“Jake,” she says, laughing breathlessly. “Jake, oh my God.”
My brain short-circuits.
She’s hugging me.
She’s hugging me in my bed.
I become painfully aware of the fact that I’m shirtless.
My hands hover awkwardly in the air for a second before I settle them lightly on her back, unsure what the hell I’m doing.
“You—” she pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands still gripping my shoulders. “You bought these for me?”
I shrug, aiming for casual.
“You needed them,” I say gruffly. “You paint. You should have decent tools.”
Her eyes search my face like she’s trying to see past the words.
“They’re perfect,” she whispers.
I look away. “They’re supplies.”
Her arms tighten around me again in a quick, fierce hug.
“Thank you,” she says into my shoulder.
Her voice is warm. Genuine. Unfiltered.
It does something to my chest I don’t know how to deal with.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter.
She pulls back again, still beaming. She holds up the sketchbook like it’s treasure.
“This is beautiful.”
I nod once.
“You like it.”
“I love it,” she corrects immediately.
My mouth twitches despite myself.
She laughs, shaking her head like she can’t believe it.
“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
She’s vibrating with happiness. Practically bouncing on her feet.
“I can do studies now,” she says, more to herself than to me. “And the oils—Jake, these are professional grade. Do you know how expensive these are?”
I grimace. “I don’t really care. You’re a professional. You need professional materials. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”
She looks at me again, softer now.
“Thank you,” she repeats.
