Page 47 of Out of Sight

“Usually.” He walked into the kitchen and started the sandwiches and soup.

“Do you often run around without a shirt?”

He smiled. “Frequently when I am at home. The glyphs under my skin denote spells I have mastery of, and they move. Movement creates heat, and I am dense enough that the heat doesn’t dissipate easily.”

She cocked her head and had a few thoughts that she definitely did not want to share. The mental image of him naked and steaming now made a lot more sense.

He slid his phone toward her. “Order what you like to do nails. You lit up when you were talking about them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Until your funds come in, you are very welcome to anything I can offer. After, we can negotiate.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I could just grab what I needed, but I like to do things the right way.”

“You have had a rough decade. Many in your situation would be completely mad.”

“That is why I need the therapist. I don’t know if I am completely mad. I am at least partially mad.” She went through the beauty supply store menu and started with the basics and then kept going.

She looked at the total and blinked. “Uh... sorry.”

He grinned. “You are an artist, and artists need tools.”

“How do you know?”

“Your cousins all perked up when you offered to do Ted’s nails. That kind of attention does not come if the work on offer isn’t worthy.”

She smiled. “Thanks for that.”

“What?”

“It is a moment that they remembered me. That they have seen me. I knew it would be overwhelming with both of us coming back, but the one cousin that was easier to remember was what they focused on. Don’t get me wrong, she deserved it, but...”

“But what?”

“Didn’t I deserve it, too?” She felt tears starting, and she let them fall.

Yorwell paused the food and walked over to her, wrapping her in his arms. She held onto him and sobbed at the rejection that had been running through her in waves as she watched her family go on without her. She heard small clinks hitting the floor, but she focused on her storm and getting the frustration out. Lancing her pain would help heal. She had sat in on enough therapy to know that giving it form would help her deal with it. The tears were the form; the grief was acceptance.

She rested her forehead against his chest and sighed. “I am sorry.”

Yorwell was stroking her hair. “I am glad you felt you were safe enough to let it out.”

She slowly tilted her head back, and he was looking down at her with a soft smile. “I got you all wet.”

He continued stroking her hair. “I hope to one day return the favour.”

She blinked and caught on. “Oh.”

“I want you in my shower, and I want myself in you, but I have time.”

She blinked. “You have time?”

“Indeed. No rush.” He held her against him, and energy started to work the kitchen.

“Um, do you need your hands for that?”

“No. You need support, so you will have it.”