A Slip of the Hand

Chapter 58

Daniel pulls up outside a forgotten-looking warehouse and kills the engine before turning to me with a disarming smile. "We're here!"

My heart skips as I survey the stark facade of the industrial building. "Where's here?"

"You'll see." He hops out of the Jeep and jogs around to open my door, offering his hand. The guilt of knowing I hurt people on the way to my still-undefined situation with him hasn't disappeared, but it doesn't stop my heart from tripping over itself every time I take his hand.

The building's metal door groans open to reveal a long, dimly lit hallway. Eerie shadows form along the cracked, paint-peeled walls, and the corridor is silent except for the heels of my booties clicking against the concrete as he leads me toward something unknown and thrilling. My curiosity spikes as Daniel pauses in front of the last door on the right, marked Unit 3.

"Ready?" he asks, his eyes dancing.

"Just open the door!" I say with a laugh.

He unlocks it and turns the handle with a flourish, revealing a spacious art studio. Light streams through a row of windows bordering the high ceiling, and brushes of all sizes are neatly aligned on a large worktable next to an array of colors and mediums.

"Happy birthday, beautiful!" he says triumphantly.

"Holy shit!" I gasp. "This is..." Words fail me as I take a closer look at the supplies—my preferred brands and colors, all of them. I'm almost afraid to touch them, as if they're part of some fragile dream that will end when scrutinized.

"I know your space to create is really limited, so I booked you some studio time," he says, a hint of nervousness underlying the excitement in his voice.

"This is... Wow." My fingers glide over my favorite paddle brush, this one pristine and not yet kinked and discolored at the ends. "Whose studio is this?"

"It belongs to a short-term rental company, but right now, it's ours. Yours!"

"And these supplies... they're all for me?"

"Of course!" he says with a broad grin.

"But... how?" My brain struggles to process, too overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness and grandeur of his gift. "How did you know exactly what I use?"

A sheepishness creeps into his smile. "Ellie helped with that."

His admission only deepens my awe. Not to mention, his co-conspirator was so smooth last night that I didn't catch the tiniest whiff she knew what was in store for me.

"This is..." I'm still trying to get the thought out, but it stalls every time. Instead, the widest smile I've ever had stretches across my face, and I throw my arms around his neck. "Thank you!" I finally manage, my cheek pressed tightly against his chest as I rock back and forth in our hug.

"My pleasure."

I pull back just enough to beam up at him, still dizzy with delight. "You know, I would've been thrilled with some cake and a lazy afternoon with you."

"But I can tell how happy painting makes you," he says, his firm hands sliding down my arms until they lock with mine. "Now, shall I leave you to create and pick you up later? Or would you prefer to paint another day?"

"We have more than one?"

"You have a month."

"A month?!" I gasp, and it feels like my heart might actually burst from my chest. "Are you kidding?"

"Of course not," he responds, that rich, easy laugh of his echoing through the studio.

I spring forward, pulling his face down and covering it in kisses. His lips catch mine, slowing the barrage into one long, deep connection. When the kiss ends and he looks down at me with those endlessly deep eyes, a particular three-word phrase nearly slips out of me.