Page 24 of Partnering with the Artist

Across from me, barely touching his butterscotch pudding, Zakery swears and draws. “If you enjoy yourself any more, Maelin, I will be forced to up the content warning on this picture to NSFW.”

I flush. Swallow. “I’m not doing anything unsafe for work.”

“You are making out with your cake.”

“I am not. I am eating it. Like a normal person.” Like a normal person, who isin love.

Zakery’s icy eyes graze me, fall back to the painting he’s working on. “There’s chocolate all over your lips.”

I lick them, feeling heat crawl up my neck.

Without glancing my way again, Zakery murmurs, “If you want to entice me into kissing you, you need only ask, princess. So long as you don’t mind teaching me how, I’m not unwilling to learn.”

Thatlittle comment forces me to hide my face in a fresh cup of tea. (We are on our second pot, a rebrew of the first, because one pot of the best tea I’ve ever had was not enough.) This whole experience has me contemplating investing in a collection of loose leaves.

Zakery sighs, finally lowering his tablet to take a bite of his dessert. “Your eyes will be the death of me, and—subsequently—the cause of my resurrection.”

“I’m sorry my eyes are causing you so much trouble.”

“Don’t be sorry that mortal hands cannot accurately depict your beauty. Your existence is a blessing that gives me something to strive for and makes me a better person…assuming that better people cuss a whole lot.”

I had noticed the cussing, yes, but I wasn’t going to mention it. “May I see what you’ve done this time?”

Defeat possessing him, he stretches the LeoPad across the table.

My breath catches as I set down my fork.

It’s…I’mstunning.

He’s painted me, glowing, with my cake. The deep dark shades of the chocolate contrast so well against all my pale skin and hair, and the way he’s worked the whites into the piece gives life to the natural shadows. It’s not like his comics, which are flat line art. This has depth to it. Blending. Color.

It makes me wish I knew how to do this.

“I think you’ve captured my eyes perfectly,” I whisper, afraid to take the device from him, lest I drop it in my tea.

Dragging my attention off the picture, I tense.

Lip curled, he glares at me, disgust evident and unusual on his face. He’s been all soft, blurred lines since we came out in public, yet, right now, he is a harsh edge. “Don’t insult yourself.”

“Insult myself?”

“Daring to suggest I’ve captured your eyes…” He scoffs. Shakes his head. Removes my privilege of looking at his painting. “Have you no self-respect?”

Um.

Well.

(If we’re being honest, my self-respect has been taking blow after blow recently, and it’s still riding around at the all-time low, which saw me chased through a convention hall in a furry costume…so…)

“Don’t answer that,” he mutters, regaining his gentleness and relaxed smile when our waitress returns to ask us how our dessert is. “I believe my date fancies hers more than she fancies me,” he says, despondent sigh leaving his princely pout. “Everything has been wonderful. Thank you.”

It’s so peculiar how he changes his colors at a moment’s notice.

In some ways, it makes me feel special.

But then I remember that I’ve barely known him a week, andfeeling specialis my insanity speaking, and—wow, look at that—I require more cake. Scooping another bite, I bury my thoughts and feelings in chocolatey goodness, missing entirely when Zakery ordered me a slice to-go until the foam parcel winds up beside me on the table.

I look at it, then at Zakery, then back at it. “This is…for me?”

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