Page 35 of The Art of Loving You

I shook my head. “That won’t do. How about a late-night breakfast? Blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs?”

His eyes lit up. “Sounds perfect. But let’s shower first.”

I kissed his nose. “Deal.”

The warm spray cascaded over us, fogging the glass as the scent of lavender filled the space. Lucas joked about the showerhead being too low, which made me laugh. When we were clean and wrapped in towels, I grabbed an old robe from my father’s things and handed it to Lucas.

“Here,” I said. “It’s my dad’s. It should fit you.”

He smiled as he put it on. “Better than a towel.”

“You look good,” I teased. “Very distinguished.”

He chuckled. “I’m going for the ‘just stepped out of a country club sauna’ look.”

Laughing, I led him to the kitchen. The house was quiet, and the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights warmed the space. As I worked on pancakes, Lucas found green tea and set the kettle to boil.

“Your tea, chef,” he said, handing me a mug.

“Thank you, sous-chef,” I replied with a smile.

We moved in sync, forming a natural rhythm. When we finally sat down to eat, Lucas sipped his tea, his expression thoughtful.

“So,” I asked, resting my fork on my plate. “Are you staying in Miami to fight this? Or heading to New York?”

Lucas exhaled. “I’ve thought about it a lot. Since you’re with me through this, I want to stay. Not just to return the art, but to be close to you. And to get to know Bess better.”

Warmth spread through me. “That’s the best idea ever. But where will you stay?”

He shrugged. “I’ll sell a piece of my art from the condo and use the money to rent a place while figuring things out.”

“That sounds like a solid plan,” I said instead. “I can help you find a place.”

Lucas smiled, his gaze warm. “Thanks, Ella. It means a lot. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone who believed in me like this.”

We lingered in the quiet comfort of the moment before eventually moving to the kitchen, where we rinsed dishes side by side. The simple domestic act felt intimate and grounding. Once the last plate was set in the drying rack, we turned off the lights and headed to bed, exhaustion settling into my bones.

In his arms, the world felt softer, quieter—full of promise.

And as sleep claimed me, I knew this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. This was the start of something that would last.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lucas

“I’ve got one more week to tie up loose ends before the Chagall Exhibit opens.” Ella stirred her coffee, her voice a mix of excitement and mild stress. The spoon clinked against the ceramic mug, a rhythmic melody complimenting the morning light filtering through the kitchen. She took a slow breath, exhaling with a sigh. “It feels like there’s still so much to do.”

I leaned back in my chair, cradling my own mug, captivated by the passion in her eyes. “You’ll pull it off.”

She glanced up, lips quirking into a soft smile. “How would you know? You haven’t seen me in full panic mode yet.”

“I don’t need to. You’ve got that ‘calm under pressure’ thing down.”

She let out a light laugh, shaking her head. “That’s just what it looks like on the outside. Beneath all this is a woman drowning in to-do lists.”

“Still,” I said, setting my mug down, “I’d bet on you.”

She paused, her hand resting on the table. “Thanks,” she said softly, the weight of the word lingering between us.

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