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“You want to know why?” He turns around, pinning me with a look that causes my heart to seize in my chest. “Because those paintings aren’t just about you and the way you feel about me.” He jabs a finger at them, never taking his eyes off me. “I’m exposed too. I’m loving you in every single one of them, and the thought of someone else owning a piece of that makes me more than a little crazy.”
Because he loves me.
He bought them because he loves me.
“You’re different,” I say, looking him in the eye. “It scares me a little.”
“I am different,” he says nodding his head. “So are you.”
“You’re right.” I catch my lip between my teeth, working up the courage to say what comes next. “I know what I’m worth—and it’s a hell of a lot more than I thought,” I tell him, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m not perfect but I’m enough.”
“I’m glad you finally figured it out,” he says in a low tone.
“It wasn’t you or the way I felt about you that I was ashamed of, Patrick.” I take a step toward him, relieved when he stands his ground. Lets me come to him. “It was who I was when I painted them.” I’m close enough to touch him now but I don’t. Not yet. “Someone who felt like she didn’t deserve someone like you.”
He looks down at me and sighs. “I’m not perfect, Cari,” Patrick says, shaking his head. “I never have been.”
“I know,” I tell him, my lips curving slightly. “But I love you anyway.”
“What?” He looks at me, brow furrowed like he’s not sure he heard me correctly.
“I should’ve said it sooner,” I tell him, shaking my head. Now that I have, I don’t know what I’d been waiting for.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Patrick.” I reach up, cupping my hand around his jaw and it flexes under my hand. “Not just the way you take care of me or the way you fuck me. You. Sweet-considerate-nice guy-you and demanding-aggressive-asshole-you.”
“You love me.” He says it softly, like he’s afraid to say it out loud.
“Yes.” I smile up at him, when his jaw goes slack under my hand.
His arms come up, hands wrapping around my arms to pull me closer. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
I barely get the words out before he’s kissing me, his mouth devouring mine, hungry. Urgent. Breaking away, he glares down at me. “Why are your paintings stacked up in the living room?”
“Because they’re our paintings,” I tell him, pressing my lips against the corner of his mouth. “And I want you to help me hang them in our apartment—this place needs some color.”
He laughs, turning his head, he catches my mouth with his. His tongue is sweeping in, kissing me until I’m clinging to him, breathless. “And the suitcase?” he says, his mouth sliding away from mine to travel up the length of my throat to my ear.
I pull out of his grasp so I can wrap my arms around his neck, tilting my head back as his mouth moves lower. “I unpacked. It’s empty—I thought maybe we could burn it.” I laugh when I feel his lips curve into a smile. “You, know… for old times’ sake.”