Chapter Ten
Kayden
Jace plated the Indiantakeout and warmed it up in the microwave before sitting across from me in his breakfast nook. The curved booth looked out over the city, just like everything on this side of his condo, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the design of his kitchen. I looked around, getting lost in the intricacies of the layout when his voice snapped me back to the present.
“I love when you start looking all dreamily at my condo like you’re too caught up in the architecture to focus on anything else,” Jace said with a smile as he brought a forkful of mango chicken to his lips. He was still wearing his gray sweatpants, but at least he’d put on a shirt—something that provided me an opportunity to control my overwhelming lust for this man.
My cheeks warmed. “How can you tell?”
He looked at me appreciatively. “It’s the expression you get on your face. You retreat into your head a lot, but when you’re thinking aboutarchitecture you have this look of awe and curiosity that’s different from when you’re overthinking. Like your brain isn’t worried, it’s just trying to figure out how the space was designed so you can memorize it.”
That observation was more astute than anything I’d ever heard before.
“I’ve always been into building and design, even construction,” I said. “I worked for a contractor building homes when I was in college and I loved that too. I just find the intricacies of creating the design that supports the construction even more fascinating. I ended up getting my undergraduate degree in civil engineering because I wanted to understand how it all comes together.”
“You clearly enjoy your work,” Jace said taking a swig of beer.
I nodded, taking a small bite. I hated talking about myself, especially my past, but I wanted Jace to know me. I wanted him to know there was more to me than the anxiety he kept witnessing, and he was far easier to talk to than most people I met. “I like understanding how things work and why. I read a lot; physical science, history, sociology, psychology—it all fascinates me.”
“I’m not surprised. I could tell you were incredibly intelligent right way.”
I shrugged. “I guess. I was valedictorian. High school and college.”
He chuckled. “You do not say that with enough pride. Aren’t you technically a genius?”
“There is no official classification for genius by IQ, but as far at the general populus is concerned, yes.”
Jace laughed. “That answer only proves you’re a genius.” He took another sip of his beer. “Where did you go to college?”
“Notre Dame. You?”
“NYU. I was never very academic. I had good enough grades, but I wasn’t really passionate about learning. I was passionate about art and making a difference. I watched my moms run successful businesses that helped people, and I wanted to do that too.”
“Makes sense. You seem to get a lot of joy out of helping others.” I took another bite of rice and looked down at my plate. “I like that about you.”
I looked up to see Jace smiling at me.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve been meaning to confirm this, but did you make all of the art in this condo?” I asked, gesturing to the walls. “Did you have an interior designer? Because the place is impeccably designed.”
Jace set his fork down. “I had a decorator do the work, but I designed the interior. And yeah, the art is all mine. On the wallsandmy body. I was already into art when I met my moms, but one of them owns a gallery, LGBTQIArt in Back Bay, and I got really invested in it after I was adopted. I double-majored in art and business in college.”
“I’ve heard of that place actually,” I said. “They feature LGBTQIA+ artists and donate a large portion of their profits to charitable organizations, right?”
“That’s the one. Sloane Cohen is my mom.”
I inhaled deeply, tensing at the memory. “I remember the name of that gallery because when I was young, they were nominated for an award of some kind. I don’t remember the details. I just remember my father throwing the newspaper on the kitchen table and yelling in a drunk rage for five minutes about how the LGBTQIA+ community wastaking over the city.”
Jace flinched. “Gross. I’m going to guess that comment came with a slur or two and that has something to do with why you’re not ready to tell him you’re bi.”
“Yep. He usually coupled his slurs with a whole host of physical abuse too. That day, when I suggested he not refer to a group of people by the word he actually used, he slapped me so hard I fell backward into the coffee table and split my head open. It was our first trip to the emergency room, but certainly not our last.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Kayd,” Jace said, reaching across the table for my hand. I let him take it and looked down as I threaded my fingers through his.
I shrugged. “He’d just started beating me, right after my mom died, so he wasn’t as good about being careful yet. Eventually, he got a lot better at hiding his drinking and my bruises.”
Jace sighed and I looked up at his earnest green eyes, feeling them ground me, keeping me from falling back into my mind and reliving my trauma.
“That’s probably enough sharing about my past for the night. If that’s okay,” I said. “I don’t usually talk about it at all.”
