Page 22 of Wet Paint

She smiled then, small and shy. “I want lazy Sundays with you. Even if we have to hide. Even if we can’t tell anyone. I want those quiet, stolen moments. I’ll take every one of them.”

I didn’t respond with words. I just leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, and full of everything I hadn’t said yet. Everything I was starting to feel.

And in that kiss, I promised her my Sundays. All of them.

Chapter 8

IVY

That same night, I snuck away to drive to Will’s place.

He lived in a small house just ten minutes away from campus. It wasn’t far, but it was secluded enough. His house stood at the edge of a small forest. I never came out here, but I would from now on.

I parked my car next to his and got out to head over to the front door, and before I could even reach it, he opened it.

I smiled. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He looked around before reaching for my hand, pulling me inside without giving me a moment to think about what was happening.

“Is everything okay?” I asked as he closed the door behind me.

He still didn’t say a word. Instead, he pushed me back against the wall and kissed me.

I sighed in surprise but melted into him immediately.

His tongue pushed into my mouth, curling around mine as his hands wrapped around my thighs to pick me up. I put my legs around his hips, moaning as he deepened the kiss by tilting his head to the side.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” he murmured into the kiss, grabbing my ass tightly as he pressed his middle against mine.

I was glad too. Here, we didn’t have to hide. We could just…be.

He kissed me slower, his lips moving gently with mine before he pulled back to look at me. He smiled, then slowly let me back down. Lifting both hands, he cupped my face and brushed my cheeks with his thumbs. “Nobody will bother us here.”

I nodded slowly, smiling gently. “I know. I’m happy.”

“Good. Me too.” He leaned in to kiss me again, and when he moved away, he added, “I cooked us something. You’ve not eaten all day.”

That was true.

I only had a couple of snacks from the vending machine, and once I got home, I had a sandwich. I loved how much he cared about me.

“What did you make?” I asked, admiring him as he simply stood there.

“Chicken breast with beans. Nothing fancy.”

“Sounds good.”

He smiled back and pressed another kiss to my lips before guiding me through the living room and to the open kitchen. His home was exactly how I imagined it to be.

There were canvases and three easels standing around in the corners, with finished paintings hanging on the walls, and a large bookshelf on the wall across from the couch. He had a fireplace, and it looked—and smelled—like he recently used it. Most of his furniture was made of dark wood and leather, and the mostly muted colors scattered all around made the place feel cozy.

“I like it here,” I said as I sat down on one of the stools.

“Yeah, me too. I moved in here three years ago. It’s quiet around here.”

“I can imagine.” I looked out the kitchen window, seeing only trees. “I wonder what it’s like when it storms.”

Will smiled and looked at me over his shoulder as he stood in front of the stove. “It’s the most beautiful thing. The trees scratch around the roof and sides of the house, and the rain splattering all around is the perfect white noise to fall asleep to.”

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