She got back to work, and I amused myself watching theplay of emotions across her face. She was an open book when she was painting, and I loved that. Finally, she put her paintbrush down.
“You can come over,” she said.
I stretched, my muscles creaking, and slowly made my way to her side. As soon as I laid eyes on the painting, I forgot how to breathe. I’d expected it to be decent—I’d seen evidence of what a good artist she was—but she was out of practice, and honestly, I’d thought she might be a little playfully teasing when it came to painting me naked.
Not so.
She’d captured me beautifully. The sunlight played across my skin in the painting, and her use of colors and contrast was exquisite. It was my face that most stunned me though. Everything I felt for her was there for anyone to see. I had no idea how she’d done it, but my love for her practically radiated off the canvas.
“Wow,” I breathed.
“It needs a lot more work,” she said self-consciously.
I took her by the shoulders and turned her to face me. “It’s amazing, Fi.”
Her lips curved slightly. “It is kind of great, isn’t it?” Her smile widened, and she laughed. “I painted, Zeke. I finally did it.” She kissed me. “Thank you for bringing me here. It was…sweet.”
A few weeks ago, “sweet” might not have been what I wanted to hear from any woman, but now, I was so glad to see Fiona happy, and the fact that I’d contributed to it was fucking amazing.
I bounced my eyebrows. “Just call me sugar.”
FIONA
I was riding highas Zeke drove us home from the studio. My painting would stay there to dry—I’d positioned it facing a wall and suggested Anna may not want to look at it—and we could return to either continue working on it or take it home. Once upon a time, I would have considered it far too raw to be finished, but it was the first full image I’d managed to paint in years. I didn’t know whether it was being free of the shackles of my past, or simply Zeke’s ability to get me out of my head, but I was reluctant to change a single thing about that painting. It was perfect.
It took me a while to realize that we weren’t heading toward my apartment.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“My place.” He glanced at me, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Is that okay?”
My heart soared. “Perfect.”
The fact that he trusted me enough to take me to his home felt momentous. I’d never heard him—or anyone else—talk about it. I didn’t even know whether he lived in a condo or a house of some kind. My anticipation grew as we left the city center and entered the suburbs. He finally stopped outside a small, tidy wooden home with a pair of cane chairs on the front porch and a flower garden that was beginning to die off before winter.
“Home sweet home,” he said, and came around the car to help me out. Not that I needed it, but it was a nice gesture.
I stared at the house, unsure what to make of it. I’d expected him to either have a condo with edgy decor in a cool part of town or perhaps an architecturally designed house with a stylish interior. From the outside, this place looked… homey.
“You have a garden,” I said, like an idiot.
He flashed me a grin. “Flowers in the front, vegetables and fruit trees in the back.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
He snagged my hand and led me to the front door. “What? You didn’t expect me to have a green thumb?”
“Honestly, no.”
He slotted his key into the lock and pushed the door open. We stepped into a short hallway, with a shoe rack to one side. I slid my shoes off and placed them on the rack. Zeke did the same.
“Would you like the grand tour?” he asked.
“Yes, please.” I was eager to see more.
“This is the spare bedroom.” He opened the door to the left, revealing a small room with a neatly made bed in the center, a bookshelf against one wall, and an array of knickknacks along the top of the shelf.
“The master bedroom is across the hall.”
