Page 66 of The Ex Factor

She tried, and the soup flew all over her face. I burst out laughing, and grabbing a tissue from a box nearby, brought it to her lips.

It started out innocuous. I only meant to wipe the liquid splattered on her face. But the heat it turned up became palpable in a single beat. My eyes stilled over her lips, the tissue halting at the corner of her mouth. I heard her breath suspend as I studied the shape of her lips, the small beauty mark on her cheek that I had surprisingly never noticed before. I grazed it with the gentlest touch and felt a shiver run over her body.

“This is so beautiful,” I whispered. “How come I’ve never seen it before?”

She didn’t respond but her breath turned erratic. I wanted to lean in and kiss those lips that seemed to have been carved by Michelangelo. After my unfortunate attempt at snow play that ended up with me straddling her, my loins burned with desire. But her words echoed in my ears,I trust you, Sujit. I wasn’t going to shatter that trust to pieces. My eyes met hers, and I quickly dabbed her face and crumpled the tissue. Sliding away from her, I resumed working on my noodles in silence.

“I hide it with concealer and foundation,” I heard her say and looked up. She pointed to her beauty mark. “Someone once commented on it, and I’ve been hiding it ever since.”

“You shouldn’t hide it. I think it’s beautiful,” I said with my eyes on my noodle cup.

When we were done, we chatted about work. I asked her if she had settled in, if she liked living amid the bustle of the city, how she was coping with the cold and the snow, and if she had changed her mind about having my personal chef cook for her. When an expected yawn escaped her tired body, I suggested heading to bed.

“But the fire is too enticing,” she groaned. “What if we camp out here instead? I’m too cozy to move anywhere else right now.”

I wasn’t about to deny her that. “Alright,” I said and got up to put away our cups.

“Let me do that,” she offered. “Why don’t you grab us some comforters?”

While she was in the kitchen, I spread a plush king-size duvet on the rug by the fire, placed two pillows on top, then set up two individual comforters to use as covers.

She returned with two glasses of water and offered me one. I drank like the thirsty man that I was. Drinking half from her glass, she placed it on the side table.

When she slipped under the comforter closer to the fire, I turned off the lights. Laying down next to her, I pulled the warm cover over me.

“This is a beautiful home,” she remarked.

“Thank you. I love it here. It’s like a little haven of quiet when I need a moment to myself.”

“And the choice of artwork is excellent!”

“Yes, Tara did a great job,” I said matter-of-factly.

“I’m sorry, Sujit. I didn’t mean to…I mean, I didn’t remember…”

“Sorry about what?” I turned to her with a gentle frown. “I don’t regret it at all.”

“None of it?” she asked in a tentative voice.

“None of it,” I confirmed with a heart that was at peace. “I love these paintings.”

There was a long pause before she asked, as I knew she would, “Don’t they remind you of her?”

I was ready with the response. “Not in the way the world thinks. After Tara, my family has been asking me to get rid of them and redo the place.”

“How do you think the world sees it?” she asked with curiosity.

“Like they bring me heartache and sorrow.”

She was on her side now, facing me, with an arm under her head. “And they don’t?”

“Not in the least. To tie Tara to these paintings is to do a big disservice to the talented artists who put their heart and soul into them. I might not understand art, but I do know that looking at these makes me happy. Isn’t that the purpose of bringing art into your life?”

“You are…” her voice trailed.

“A hopeless romantic?” I grinned. “I think someone has called me that before.”

“Allow me to amend that sentence. You are a hopeful romantic, and don’t you ever change.”

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