I laugh. “Should we add that to our movie-watching list?”
“I think we should save that one for Valentine’s Day,” he chirps and I smile.
“Planning more of our future, I see. Are you the one making me promises now?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me more, then.”
He toys with one of my nipples, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I . . . you’ll come with me to some art shows, and maybe even mine.”
“Sounds fun. I’d love to see what you do.”
“I’m sure you have.” He looks down and then around the room. “Some of the pieces I’ve done are on the walls of this cabin. A statue by the door and . . . some vases. I had a lot of experimental phases before finding my true passion.”
“Can I guess which ones they are?”
“I don’t know . . . can you?” He smiles softly.
“Let’s see.” I tap my chin as my eyes scan the room. They land on a shiny, large golden canvas above the mantle with blue and yellow ceramic flowers and I’m unable to look anywhere else, captivated by the beauty of it. It’s his. It has to be. I see so much of him in it, getting this warm, comfort feeling deep down.
“Find something yet?” His lips purse and I nod, my gaze remaining on the piece as my lips tilt higher.
“The piece above the mantel.”
His face stills and then his lips break into a smile. “Lucky guess.”
“Nah. It’s got my Honey all over it.”
He chuckles. “What else?”
My gaze bounces around the room and I sit up, tilting my head as I study the large gold and white butterflies hung in a diagonal line next to the front door. “You love nature,” I say, looking down at him and pushing hair from his eyes.
“I do. Butterflies are my favorite. I like bees too, though.”
“Honey and bees do go well together,” I say with a smile and he laughs again. “Your work is beautiful. Just like you, mi dulce.”
His eyes blink. “What’s that?”
“Like sweetness. Same as calling you my sugar or—”
“Honey,” he says without another beat.
“Yeah. Exactly.” I lie back beside him, tucking my arm behind my head, and he rests his cheek against the center of my chest, fingers rubbing over my stomach.
“I have no idea why you call me that, but I know that I like it.”
“It’s because it’s the first thing that came to mind when your hair blew in the wind and I wanted to run my hands through it. It looked so soft and so did your matching golden eyes. I felt stuck. Like I couldn’t move. Trapped, in the best way.”
“I wish I could see you. I know the color of your eyes and hair but . . . I want to see you like you see me.”
“I wish you could too, but I promise you you’re not missing out on much.” My tone lightens and he snorts.
“I doubt that. My friend told me you’re gorgeous.”
“You believe her?”
“She’s never steered me wrong before.” He blows a soft breath against my skin.
