Page 16 of Changing Rules

“Hi.”

He comes closer, his scent instantly filling my nostrils. On instinct, I inhale, and my muscles relax. He doesn’t even have to touch me to ground me. He is my home.

“How are you?” I ask.

He presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’m good. Drew says hi.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m starving,” he says, splaying a hand over his abdomen. “But I need a shower first.”

“Go. I’ll heat up dinner.”

He steps closer, his proximity making my heart beat fast. Its rhythm echoes in my ears. Sometimes, my chest aches from his presence.

“I was hoping you’d join me.” He catches my wrist and pulls me in so our bodies touch from chest to hip.

My stomach floods with a heat that spreads across my skin like a wildfire. It’s tempting, but I really want to finish these damned sketches for my aunt’s living room.

Before I can explain that to him, he smirks. “Message received.”

I sigh. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s all good. I’ll have you all to myself tonight…tomorrow…always.” His tone is husky, his promises sending tingles down my spine.

I want it to be true so badly.

Winking, he steps back. The loss of contact brings with it a heaviness that settles in my lungs.

Xander crouches to pet Milo. “What were you up to, buddy?”

The dog rolls over, eager for belly rubs. The sight makes my heart lift a fraction. These small, private moments, full of happiness and warmth, make me feel included. This is where I belong. By his side.

“Did you change your mind? Ready to take a shower with me?” Brow arched, he grins up at me.

I blink away my thoughts and focus on him.

“No. No, definitely not.” I back away, my hands held up dramatically, and head to the kitchen.

His infectious laughter follows me, bouncing off every surface.

He’ll be my undoing, I swear.

I heat up the risotto and roasted chicken and set plates on the table. Then I pour a glass of grape juice for Xander and an apple juice for me.

“What are those?” He stands beside the table, peeking down at my sketches. “Is this the project you were working on?”

I nod, shifting in my seat as nerves prickle up my spine. He has never seen my drawings before. I typically keep them to myself. I didn’t want him to see these either, not before I’m one hundred percent happy with them.

“What made you choose to use so much red?” He tilts his head to the side, inspecting my work more closely.

“I don’t know.” I shrug, keeping my gaze averted. “I sketched what came to mind, though it’s not even close to what I really want to do. I can’t quite figure that out, and it’s been driving me up the wall.”

“Did you talk to your aunt? What is she looking for?”

I huff. Then, in my best impression of Aunt Millie, I say, “‘Bella, baby, show me what you can do, and then we’ll talk.’”

I asked. I tried to fish for at least a little information. A color palette, a theme, anything. But she wants me to figure it out on my own.

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