That’s all it was.
I push off the door and head for the bathroom, peeling off my bleach-stained clothes as I go.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in an oversized T-shirt, hair damp and twisted into a knot, when there’s a knock.
My heart stutters.
Lance?
I pad to the door and peer through the peephole.
Art.
Of course it’s Art. That’s who Iwantit to be.
I undo the lock and pull the door open, and there he is—auburn hair windswept, peacoat on, a bottle of wine in one hand and a white box in the other.
“Hey, you.” He smiles that crooked grin that made me fall for him in the first place. “I know it’s late. Is this okay?”
“Yeah. Of course. Come in.”
My gaze cuts past him, checking the sidewalk and down the street, something pressing against my lungs.
He steps inside, kissing my forehead as he passes, and the familiar scent of his cologne wraps around me like a blanket. This is the smell I needed. Not campfire and leather,this.
“I brought your favorite.” He holds up the wine. “And…” He opens the white box to reveal two perfect slices of tiramisu from Dante’s restaurant in the town square. “A peace offering.”
“For what?”
He sighs, placing everything on the counter and running a hand through his hair. “Everything. But that’s not an excuse. I know I’ve been distracted. You deserve better than me showing up at one a.m. with wine and sugar like that fixes anything.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“Come here.” He reaches for me, pulling me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me like I’m something precious.
I sink into it. Into him.
This is the Art I remember. The one who made long distance easy. Who surprised me with visits and romantic gestures. He’s never sat at my tiny kitchen table and let me ramble about brain physiology over stew, but who needs that when I havethis?
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m trying, Gin. I promise I’m trying.”
“I know.”
And I want to believe it. I really do.
He pulls back, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “You look exhausted.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Beautiful,” he corrects. “Exhausted and beautiful.”
“Are you trying to get laid?”
He quirks a brow. “Is it working?”
I laugh, and he kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that used to make me forget everything else, and for a moment, it almost works.
“You want some wine?”
