Page 94 of Mate Me

“All made in town. Remember the blacksmith’s wife?” She hummed in acknowledgment. “She made them. Do you like it?”

When she didn’t speak I started to feel nervous. Maybe this wasn’t as good a surprise as I hoped. Maybe she didn’t like to paint as much as Clara thought she did? Surely that wasn’t the case. I probably should have sent someone through the portal and brought in items from Earth.

“You don’t have to paint on the canvases if you don’t want,” I began hastily. “Clara said you like to paint murals. You can do that too. Here or any other room. The castle is yours. And if the brushes don’t meet your standards, I can have new brushes made or we can send Nog to get brushes?—”

Reagan wrapped her arms around my neck, standing on her tiptoes and squeezing tight. “It’s perfect,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

My heart started to beat harder, and I placed my hand at the small of her back, holding her to me. “I thought maybe it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“I’m not good with surprises,” she said, releasing me. “In my experience, they’re usually a bad thing.”

“Not with me,” I said, kissing the top of her head and taking a step back.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I was going to leave you to paint. Clara said you usually do it by yourself. She called it ‘self-care,’ or something like that. Therapeutic, maybe? Either way.”

Reagan raised her eyebrows slightly before asking hesitantly, “Will you stay and paint with me?”

“I ... I’ve never painted before,” I answered, completely caught off guard.

“Never?” she asked. “How is that possible that you’ve never painted in all the years you’ve been alive?”

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. It’s never been a hobby I tried.” Her face fell slightly, and I realized she was expecting me to say no, and that wasn’t the case. “But I would love for you to teach me.”

Excitement filled her features, and knowing I did that pleased a part of me I couldn’t explain. Kicking off her shoes, she kept them to the side of the cloth. I did the same but gave a questioning look.

“I hate dropping paint on my shoes. Normally I have this old pair of boots I’ll wear while I work. They’re already destroyed, so I don’t care what gets on them.”

I nodded, making a mental note to have her annoying corgi-cousin bring those to her. Reagan smoothed over her hair, pulling it back into a messy bun and tying it off with a band she had around her wrist. Her tight pants and tiny tank top hugged her body. My blood heated at the view before me.

“What about clothes?” I asked.

Looking down, she tilted her head to the side. “It’s okay. I just train in this. They can be messed up. You might want to remove your shirt though. I tend to be messy and there’s no telling how much will get on you.”

I reached behind my head, tugging the shirt up over myself. Mentally I added painting clothes to the growing list of things to get her. I considered doing the same for myself. If this became an activity she wanted to include me in, I would never deny her. Then again, painting shirtless could be appealing if she kept staring at me.

I reached over and tapped her chin. “You can pick your jaw up off the floor, mate.”

She opened and closed her mouth, cheeks flushing. “I was no—oh fine, I totally was objectifying you. Can you blame me when you have muscles like that?”

I shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed if you also wanted to go shirtless.”

Reagan smirked, shaking her head as she picked up a palette and chose an assortment of colors. Staring at a blank canvas, she pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side, then the other. Finally, her eyes lit up and she began. Standing next to her, I watched her work and listened to her instructions. The way she talked about each stroke. How to keep it in your wrist and not have a stiff hand. How to use the bristles in different ways, creating a different result and pattern.

“Do you paint with your family much?” I asked, breaking my silent streak.

“Not really, no,” she answered, keeping her eyes on the canvas. “I’m pretty much the only artist in the family. Nog doesn’t know anything about himself yet, outside of being an annoying shit. Jo reads every book he can get his hands on. Clara crochets. Sin does her own thing too.”

“I sense that bothers you some.”

“A little,” she admitted, turning to face me. “I just wanted someone to talk about art with. Ben and I did, and he would sketch with me some. He was the only one who really?—”

My muscles stiffened. The desire to have Legion bring her ex to me so I could beat the shit out of him was overwhelming. It wasn’t his fault, necessarily. If dating my mate could be considered that. He didn’t even know the truth about her, I reminded myself. Still, shadows formed around my fingertips, begging to be unleashed. She immediately realized the effect his name had on me.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing. “Weird timing to bring him up.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” I said, feeling my jaw clench. “You had a life before you came here.”

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