Page 70 of Muddy Messy Love

Hearts? You send me hearts?

I’m still waiting for that steamy pic of lover boy.

I laugh. I’ve only told Jen about that photo and our first magical kiss, but she’s nearly as excited as me and now persistently curious.

Me:

Don’t hold your breath.

Jen:

Rude. Sharing is caring, remember?

With perfect timing, a knock sounds at the front door.

Finally.

As I pad through the gallery, I double check my phone. Ten p.m. Cole wasn’t lying about eighty-hour weeks. He pulls that easy.

“I was starting to think you weren’t—”

I’m pushed up against the wall, the end of my sentence swallowed by Cole’s mouth as soon as I open the door. The ripe heat of his kiss rushes through my veins, but it ends with a weary smile. “Hey, you,” he says, stroking my cheek. He looks a little pale too.

“Hey, yourself. That was quite the welcome.”

“Only for you.” He winks.

Playfully, I frown. “You mean your other clients miss out? That’s hardly fair.”

Cole chuckles, and a spark of vitality seems to return. “They’ll live.” He catches my mouth again, and I run my hands over his shoulders and down his back, relishing the warmth still trapped in his suit thanks to the Audi’s heated seats.

“What’s that smell?” he asks, lifting his chin to better sniff the air.

“That’s the sweet scent of metal fusion,” I say before his quizzical look prompts me to clarify. “Soldering.”

“What are you soldering?”

“My sculptures usually include metalwork,” I say with a shrug.

His brows rise, and he gives my waist a quick squeeze. “Show me.”

Stepping back, I shake my head. “Uh-uh. No way. I don’tshowpeople.” Beth excluded, for unavoidable reasons. “And anyway, they’re works in progress.”

Cole considers me. “That sounds like a challenge.”

But I dismiss him with a laugh and head for the kitchen. After shutting the front door, he follows. The metal stage of my work comes with the benefit of me not ending up covered in mud. So, for once, I’m clean enough for company.

Cole leans against the kitchen door frame, pocketing his hands so his navy jacket splays open in that business-chic cover-model way—one shiny black shoe crossed over the other. I hold up a frosty bottle of water from the fridge in a silent offer he accepts.

“I’m glad you got home safe,” he says, taking it from my hand. “I don’t like the idea of you on public transport at night alone.”

My belly twirls. He’s worried.About me.

“It’s fine,” I say, coming to lean against the island. “There are mostly the same commuters every night, and the tram stops right around the corner.”

His throat bobs as he drinks. Capping the bottle, he shakes his head. “I still don’t like it. I’ll have to teach you to drive so you can license up.”

I cock a brow. “How do you know I don’t already have it?”

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