Page 98 of Possessive Ink

“Avery wasn’t right about anything,” he hisses angrily.

“Maybe this is just an opportunity to have a clear-out. I can see which of my bits of junk give me the most joy, and then I’ll get rid of the rest.”

Reaching for me, he drags me to him and presses a hard kiss against my lips. “No,” he says when he pulls back. Slipping his cell from his pocket, he taps at the screen, then brings it to his ear. “Hi, Cody, it’s Atticus Hoffman.”

Furrowing my brow, I strain to hear what whoever is on the other end of the call is saying, but it’s too quiet, so I try to piece together the whole conversation just from Atticus’s side.

“I’m doing good, thanks. My fiancée has moved into the loft, and you were right. We need more space.”

He pauses, listening to the person respond.

“Yeah, probably at least one more bedroom, maybe two, an extension to my closet, and then a space she can use as a sewing and design studio.”

Atticus nods, his expression turning pensive.

“And how quickly do you think you can make that happen?”

“Atticus,” I hiss, trying to interrupt him.

“Really? That quickly?”

There’s another pause.

“And that can all be done off site, then just installed?”

He pauses again.

“Can you get me some ballpark prices and a timescale over, and I’ll talk it over with Lemon and Felix, then let you know.”

“Atticus,” I hiss a little louder this time.

“Thanks, Cody, appreciate it.”

Ignoring me, he ends the call before finally turning to look at me again.

“Atticus, what was that?” I question.

“When we designed the loft space, Cody warned me it wasn’t big enough and that we should add more bedrooms. But at the time, I never considered that anyone other than me and Felix would live here. I love you, Lemon, and that means that I love all of your dollar store trinkets and twinkle lights. I don’t want you to squeeze yourself into my life. I want us to build a life together, and if that means we change a few things and add on a few more bedrooms, then that’s an easy decision.”

“That’s crazy. You only moved in this week. Me moving in isn’t a good enough reason to change the space you literally just had designed. What if it blocks Felix’s light? What if we don’t work out?”

Moving faster than I thought possible, Atticus cups my face, holding me tightly. “Us not working out isn’t an option. This is it for me. You’re it for me. If something isn’t working, we fix it. There’s no walking away for either of us now.”

A part of me wants to be angry, but instead, I melt at his words, sagging in his hold. “What if this is all happening because of some crazy family legacy? What if none of this is real?”

“It feels real to me. In fact, nothing has ever felt more real than the way I feel about you. I love you, Lemon. I knew it the moment I saw you, and maybe that’s because of the Barnetts or magic or a bizarre twist of fate. But I don’t give a fuck why we found each other. I’m just happy that we did, because now that I have you, I’m never going to let you go.”

“I love you too,” I admit, because it’s the truth, and maybe he’s right. Who cares how we got here, because all that matters is that we did.

Apparently, Sunday night is chicken fingers, fries, and corn night on Felix’s menu for the week. But while Atticus happily makes the meal for his brother, he makes us roasted garlic and parmesan pasta with a crisp green salad.

“Felix, dinner is ready,” Atticus tells his brother after he locks the warehouse door and turns off Felix’s music.

Instead of easels and charcoal, Felix is pacing around a huge lump of clay, hacking at it with some kind of tool.

“Come on. He might not look like it, but he heard me. He’ll be up in a minute,” Atticus assures me.

Nodding, I take his hand and let him lead me back upstairs. Felix appears a few moments later and heads into his bathroom, reappearing shirtless, his arms, chest, and face still slightly wet from where he’s washed the clay off.