“I’ll grab some sample pots,” Derek says, voice gruff. He takes the cards and heads to the counter without waiting for a response.
I slump against the display. This acting normal is the hardest damn thing I’ve done in my life considering every fibre of my being is fully aware of Derek, conscious of his every move, his every breath, reading something into every look he gives.
Derek returns, sample paint pots in hand, expression unreadable. “Ready to check out?”
I simply nod. At the register, Derek pays, then we head out to the car park, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, at least on my part. I can’t tell what Derek is thinking, but his easygoing manner of earlier is gone.
We climb into his SUV, an awkward silence between us. As Derek drives us back to his place, I stare out the window and try to ignore the riot of emotions churning inside me. After all these years, I finally got what I wanted—a taste of the forbidden—only to have it snatched away again. Derek made it clear that it was a mistake, a moment of weakness he regrets. So why did being together feel so right?
We pull up in front of his house. “You coming in?” Derek asks.
I hesitate, longing warring with self-preservation. “You want me to?”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face. “Of course. We’ve still got planning to do, and I promised you lunch for giving up your Saturday for me.”
“Oh.” I release a breath, the tension easing. He wants me here. Maybe not in the way I want, but it’s enough. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
We unload the car then, after a quick stop for bottles of water, head to the spare-bedroom-soon-to-be-office. The furniture hasbeen cleared out, and it doesn’t take long to spread out a drop sheet to protect the floor. Derek leans casually against the wall and watches as I paint a square of each colour onto the far wall of the room, and another series of squares on the adjacent wall. I’m aware of his eyes on me as I work, my hand shaking slightly as I handle the paintbrush.
“Because the light falls differently on each of the walls, I’ve done both so you can see the difference. The tone will also change depending on the time of day, lightening or darkening. Like now, it’s a bright day, so the sunshine is highlighting the warmth—”
“Mmm hmm.”
My attention turns from the wall swatches to Derek. The strong line of his jaw, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he’s staring at me and not the walls. “I…uh…” I gesture to the window. “Don’t forget the new French doors will let in a lot more light than this window.”
I’m suddenly aware of Derek beside me. “It’s hard to choose,” he says. “They all look nice.”
“Only nice, huh?” I tease. “Not what I was going for. Maybe we should have chosen a red feature wall after all.”
“Yeah, not happening,” he says. He turns from the wall and meets my gaze. “I don’t need any additional stimulation.”
Desire rises at the innuendo, but I wrestle it down. I swallow heavily. “Um, so back to blue, then?”
“Which one do you like?” he asks, then points to a test patch on the wall. “What do you think of that one?”
“I…ah…” I’m a blithering mess as the scent of his cologne fills my nose and replaces the aroma of the paint. “That’s n-nice.”
“Nice?” He raises a brow.
I shrug as he chuckles. “Well, yeah. They all work, so it basically comes down to personal preference. It’s up to you to make a choice.”
He looks at me for a moment, a moment that stretches too long. I can’t read his expression, but I sense his turmoil. Finally he sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “This is hopeless. How about we take a break? Grab some food?”
I nod, only too happy to take a break from the sweet torture of being near him. “I can duck out and pick up something if you like.”
He shakes his head. “Let’s order something in. I’m going to grab a beer. You want one?” he asks as he heads from the room.
“Please.”
I follow him to the kitchen, where he passes me a bottle. Our fingers graze and another of those weird shivers passes through me. I pull my hand back quickly and cross to the dining table, where I take a seat.
Derek sits next to me.
“Ryan…” He pauses, fingernail picking at the corner of the label on his beer. He looks up and meets my eyes. “I don’t want things to be weird between us. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course,” I say. It’s the truth and a lie all at once.
“Good.” He hesitates again. “Because you’re important to me. I don’t want to lose our friendship over one mistake.”
