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His eyes twinkle, and suddenly, I can’t help but wonder if he knows.
Before I can formulate a response, though, he continues. “Hopefully this mysterious new boyfriend of yours doesn’t feel outdone.”
I swallow past the ever-present lump in my throat. “He doesn’t. And he’s not mysterious, it’s just that I…”
“Don’t want to jinx it. I know, love.” He pats my hand. “All I need to know right now is that he’s treating you well. You’ll tell me more when you’re ready.”
My mouth goes dry. I hate keeping so much from him. “I will, I promise. And yes, he treats me very well.”
Dad smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good. Let someone spoil you for once.”
The happiness that’s been growing inside me for the last few weeks rushes back and bubbles up even more. “Do you mind if I steal one of the canvases you bought? And some of your paints?”
His eyes light up, and his posture straightens. “You’re going to do some painting?”
Going for casual, I shrug. “I thought I might.”
“Of course,” he says. “They’re just sitting there, waiting until motivation strikes me. Feel free.”
From the kitchen, Carol regards us, a soft smile on her face. “Such a talented family.”
I laugh. “You haven’t seen my painting yet. Don’t let Dad’s skill fool you into thinking I’m anywhere near as good.”
Dad snorts. “You have a lot of talent, love. I can’t wait to see what you paint. What finally inspired you?”
I worry my bottom lip, my mood once again tanking. I can’t tell him it’s Roman. And I can’t let him see the portrait that’staken shape in my mind. I’ll have to paint another one. One I can actually show him.
“I thought I’d paint a portrait of Christopher for Lola.”
And really, I should. Lola would love it. I should have done it months ago. Instantly, the idea of it takes flight in my head. I’ll need her to send a photo of her little guy, since squirming babies are harder to sketch than a man lying still in bed.
Carol offers to make me a cup of tea, but I’m too excited and nervous about painting again and want to just jump into it. So I take two canvases, paint, and the easel Dad and Carol picked up into my bedroom.
Before I get started, I message Lola to ask for a photo, then pick up a pencil. I unfold the sketch I did of Roman and lay it out next to me, then get to work replicating it on the canvas, adding more detail from memory.
As I outline his lips, my hand slows. I study the upward curve, the smile he reserves just for me, and my heart squeezes so tight I can barely breathe.
How did this happen? How did I fall in love with my boss without even realizing it?
I run my finger over the line on the canvas as I ponder the question. It was one half-smile, one thoughtful act at a time—until suddenly, he was looking at me like this. And I was looking right back. I want it all with him. The excitement of his touch and the pleasure of the orgasms he gives me. But I also want all the things we haven’t experienced yet. I want to wake up beside him every morning. I want to hold his hand in public and dance together where everyone can see. I want him to wrap me in his arms and kiss me without concern that we’ll be the subject of speculation.
Everything has been better since him, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
I breathe through the emotions swirling through me and bring my pencil to the canvas again. Each stroke steadies me until I’m humming to myself and the image comes together.
It takes me longer than I expected, and I’ve just decided that I won’t bother getting the paints out tonight when my phone rings and Lola’s name flashes across the screen.
I sink down on my bed as I answer.
“You’re painting again? You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
I laugh. “Not quite yet. I haven’t actually picked up a paintbrush, but if you send a photo of Christopher, I can get started.”
“I’m honored that my baby is going to be your first piece of artwork in years.”
I grimace. “Well… Not quite my first.”
She gasps in fake outrage. “What? Who was first?”