Page 20 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)
NINETEEN
“ S he did.” Meara traced the rim of her glass. “After my parents died, she could have hired nannies or sent me to fancy boarding schools. Instead, she retired early and turned our house into an art studio. Said if I was going to process grief, I might as well do it creatively.”
“You were lucky to have her.”
“I was. And I think... I think she’d like you.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it.
“Yeah?” Something warm flickered in his eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“She always said I needed someone solid in my life. Like a tree, but one that could dance in a storm.”
“Is that what I am? A dancing tree?”
“More like a dancing bear.” The wine must have gone to her head because she actually winked at him.
His answering grin showed just a hint of predator. “Careful, artist. Bears can be dangerous when provoked.”
“Good thing I like a little danger.” The words surprised them both.
“Feel like taking a walk?” Artek asked as they finished their wine. “There’s an ice cream shop by the lake that stays open late. The owner makes everything from scratch.”
The idea of prolonging the evening sent a pleasant thrill through Meara’s body. “You really did do your research.”
He stood, offering his hand. The simple gesture shouldn’t have made her pulse race, but something about his quiet confidence, the way he moved with such contained power, never failed to affect her. “Though I might have had help from a certain fashionable source.”
“Frenchy’s been conspiring with you?” She placed her hand in his, savoring how his fingers enveloped hers.
“Let’s just say he’s very invested in your happiness.” Artek helped her with her wrap, his hands lingering on her shoulders. “And surprisingly good at reconnaissance.”
The night air carried the crisp scent of pine and late summer flowers as they strolled down the cobblestone sidewalk. Fairy lights twinkled in shop windows, casting a magical glow over the quiet street. Meara found herself drawing closer to Artek’s warmth, their joined hands swinging gently between them.
“I haven’t done this in…forever,” she admitted, watching their shadows dance across the storefronts.
“Walked down a street?”
“No, this.” She gestured vaguely with her free hand. “Dating. I haven’t done that in a long time. But being out with someone who makes me...” She trailed off, suddenly self-conscious.
Artek stopped walking, turning to face her. “Makes you what?”
The intensity in his eyes stole her breath. “Nervous. Excited. Like I want to paint everything in golds and deep blues and colors I haven’t even mixed yet…I have never done that.”
His free hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing her lower lip. “I like making you nervous.”
“Careful, you sound a little wild there.” Her voice came out huskier than intended.
“Only around you.” The admission hung between them, heavy with promise, before he resumed walking. “Come on. That ice cream is waiting.”
The ice cream shop proved to be a charming spot with a view of the moonlit lake. They chose different flavors—dark chocolate for him, raspberry swirl for her—and found a bench overlooking the water.
“You have...” Artek’s finger brushed the corner of her mouth, coming away with a spot of ice cream. The casual intimacy of the gesture made her shiver. “Got it.”
“Show off.” But she couldn’t stop smiling, especially when he offered her a taste of his ice cream. The domestic simplicity of sharing dessert shouldn’t have felt so significant, but something about the moment—the moonlight, the quiet lap of water against the shore, the way Artek’s body angled protectively toward hers—made her heart ache with possibility.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His voice rumbled low, intimate in the darkness.
“I’m thinking about Betsy.” Meara watched the moonlight dance on the water. “How she always said I was hiding behind my canvases. That I needed to let real life paint its own pictures sometimes.”
“Smart woman.”
“She was.” Meara turned to find him closer than expected, his eyes molten in the dim light. “She also said when the right person came along, I’d know because my art would want to include them instead of exclude them.”
“And?” His breath whispered across her lips.
“And I’ve been sketching bears in the margins of my notebook all week.”
The confession pulled a growl from deep in his chest. His hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he finally, finally brought his mouth to hers.
The kiss started gentle, a careful exploration that quickly blazed into something more urgent. Meara melted into him, her hands fisting in his shirt as his tongue swept along her lower lip. He tasted like chocolate and desire, and kissed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted.
When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, Artek rested his forehead against hers. “I want to see you again. Often. Not just for cabin security.”
“Good.” She smiled against his mouth, feeling brave and reckless and more alive than she had in years. “Because I’m moving in next week, and I plan to need a lot of personal protection.”
His growl sent delicious shivers down her spine. “Careful what you wish for, little artist. Bears can be very territorial.”
“Promise?”
His answering kiss left no doubt.
Later, as they drove back to the cabin, Meara watched Artek’s profile in the moonlight and thought about Betsy—how she’d always pushed Meara to embrace life beyond her canvases. For the first time, she understood why. Some masterpieces couldn’t be painted. They had to be lived.
Her heart fluttered when he walked her to the door, stealing another kiss that left her lipstick hopelessly smudged. This thing between them terrified her, but in the best possible way. Like standing on the edge of something magnificent, knowing the fall would be worth it.
“Goodnight,” she whispered against his lips.
His smile held promises of more to come. “Sweet dreams, artist.”
Inside, Meara leaned against the door, touching her tingling lips. Frenchy materialized from the shadows like a fashionable ghost, clutching a mug of tea.
“So?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Do we need to sage the front porch after that good-bye kiss? Because, honey, I felt the heat from here.”
Meara couldn’t even summon an eye roll. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
“The best kind.” Frenchy hugged her. “Betsy would be planning your wedding right now. Though she might also suggest you invest in some fireproof canvases because that man looks at you like he wants to burn down the world.”
Meara smiled, remembering her grandmother’s most constant piece of advice: “Life’s greatest masterpieces are painted with love, sweetie. Don’t be afraid to use all the colors.”
For once, she was ready to paint outside the lines.