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In the smell of bacon.

In the way he kept glancing over at me and smiling.

Nothing about this was simple. The weight of what we’d done was still out there. But for once, I didn’t go looking for it. I enjoyed the moment—to hell with whatever came next. It was coming whether I was miserable right now or not.

A few minutes later, Rafe set a plate in front of me and took a bow. “Eggs à la Rafe.”

I looked at the eggs, bacon, and toast arranged like they’d come from a restaurant. “This is amazing.”

He practically glowed, then slid into the chair across from me with his own plate of food and waited for me to take the first taste.

The eggs were buttery and creamy. I thought I might’ve tasted a little sour cream in there. Freaking delicious. He deserved more than a polite compliment, so I closed my eyes and made a sound that wasn’t all that far from the start of an orgasm.

“Mmmm. So, so good.”

When I opened my eyes, Rafe was smiling like he’d just won the lotto.

“And here you thought my only talents were smashing things with a hammer.” He winked. “Pun intended.”

I laughed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

We ate for a few minutes in comfortable silence, the kind I never would’ve expected this morning. Music still played from his phone, sunlight spilled in from the kitchen window, and the stubble along Rafe’s jaw made me forget almost everything but living in the now.

“So,” I said. “Tell me more about the Vegas show you mentioned yesterday. Would it be in one of the big hotels?”

He shook his head. “The details are still up in the air, but it wouldn’t be Venetian or Bellagio level. They want to show me a few different venues. One is in the arts district, another is a smaller hotel that’s on the main strip. But nothing is determined yet.”

I tore a piece of my toast in half. “That’s so cool.”

“It’s…something, alright.”

I looked up. “Why does it sound like you’re not excited?”

Rafe sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Because something about the whole thing doesn’t sit right with me.”

“In what way?”

He took out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and slid it across the table. The screen lit up with a very sexy, very shirtless photo of Rafe raising a sledgehammer over his head. His muscles bulged, his jeans rode low enough to showcase six-pack abs and that deep-set V, and his angular jaw had the perfect amount of stubble.

I blinked. “Wow. You look…” I shook my head. “Hot.”

He made a face. “How does the art look?”

“The art?”

His brows lifted.

Right. The art. I cleared my throat and brought the phone closer. Unlike Rafe, in the photo, the art on the floor was slightly out of focus. “Umm… It could use a little less blur.”

“That’s my point. They don’t want to sell my art. They want to sell me. Sell sex.”

“Oh.”

I guess it worked, because I hadn’t even noticed there was art in the photo until he mentioned it. “Well, sex does sell.”

“I know. And maybe if it gets me more visibility in the art world, I should overlook what brings people to my work.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “But something about it just feels kinda gross.”