Page 62 of Before You Go

“Morning.” He bends, pressing his lips to mine before shuffling me backward and kicking the door closed.

“Morning,” I reply, watching him in a daze as he walks to the kitchen and places the stuff in his hands on the counter before he bends to pick up PJ.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, looking at me while he cuddles my pup.

“Okay. You?”

Ugh! Why does this feel awkward? It’s rarely awkward between us, which is something I have grown to appreciate.

“All right, but I was awake early, so I decided to run out and get doughnuts from the place down the block that is always sold out by the time I’m normally up.” His eyes slowly move down my body. “You were painting.”

“I was.” I drop my eyes to the paint-covered apron I put on over my sleep shorts and tank top this morning. When I look back up at him, his head is turned, and his eyes are focused across the room. Without a word, he leaves the kitchen and walks toward the painting while still holding PJ. He’s seen my art before when he’s come downstairs, or I assume he has, but he’s never really stopped to look nor comment on it.

“Did someone buy this one already?” he asks, looking at me over his shoulder.

“A woman in Delaware commissioned it and three other pieces for her bed-and-breakfast,” I tell him, and he turns back to the canvas.

“It’s pretty.”

Pretty.

I think that’s the sweetest compliment I’ve ever gotten.

Or maybe it’s just that the word “pretty” sounds adorable coming out of this man’s mouth.

“Thanks.”

“What time were you up working?”

“Four,” I admit, and he frowns. I know it bothers him—me not getting enough sleep. “I’ll take a nap later or go to bed early tonight.”

“When we get home, you can come up to my place, and we can watch our show. Or I can watch it while you sleep.”

“Very funny.” I laugh, and he grins. I love hanging out at his apartment. It’s cozy and warm, with the added benefit of smelling like him. Plus, his couch is like lying on a plethora of clouds.

“Are you nervous about today?” he asks, placing PJ on his feet.

“A little. But I also know I’ll feel relieved after it’s all said and done.”

“It’ll be all right, and I’ll be there with you.”

“Are you nervous?” I ask softly, shifting on my feet.

“No, but I’m worried about you. I know that if your dad reacts poorly to the news, that’s going to upset you, and I don’t want to see that happen.” He closes the distance between us and slides his fingers back into my hair, cupping the side of my head.

“I don’t expect him to be happy. I just hope he doesn’t use the word ‘disappointed.’” I lean into his touch and watch a small smile form at the corners of his lips. “He’s going to ask about us.”

“I know,” he agrees.

I bite the inside of my cheek before saying softly, “We should probably talk about that.”

“About us?”

“Yes, but not just because my dad is going to ask. I’d like to know what we’re doing because I don’t want to build this,” I motion between us with a finger, “up in my head as something it’s not.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“I know.” I rest my hands against his abs. “We don’t need to put a label on it. I just want to know where your head is at. I want to know if you see me as… more than a friend?”

---