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He was lit up from the inside out. He loved this part—and he was good at it. All smiles and ease. He exuded charm by making each person feel seen as he asked them about themselves.

Honestly, he looked happy. Definitely in his element.

Finally, Lily texted back. I braced myself and looked at my phone, and it was a short but powerful message.

Lily: Are you sure?

I glanced back over at Tate.

“It was so nice to meet all of you,” he said. “But I’m here with someone special, and I want to give her my full attention.” He gave me a smile meant to melt hearts.

Oh, it worked. My heart was a puddle of goo.

I texted Lily.

Me: I’m sure.

Chapter Twenty-One

Tate

Ileaned against the frame of the dining room entrance and watched Rory do her thing. I loved watching her paint. It was like watching an artist at work—steady, focused, completely in her zone. She didn’t even need tape. She could cut in the edging and corners with perfect strokes, not a drop out of line. Somehow she made it look effortless, but I’d tried it enough times to know it wasn’t. Every attempt of mine had been a disaster. Rory had banned me from ever painting without tape again.

She stood on her toes on the small ladder to reach the upper corner, her hair slipping forward as she angled the brush. She had a smudge of blue streaked across her cheek. I bet she hadn’t even noticed. She never did when she was in this mode, all concentration and quiet determination. It was one of my favorite versions of her.

Honestly, I couldn’t think of a version of her that I didn’t like. Except for the one where she wasn’t with me.

The chandelier light caught the streaks of blonde in her hair, and when she lifted her arm, her T-shirt shifted just enough to show the curve of her waist and the soft skin there. Skin I used to know better than my own. Skin that would rise with just the slightest touch from me.

I gripped the edge of the wall. The urge to go to her—to feel the warmth of her skin under my fingertips—hit me hard enough to steal my breath.

I missed every inch of her.

Rory stepped down from the ladder, paintbrush in hand, and startled when she noticed me.

“Oh my gosh. How long have you been there?”

“Not long enough.”

She smiled and bit her pouty pink lip. Something about how bashful she still was around me did something to me. It made me want her even more. How did she do that after all this time? And how had I spent so many years not realizing what was right in front of me?

It might have had something to do with the ten-year-old girl who used to love to needle me any chance she got and made me bedazzle things with her.

But Rory wasn’t a girl any longer. She hadn’t been for a long time. She was all woman, and I wanted her.

I stepped across the tarp-covered floor to reach her. To touch her, if only to wipe the smudge of paint off her cheek with the pad of my thumb. And that’s exactly what I did. And while I did, I took the moment to get lost in her eyes, blinking up at me with wonder.

In them, I saw signs of hope for us. She’d been keeping her thoughts to herself since I’d laid my heart on the line the night before, driving me mad. But that was her way. When she was ready to share, she would.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome. Would you like to have dinner with me in the parlor?” I asked.

“Hmm,” she playfully said, as if truly debating. “What are we having?”

I had to stop myself from saying I’d love to have her, knowing I needed to take this slow. Rory deserved that. Deserved to know this was about love, not impulse or desire—though my desire for her was stronger than ever.

“Meet me in the parlor, and you’ll see.”