vera’s story. I don’t know yours.”
Our gazes met again, crashing into each other from where he knelt in front of me. I sucked in a sharp breath at the thoughtful look that pulled his lips into a frown and drew his eyebrows together.
“It’s mostly the same,” he said, shrugging.
“You had an abusive boyfriend too?” I gasped. “Was his name also Derrek?”
The thoughtful look disappeared, replaced with that smile I was slowly becoming obsessed with. “Don’t joke around, Dillon. That was a hard time in my life.”
I dug my foot into his side. “Now who’s making a joke?”
He laughed, the low rumble filling the room and making my heart flutter. “If we’re not making jokes, then I have to be honest. There was no abusive boyfriend. Or even non-abusive boyfriend. I’ve been into girls my whole life. Still am, actually.”
It was my turn to laugh. Leaning forward, I whispered, “You don’t have to prove to me that you’re straight. We slept together, remember?”
One of those dark eyebrows jumped. “I remember. Do you remember?”
“I’m working on it,” I admitted.
His gaze darkened, heated, warmed in a way that had me squirming on his desk. His focus dropped back to my knees. “Be still,” he ordered. After a few silent moments, he asked, “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“What was foster care like?”
His words were so excessively gentle, I couldn’t help the melted chocolate feeling in my chest. But it wasn’t my story. “I wasn’t raised in foster care. Ezra and I are half-siblings. Same dad. Different moms.”
He looked up again, an adorably perplexed look pulling out the wrinkles in his eyes. “Oh.”
I smiled, easing the tension. “I got the better end of the stick. Ezra’s story is much more tragic than mine.” The confusion on his face deepened. “I’m kidding. It’s a joke between us. He’s better at being a grown up because he had a harder childhood. He always tells me he’d rather be him than poor, spoiled me.”
“You lived with your dad growing up?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes. My mom and dad were married, but not always together. It didn’t make sense to me as a kid. And to be honest, I still haven’t put all the pieces together.”
“How so?”
