Page 33 of Mine for a Moment

She looks into my eyes, her gaze soft and filled with an emotion I don’t dare name. Things have rapidly changed between us, and I don’t think either of us ever saw it coming. We were never meant to fit together so well, but we do, and I’d be a fool not to enjoy every second I get with her.

Serenity rises to her tiptoes, and I sigh when her hand wraps around the back of my neck before she pulls me in for a kiss. Being with her feels magical, and even more so as we’re surrounded by flowers everywhere, the sun shining down on us.

I pull back and reach for my phone, and she grins as she instantly brings her face closer for a photo. It’s something I’ve started to do recently—capturing the fun things we do together, the places we see. It’s odd because I’ve never had an interest in capturing moments to keep for years to come, but with her I do. In a matter of weeks, I’ve accumulated hundreds of photos of us together or just of her—painting, working, sitting on my kitchen island in nothing but my T-shirt as she watches me cook for her.

“Come on,” I tell her, resuming our walk. “I have a surprise for you.”

I wonder if this moment is as precious to her as it is to me. I can’t recall the last time I felt so truly at peace. Being here with her, walking side by side, her hand in mine as the sun shines down on us…it’s arelatively simple moment, but fuck if it isn’t beautiful. What is it about her that suddenly makes me appreciate the little things when I never did before?

“Archer,” she says, her voice trembling as we reach the end of the path and the start of endless rows of pink tulips, her favorite flower. Another path runs in between two of the rows, and on it, there’s a full picnic waiting for us. I know that’s not what’s got her so emotional, though. It’s the easel I had set up for her, with all of her favorite painting supplies on a small table next to it.

She turns to look at me, her eyes rapidly filling with tears. It makes me panic instantly, and I grab her face, my heart racing. “Don’t cry,” I beg, unsure where I went wrong. “This was supposed to make you happy, darling. We don’t have to—”

She rises to her tiptoes, her hands balling in my T-shirt as she pulls me close and kisses me. I groan and cup the back of her neck, my heart aching when I feel a tear drop down her cheek and onto mine. “I’m just happy,” she says, pulling back. “This is just such a big dream come true, and I’m just really happy to be here with you.”

“So they’re happy tears?” I murmur, swiping them away with my thumbs.

She nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I press a soft kiss to her forehead, my heart overflowing with an unfamiliar emotion. “The happiest of tears,” she promises, grinning at me in that way that makes the butterflies in my stomach go wild.

“Go on then,” I murmur, noting the building excitement in her expression. “I know you’re dying to paint.”

She does that little excited jump that I love and turns around, her dress swaying before she runs toward the flower field, leaving me standing here, laughing as I follow her. I watch her and open up the champagne as she sets up, having become familiar with her process.

The moment that brush of hers touches her canvas, everything fades way. Everything but me. I’d like to believe that I’m the only one that can draw her attention away from her canvas without earning her ire. I hand her a glass of champagne, and she smiles at me, her expression conveying pure contentment. “To us,” I murmur, tapping my glass to hers.

“To us,” she repeats, her eyes on mine as she takes a sip. I can tell she’s trying to give me her attention when all she wants to do is paint, and something about that is so fucking endearing.

“Let me watch you paint,” I tell her. “You’re always beautiful, but when you’re painting, you’re fucking otherworldly.”

Her expression shows that she’s flustered, and she grins before she turns her back to me and begins to capture the scene around us. I wonder if she realizes that her art has been a little lighter these days, when it used to be far more somber.

I watch her lose herself in her work as I sit back and go over some paperwork, patiently waiting for her attention to wane as the sun slowly begins to lower, hours passing by. Eventually, Serenity lifts her canvas off the easel and places it on the ground, leaning over it to paint from a different angle and giving me one hell of a view of her ass.

I groan and approach her, startling her as I push her white dress up to her waist before pulling down her thong. “Keep painting,” I tell her as I lean in for a taste. “Keep losing yourself in your favorite hobby, darling, and in the meantime, I’ll lose myself in mine.”

Twenty-Eight

Serenity

“God, I’m so tired,” Theo tells me as I pack my bag, glad our workday seems to have flown by for once. I nod absent-mindedly, my mind on Ezra and finding a way to see Archer tonight without making him suspicious. He got back home yesterday and doesn’t have a trip scheduled for another two weeks. It makes me feel terrible, but I kind of wish we weren’t living together, so I wouldn’t have to explain my absence.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when Archer and I started seeing each other, but I definitely never expected him to make me feel so cherished and wanted. I didn’t think he’d fulfill emotional needs that I didn’t even realize I had.

“Serenity?”

“Hmm?” I murmur, snapping out of my thoughts to find Theo staring at me, his chair close to mine.

“Did you even hear a word I said?” Theo asks, frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, realizing I’ve been entirely unable to focus on him because I was thinking of Archer. “What were you saying? I just didn’t really sleep well last night, and honestly, I’m ready for bed.”

I managed to sneak out of the house late last night, surprising Archer in bed. Having to wait till I’m sure Ezra is fast asleep is exhausting, and having to sneak back in early in the morning leaves me with very little time to actually sleep.

Theo stares at me, his gaze conflicted. “You’ve been like this for a while now, a bit absent-minded. Even when you came over for dinner, you were mostly on your phone.” He hesitates, and my stomach drops. I’m not sure I can lie to him if he asks me anything outright. If Kristen hadn’t interrupted at dinner, I probably would’ve admitted who I was texting then.

“Come to think of it, I forgot to thank Kristen that day,” I rush to say, eager to change the topic as I rise to my feet. “That pasta she made was incredible, and the wine was too. I had a great time.”

He blinks in confusion as he falls into step with me. “You did?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief.

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