“Is there something you want to do with your art?”
My throat goes dry, “I mean, it would be amazing to go to art school, but my family would never be cool with it. They already think my art is a waste of time.”
Dane’s expression clouds. “Have you ever explained to them why you paint?”
It feels like a trick question, but I answer honestly. “Not really. But I paint because it makes me feel like a person.”
“Your life should be your own. Your family shouldn’t have anything to say about what you want to do with it.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, reaching over and moving a tendril of hair off his forehead. It’s more intimate than I thought it would be, and I hover in the feeling of it for a moment. Under my other hand, I feel Dane’s stomach tighten. I think about what he said about his dad, the pressure, the lack of a relationship there. “Yourlife should beyours, too.”
His jaw works, and for a second, I think he’s going to open up more—to agree with me, share about his dad.
Instead, he wraps his arms around me, lifting me and placing me on my back. When his weight settles between my legs, it’s delicious. I’m instantly breathless, staring up at him as arousal starts to build inside me again.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stupidly.
“Starting the next lesson,” he grumbles, before covering his mouth with mine.
Aunt Ruby is waiting for me in a baby blue convertible outside of JFK when I walk out of the airport. She’s wearing a breezy floral dress, a gauzy headscarf tied around her hair.
“Hey, doll!” she calls, waving to me.
“Auntie,” I breathe, laughing a little as I reach the passenger’s seat. “Whose car is this?”
She gives me a bewildered expression, “Mine!”
I try to asksince when? But it’s drowned out when she revs the engine loudly and catches the attention of a nearby security guard.
“Best get in, love,” Aunt Ruby says, tossing a few things in the back, then moving Pudding’s carrier gently, like it’s a multi-tiered cake. Pudding meows indignantly at being relegated to the back seat, and I grin over at the cat.
“Good to see you, too, Pudding.” The moment my ass hits the seat, Aunt Ruby throws it in gear, and I barely have time to shut the door, pull on the seat belt, and give the security guard a quick, cheeky grin.
We roll along the airport’s maze of winding roads, Ruby’s scarf fluttering behind us like we’re in a movie. I hold onto the door and stifle a scream when we go peeling around a curve fast enough to leave tire marks.
“Good to have you back in town,” Aunt Ruby sings, over the roar of the wind. “I was lonely! And Pudding missed you!”
“I doubt that!”
“What?” she turns and looks at me, and the convertible veers off the road a little.
“I said—I doubt that!” I call again, letting out a squeak of alarm and putting my hand on the dashboard. Aunt Ruby jerks the car back onto the road and shakes her head.
“I just can’t hear you love,” she says, reaching over to pat my hand when I wish she would keep both of hers on the wheel. “We’ll talk when we get to the restaurant.”
The restaurantturns out to be a hyper-exclusive, brand-new eatery on the top floor of one of downtown's tallest buildings. Aunt Ruby whips into the valet, hands the driver a crumpledhundred-dollar bill around her keys and carefully retrieves Pudding before tugging me through the towering front doors.
My heart patters nervously as she laughs and jokes with the man who greets us at the door—who is, apparently, the chef and owner of the restaurant. One of the many people she “took under her wing,” I suppose.
“You’re so lucky to have this woman as family,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. He’s stout, a middle-aged Korean-American with short black hair and tattoos that snake up his arms, before disappearing under a tight t-shirt.
I agree wholeheartedly before we’re seated by the window with a breathtaking view of the city, Pudding snacking on some fresh tuna in her carrier beside us.
The second we’re alone, I feel my secret—this very fresh piece of information—jamming up in the back of my throat. It’s been like that from the moment I got off the jet, following after Dane, who had a meeting to get to and told me to use his card if I needed a ride.
“Or anything else,” he’d added, looking deathly serious about it in a way that made my stomach feel light. He couldn’treallyintend for me to use the card for anything, but the way he said it certainly implied that.
“Now,” Aunt Ruby says, after taking a long drink of the cocktail they bring her, looking at me over the top of the toothpick stuck through a juicy red cherry. “Tell me something interesting about your trip.”
