She practically danced into the kitchen, where Tarmek was already up, because of course he was. He was standing at the counter and making coffee, looking unfairly attractive in a simple black sweater that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.
"Storm's done!" she announced.
He didn't turn around. "I noticed."
"The roads should be plowed by this afternoon. We can go back to the arena."
"Mmm."
She bounced on her toes, too excited to be deterred by his monosyllabic responses. "I can finally start the actual painting. No more sketching and planning and going slowly insane from cabin fever."
That got a reaction—just a slight tension in his shoulders—but she saw it.
"You seemed to be managing the cabin fever adequately."
Adequately.There was that word again. The one he'd used after kissing her senseless.
She grinned at his back. "I had entertainment."
The coffee maker beeped. He poured two cups and turned around. Their eyes met.
Heat flared between them—instant, undeniable, and impossible to ignore. She watched his gaze drop to her mouth and watched him catch himself doing it, the muscles in his jaw clenching.
"Arena," he said flatly. "This afternoon."
"Can't wait."
The arena had survived the storm without major damage, though the parking lot required some creative navigation through snowbanks that reached her waist. Her camper was half-buried in drifts as well. She saw him look at it, but he didn't say anything about digging it out so she didn't either. She didn't care. She was too happy to be back in her element, surrounded by scaffolding and drop cloths and the familiar smell of primer and possibility.
The mural was coming along beautifully. The base layers were complete, the central composition sketched out in careful charcoal lines that would soon explode into color and movement. It was going to be her best work—she could feel it in her bones. There was something about this place and these people, especially the ridiculous grumpy orc who was currently standing in the middle of her workspace with his arms crossed, inspecting her setup like it might attack him.
"You shouldn't stay here," he said when he returned from running drills.
"And yet, here I am." She gestured at the half-finished wall. "This is literally my job, remember?"
"It's late. The building is essentially empty. If something happened?—"
"Then you'd rescue me. You're excellent at that." She flashed him a grin and turned back to her supplies. "Now, since you're here anyway, you can help."
A deafening silence followed. She glanced over her shoulder. He was staring at her like she'd suggested he strip naked and run laps around the rink.
"Help," he repeated.
"Paint. With me. It'll be fun."
"I don't paint."
"Everyone paints. It's literally just putting color on a surface. Toddlers do it."
"I am not a toddler."
"You could've fooled me with all the temper tantrums."
His eyes narrowed. "I have temper tantrums?"
"Like when I rearranged your magnets?"
His gaze immediately dropped to her lips and her heart skipped a beat before he looked away.
