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Without saying anything, he grabs me, kisses me. The suddenness takes me off guard. My body sinks into his like it remembers. He holds me more tightly than he has yet. His hands stray to my hips, and then he pushes me away slightly, creating a little space between us so he can smolder down at me.

“My mother told me she explained everything,” he says.

I nod.

“Everything,” he repeats heavily.

“She told me about your brother and your dad… and how you promised to do better when you took over. She told me you’re a good person.”

“Maybe I am,” he says fiercely. “But that doesn’t mean there’s not darkness in me, Sienna. That doesn’t mean I’m all good.”

“Nobody is black and white,” I murmur. “But if she told the truth, then maybe I could chill a little bit.”

“Chill?”

“With the judgment. Maybe we could… date?”

He’s understandably in a dark place. Somebody just tried to kill him. Maybe that’s why, when he smirks, it feels like winning a small victory. “I’ve never dated before.”

“Don’t say things like that. I was just starting to believe you could be honest.”

He shrugs. “It’s your choice if you want to believe me, but I mean it. I always knew that being with someone would mean bringing them into my world… with you, I’ve let my defenses down.”

“That’s because I’m special,” I say, trying to make my voice sarcastic.

“Yes,” he replies, not even a hint of sarcasm. “You are.”

He captures my lips with fervent passion, conveying how deeply he's longed for me these past three days—a sentiment I wholeheartedly reciprocate. I love how effortlessly he lifts me, my feet dangling above the floor. Our lips remain locked as I wrap my legs around his waist, allowing him to carry me toward the bed.

"Speaking of dating... I should give you your gifts before I get carried away."

"Gifts?"

"I craved your company desperately yesterday and the day before. I nearly reached out countless times, but knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on my business if I did. The best I could manage was to order you this..."

He retrieves a jewelry box from his pocket. In the recesses of my mind, I envision Mom smiling approvingly. She always hoped I would find an elegant, mature man—someone who would lavish me with thoughtful gifts.

Embracing this as a fresh beginning for us, I allow myself an unchecked smile as I accept the box. A genuine gasp escapes my lips when I reveal its contents: a bracelet adorned with a delicate paintbrush pendant.

"I initially considered a necklace," he confesses softly. "But nothing could possibly replace the one you already cherish."

"This is incredibly thoughtful." I lift the bracelet from its velvet home.

"Here—let me."

He handles the delicate piece with surprising dexterity as he secures it around my wrist.

"I wasn't referring solely to the gift when I called you thoughtful," I explain, lifting my arm to examine how the silver catches the light. "I meant your comment about the necklace as well."

"Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman," he responds. "She deserves respect. There's something else. Wait here."

He leaves the room. During those brief moments he’s gone, my heart races with rising excitement as I surrender to this unfamiliar sensation. I'm seeing someone. I've never been able to articulate or even contemplate that reality before.

My smile grows when he returns, cradling a record player. He places it carefully on the counter. "Play the record," he instructs.

I notice one already positioned on the turntable. "Okay..." I lower the needle. "This is giving me some major nostalgia. Mom loved record players. She never cared if it labeled her a hipster."

When Leon Bridges' "Forgive You" plays, my heart swells with emotion.