My eyes drift back to the painting.
“You worked on it,” I say.
She follows my gaze, her expression softening. “A little.”
I step closer to it, studying the changes.
“You added detail,” I say.
She nods. “Light shifts throughout the day. I wanted to capture late afternoon specifically.”
She walks past me toward the kitchen.
“There’s food,” she says over her shoulder. “If you’re hungry.”
I follow automatically.
“What is it?”
She glances back. “You ask that like you don’t trust me.”
“I don’t.”
She smirks. “Rude.”
She moves around the kitchen easily now, like she knows where everything belongs.
“I made chicken parmesan. I can heat some up for you?”
“Sounds great.” The words come out before I think them through. “Maybe we could watch a movie or something?”
Where the hell did that come from?
A minute ago, I was fully committed to keeping things separate. Controlled. Clean. That’s the smart move when she’s living under my roof.
But it’s too late now.
I can’t take it back.
“Sure,” she says easily.
The doorbell rings.
I push off the counter and head for the front door, my mind already running ahead to what a movie night with Talia might look like.
Would she curl up next to me?
The thought settles warm and dangerous in my chest.
It would be nice.
It would also be a mistake.
Opposite ends of the couch, I decide. Safe distance.
I reach for the handle and pull the door open.
And everything inside me goes cold.
