Page 19 of Possessive Ink

“That fucker. I’ll box it up now. See you in a minute.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” I whisper after he ends the call.

“You were looking forward to it,” he says simply, turning and parking outside the patisserie. “Do you want to come and talk to my sister now, or shall I get your cake, and you can chat about the job over dinner?”

Glancing at myself in the rearview mirror, I gasp at my puffy eyes and tear-streaked face. “I look awful.”

“You’re fucking beautiful. But that’s okay. You can talk to her later. Wait here. I’ll get your cake,” he says, slipping out of the car and into the store, returning a moment later with a small cake box in his hand.

“Thank you,” I whisper when he hands the cake to me.

Exhaling softly, he wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. “You’re welcome.”

My gaze falls to the box resting in my lap, and I have to fight the urge to cry again. When was the last time anyone did something this thoughtful for me? Honestly, I don’t remember. For months I’ve spent my days running around after Wes and my nights avoiding Avery. Even though I’ve been living in Rockhead Point for nearly two years, I don’t really have any friends here, and I don’t remember the last time I did anything other than work and hide in my bedroom.

What has my life become? When I lived in Bozeman, I had friends…didn’t I? My regular customers were friends. Mrs. Tillman used to bake banana bread and bring it in for me. Eric, the biggest Dungeons and Dragons geek I’ve ever met, used to ask me at least once a week to join his D&D club.

I practically watched Alyssa’s baby grow up, and I even got invited to Harold and Kumar’s wedding. I had a life there, but I guess it kind of revolved around my job, and when the shop shut, all of those connections to the people I saw every day faded away too.

The more I think about it, the more pathetic I feel. I haven’t really made any effort to get to know people here. When Avery and I first moved in together, I guess I thought she and I would become besties, but instead, she became the roommate from hell. Until now I hadn’t realized how much I’d allowed my deteriorating relationship with her to affect the rest of my life.

I startle when my car door opens. Atticus is standing in the gap, holding his hand out to me. “Oh,” I gasp. “I’m sorry. I was miles away.” Taking his hand, purely because it’d be rude not to, I let him help me from the car. The moment my feet hit the floor, I look up and realize we’re at his brother’s studio again.

“Thank you for your help today, but I should probably go home.”

“Where’s home?” he asks.

“I have an apartment over on Woodrow Avenue.”

“Do you live alone?” Atticus asks, still holding my fingers in his.

“No. I have a roommate.”

I swear his shoulders relax a little, but the movement is so subtle I’m not sure if I imagined it or not.

“Are you good friends?”

“Err…” I sigh. “I met her when I was living in Bozeman. She was a regular at the coffee shop I worked at. When the store got bought out and closed, she told me she was moving here for work and asked if I wanted to move with her. I was excited, but living together hasn’t really worked out. We signed a two-year lease that ends in sixty-six days.”

Nodding slowly, a hint of a grin curls the corner of his sexy lips. Dropping my hand, he places his palm on my back again, guiding me into the warehouse, but instead of heading toward where Felix is sketching, he turns me to the stairs, using his hand on my back to urge me to start to climb.

The music is so loud that if Atticus is speaking to me, I can’t hear him. But once we both reach the small landing at the top of the stairs, he steps past me and pushes open a heavy metal door, gesturing for me to step through.

The silence that settles over me the moment the door swings closed is so dense that I panic that I’ve suddenly gone deaf.

“He needs the music that loud to work. That’s why I had the loft fully soundproofed,” Atticus says.

“This place is incredible,” I gasp, glancing around me at the luxury apartment we’re now standing in.

“When we decided to move here, we were looking for a house and a separate studio space, but we couldn’t find anything suitable. This warehouse was the only space that worked. Here we don’t have any close neighbors, so no one to complain about the noise or late hours Felix keeps. The building was just one big open space, so we had the loft designed and built exactly as we wanted.”

“You only moved in yesterday?” I question incredulously.

“I hired a designer to furnish the place for us,” he explains, like that’s a totally normal thing to do.

“Wow,” I say, gulping thickly as I start to feel out of place surrounded by the classy and clearly expensive furniture.

“Come and sit,” Atticus says, steering me over to the huge sofa.