"Uh, yeah." She gets serious, tilting her head, examining the composition from a different angle. "I love the weight of this right here,” she says, indicating a section of the artwork. “And the way the light builds up from the center? It feels like… I don’t know. Like hope."
I nod, unable to suppress my smile. “That's exactly what I was reaching for. Exactly what I wanted it to mean.”
She gives me a satisfied smirk. “Well, it’s all right there. What are you calling it?"
I hesitate to answer. I've already chosen the title. I knew it the moment the concept crystallized in my mind, but saying it out loud now would feel like giving away a secret that belongs to Nick and me.
"I’ll tell you after I give it to him."
“Fair enough.” Lita accepts this with a shrug. “He’s going to love it."
“Thanks. I hope so.”
An hour later, I start packing up. Brushes cleaned, canvas left to dry, the familiar ritual of closing down for the day. My gaze strays to the window overlooking the street below.
Kelsey O’Connor is at the coffee shop across the street, dressed in jeans and a light sweater, waiting for me. Through the glass, I notice she's positioned at a table with a clear sightline to the studio entrance. She's reading on her phone, or pretending to, but I know she's tracking every person who walks past.
And downstairs, another of Gabe’s team, Vaughn, is waiting with the car. Tall, handsome, built like he could bench-press the vehicle he's guarding. He’s the newest addition to my security detail, assigned specifically to drive me wherever I need to go.
This has become my life now. Watched. Escorted. Protected, whether I feel it’s necessary or not.
I gather my bag, say my goodbyes to Lita and Matt, then head for the stairs, trying not to let myself bristle over being so closely observed and managed. It's not that I don't understand Nick’s need to know I’m safe. I do. The pregnancy changes everything. After the fainting spell, after the ER, I can't argue that his fears are unfounded. But understanding doesn't mean I have to like it.
As I step outside, Kelsey is already heading out of the coffee shop to meet me. She gives me a small nod and a smile, discreet as ever. She's good at her job, and I genuinely like her. That almost makes it harder to resent her near-constant presence every time I leave the penthouse.
This can't become normal, I think. We can't live like this forever.
But even as I think it, I know I'm negotiating with reality. Nick won't compromise on my safety or on our baby's. And part of me, the part that felt his terror when he dropped to his kneesat the atelier and searched my face like he was on the brink of crumbling, understands why.
Vaughn opens the car door before I reach it. "Ms. Ross."
"Thank you." I slide into the backseat, Kelsey climbing into the passenger seat beside Vaughn. Then we’re off, the city scrolling past the tinted windows.
I’m surprised to realize Nick is already home when Kelsey and Vaughn drop me off at our building. I hear him in the kitchen, and I head that way, curious.
He’s taken off his suit jacket, which is draped over the back of a barstool at the kitchen island. His shirtsleeves are rolled to his elbows and he’s in the process of slicing a roasted turkey breast for sandwiches.
I inhale the aroma of fragrant spices and oven-fresh bread. “It smells amazing in here.”
He looks up when I enter, and the smile that crosses his face wraps around me like a caress. “Thought you’d be hungry for lunch when you got home.”
"I am."
He intercepts me before I can reach him, his hands finding my hips, pulling me against him. The warmth of his body, the solid strength of him, draws a soft sound of contentment from between my lips. “You came home from work early just to make me lunch?”
He grins. “Lunch, and dessert if I get lucky.”
“Oh, I think it’s safe to assume you’re going to get lucky, Mr. Baine.”
He bends his head down and nuzzles the sensitive curve of my neck. As I tilt my head back to give him access, my gaze catches on something propped on the barstool I usually occupy. It’s a stuffed elephant. Pale gray, impossibly soft-looking, with big embroidered eyes and a sweet, simple smile. Small enough to fit in a baby's arms.
My breath stops.
"I saw it in a boutique window today." Nick's voice has gone careful, watching my face as I extricate myself from his embrace and go to pick up the sweet toy. "I saw it, and I thought—" He pauses. Hesitation flickers behind his eyes, careful hope, the uncertainty of a man who's never bought anything for a baby before and doesn’t seem sure he's allowed to want this. "Too soon?"
Tears well before I can stop them. Joy builds inside me, rising and swelling until I can barely contain it. "It's perfect," I manage. "Nick, it's—"
I can't finish. My hand rises to cover my mouth. Tears spill over, tracking down my cheeks, and I'm crying in earnest now, which is ridiculous. I can’t dismiss it as pregnancy hormones, though I definitely have my share of those. This is something else. It's him engaging with our unborn baby. With fatherhood. With the future we're building together.
