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“Do you show them?”
“I tried.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I sold a few, but they never got the same attention. People seem to connect with the glass stuff more. They like the show.”
They liked him. And who could blame them? Though I could see disappointment in his face.
“Well, they’re amazing. Maybe even more than the glass art.”
His smile brightened. “Thank you.”
Remembering that we were standing in his bedroom, I cleared my throat. “So…the mouse?”
“Gone.”
“Where?”
“Relocated.”
“To…”
“Outside. Far away from your laundry.”
I exhaled, my shoulders finally dropping. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I started an empty cycle in the washing machine. Figured you’d have a heart attack if I tossed your clothes in without cleaning it first.”
I smiled. “You figured right. Thank you.”
For a second neither of us moved. I could feel a charge in the air. And once again, I felt like I’d taken another step over that invisible line.
Rafe cleared his throat. “You want some tea? Maybe herbal to help you calm down?”
I nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
He headed toward the kitchen, and I followed, grateful to not be alone right now. He filled a kettle and set it on the stove. “Would you want me to set a few traps in your apartment?”
I froze. “You think he’s coming back, or he brought friends?”
“No, I’m offering as a precaution. Might help you sleep better.” Seeing my face, he walked over and put his hands on my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes. “I’ve never seen a mouse inside the house, only the basement, and this was only the second time. I promise.”
“Never in the house?”
He shook his head. “Not once.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not just saying that so I don’t panic?”
“Well, I am saying it so you don’t panic. But it also happens to be true.”
I blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay, yeah. Traps would be good.”
A minute later, the kettle started to whistle, and he poured two mugs, handing one to me. Our fingers brushed, and we looked at each other.
Rafe took a step back. “I’ll go set them up. You can stay here.”
I wrapped my hands around the mug. “Thank you.”
“And,” he added with a smirk, “feel free to snoop some more.”
For a second after he left, I considered it—going back to the bedroom, looking through more of his paintings. Maybe even checking the nightstand.
