I was lost for a moment, staring at her and remembering the things we’d done hours earlier.
With a shake of my head I jolted back to the present. “I’ll wrap it around a frame,” I pointed to some of the wooden boards I had lying in the corner, “and probably hang it up.”
Eyeing the boards, a smirk lifted her lips. “Now I know why you had a drill.”
I raised a brow in question.
“That first day when you hung my curtains. I wondered why you of all people had a drill. You seemed so…” She paused. “Unhandy,” she finally supplied with a small shrug of her slender shoulders.
“Me? Unhandy? What are you talking about? I’m quite handy. I give Bob the Builder a run for his money.”
She snorted at that. “The fact that you know who Bob the Builder is, is highly amusing.”
I shrugged. “When I was little I used to want to build houses like…”
“Like?” She questioned.
I bowed my head, air whizzing past my lips. “Like my dad.”
“Oh, Caelan,” she placed a gentle hand on my arm.
“It’s okay,” I shrugged. “Our dreams and hopes for our future are always changing. This may not have been the life I imagined for myself, but it’s not all bad,” I took her hand in mine, squeezing gently.
She looked over at the canvas and back at me. “Why do you paint?”
I should’ve known that question was coming. “Artistic abilities run in the family. My mom was a very talented artist. She did paintings and pottery from the house—made a decent living off of it too. And Cayla, my sister, she was always insanely talented too. I was too invested in myself and football and hopes for a scholarship that I never bothered to see if I had any talent of my own.” Shrugging, I continued, “Once they died, it seemed like a good way to connect and honor them. Turns out, I’m not that bad.”
“You’re very talented,” she smiled. “Have you ever thought about opening a studio and showcasing it?”
I couldn’t contain my laughter at that, it slipped past my lips and filled the air, echoing against the walls. “That’s funny. An addict owning an art gallery—that sounds like a bad comedy in the making.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.” Her lips turned down in a frown.
“No, I’m not,” I shook my head. “Just realistic.”
She rolled her eyes and I knew she thought I was crazy.
I didn’t want to talk about it anymore so I asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” she replied, sucking her plump bottom lip between her teeth and releasing it.
Fuck. Now I wanted to eat her. She was a temptress.
I strode away from her before I took action—like kissing her senseless and taking her to my bed. We really did need to eat if we were to keep up our strength for later, because I wasn’t done with her.
I looked through the refrigerator and cabinets. Uh…
“I don’t have any food.”
She rolled her vibrant blue eyes and tapped her fingers on the tile countertop. “You boys are all the same. You never have any food except cereal and chips. How do you not fall over dead from starvation?” With a shake of her head, she started towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Brutus rubbed against my legs and I picked up the cat, cradling him in my arms. You know, he was kind of cute…in a weird way. I’d never seen a cat with as many colors as he had. It was like he didn’t know if he wanted to be brown, black, orange, or white.
I scratched him under his chin and he immediately began to purr.
Sutton returned with a bag filled with items from her fridge. “Get,” she waved me out of the small kitchen area, “you’re in my way.”
I chuckled, still clutching Brutus in my arms. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re extremely bossy?”