Page 34 of Built to Last
Still. I should have said something before leaving her flat earlier, I know that. Waking up next to Rose felt like a dream, a dream this secret has the potential to destroy. I didn’t deserve the way she looked at me this morning and yet I soaked it up anyway like a plant in desperate need of water. I don’t want Rose to think I’m like Malcolm. Telling her about the art show right after sleeping with her could seem like I’m pushing her to do more, like I think our night together suddenly entitles me to an opinion on the matter. With their confrontation still fresh in my mind, bringing it up today still seemed like a bad idea. The last thing I want to do is make Rose doubt that I think she’s enough exactly as she is.She’s everything.Sighing, I pull ontomy driveway and stare at the rain hammering down against my windscreen. Tomorrow. I’ll tell her about it tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty
Rose
“Good morn—”Cutting off Phillip’s greeting in favour of a much more satisfying one, I eagerly pull him towards me for a kiss right there on his front step. Large hands immediately come up to grip my waist as our tongues tangle together.
“Hi,” I breathe the word against his lips.
“I think I like your version of good morning better,” he jokes, with a cheeky grin. This close I’m unable to resist popping up onto my tiptoes to press a quick kiss to one of his dimples.
“Thanks.” I smile, letting my heels fall back to the ground.
“Someone’s in a good mood today.” Noticing the large bag I hastily filled with art supplies this morning, Phillip takes it from me and walks inside.
“Well, I had a pretty good weekend,” I reply, following him to the kitchen. He places my bag on one of the high stools before turning back to me, brows raised.
“Pretty good?”
“Some parts stood out more than others. Dinner on Saturday was lovely,” I tease.
“It was but I preferred dessert.” The heated gaze trailing up and down the length of my body leaves no doubt as to what he means bydessert. Delicious indeed. Clearing my throat, I leanagainst the counter and change the subject before he gets any ideas.
“How was lunch with your family?” That snaps him out of it and he turns to make our morning cups of coffee.
“It was great, they’re all excited to meet you.”
“Really?”
“Of course. That reminds me, is there anything you don’t eat?”
“I’m allergic to shellfish. Other than that, I’ll eat whatever.”
“I’ll let Mum know.” He quickly types out a text, presumably passing on the information before returning his phone to his back pocket. “Oh, by the way I know you were starting to feel a little anxious on Friday about when you’d be able to start painting so I finished getting all of the panels put together yesterday.” An excited gasp escapes me as his words register.
“You finished them? I can start today?”
“Yeah, they’re all yours now.”
“That makes me feel so much better, thank you. It’ll be easier having them on wheels now too although I will miss watching you lift them.”
Shaking his head with a chuckle at my exaggerated eyebrow waggle, Phillip picks up our drinks, heading towards the living area. We usually go straight out to the workshop but it’s nice taking a moment to catch up with him before we get started. I know it’s only been twenty-four hours since we last saw each other but I missed him.
“What about you? How did you spend your Sunday?” he asks, settling onto the sofa with his arm draped across the back, body angled towards mine in invitation.
Snuggling into his side I sip at my coffee before deciding to take a leap. The only way things will move forward between us is if I continue allowing myself to be vulnerable and really give thisrelationship a chance. Phillip’s been so open and honest with me, he deserves the same in return. I can trust him with this.
“Actually, I um…” I clear my throat and try again. “I started a new painting, a portrait.” Phillip leans back a little so he can see my face properly.
“Yeah?” he asks, a wide grin already taking over his face.
“Yeah.” I smile shyly, watching as his gaze softens fondly.
“That’s great, I’m proud of you, Rose.” His arm drops from the back of the sofa to squeeze me to him.
“I mean, no actual paint has touched canvas yet but I’ve made a start at least,” I rush to explain, suddenly feeling a little awkward.
“I don’t know much about painting but from what I’ve gathered, there’s a lot to do before you actually put brush to canvas, right?”
