Page 11 of Deja Brew

“Only if you don’t eat them all.” My chest squeezes at the image of him in my flat while I bake the brownies I only make at home for friends and family. “What do you do when you aren’t working and walking around shopping malls with me?”

He hesitates before replying quietly, “I like art.”

“Looking at it or creating it?” It explains the paint on his hands a few days ago. Imagining him with a sketchbook on my couch while I experiment in the kitchen sends butterflies swooping in my stomach. We could eat brownies and watch a movie together. Or I could read while he sketches.

“Creating it.”

“What medium do you prefer to work in? Oil or acrylic? Sketching? Pastels? People or landscapes?” I stop asking questions when he laughs. He’s not laughing at me, but seems to find all my questions amusing. Hopefully more endearing than annoying.

“I’ve tried most, but usually I paint with oils.”

“Will you show me?” I ask tentatively, wondering if the paintings on the walls are his.

His eyes dart to the hall and shutter slightly. Almost as if he’s panicked. “Maybe one day.”

I ignore his change in emotion and decide to stay clear of any more questions about his art. Clearly it’s important to him, and talking about it makes him uncomfortable. Don’t want him uncomfortable around me. “I’ll hold you to that. One day, you’ll get brownies, and I’ll get to see your art.”

“Deal.”

“What do you want for dinner?” He’s left his hand close to my shoulder and I can feel his heat.

I inch closer to him. “What are my options?”

“Anything you want. I can cook or we can order in.”

A glance at the kitchen confirms my decision. If he cooks, I won’t be as close to him, won’t be able to touch him as easily. After realising that it’s an easy decision.

“Let’s buy food and watch a movie while we wait,” I suggest.

“Sounds perfect.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls through takeaway options. “There’s pizza, Indian, and a good Thai place down the road.”

“I love that place.”

“Thai it is.” He hands me the phone and I put in my order, hand it back to him, and he clicks a few times before putting it away. “What do you want to watch?”

I shrug. “I’m happy with anything. I know I said movie, but usually I watch whatever’s on.”

“Really? You don’t have a preference?”

“Anything but horror, and we’re good.”

“That I can do.” He grabs the remote and clicks through different options before deciding on a new comedy film.

We settle in together on the couch and get comfortable. Leo leaves his arm near my shoulder on the back of the couch, and I lean my head closer to him.

I giggle at what’s happening on the TV and glance at Leo to see him already looking at me. Turning my head fully, I ask softly, “What?”

“Nothing.” His dark eyes trace my face and he leans closer to me.

My eyes dart to his lips when he licks them. I bite my lip and lean closer to him, tilting my head, the film on in the background the last thing on my mind. Especially when Leo’s now close enough for me to feel his breath on my face.

“What are you doing?”

His hand touches my shoulder and drifts to the side of my neck, rubbing small circles, causing my breath to hitch.

“Can I kiss you?”

In answer, I launch myself at him, wrap my arms around his neck, and press our lips together. He groans and wraps his other hand around my waist, clutching gently. Grounding me. Making me realise this is actually happening.

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