Just like I do with what I’m about to say.

“And I’m afraid if you knew me in my normal life that you wouldn’t like the person I am there.”

Gunner stops mid stroke of his paintbrush and locks eyes with me. I’ve said a lot of real things to him, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more honest than right now.

“Why would you say that?” he asks, head angling to the side, eyes searching mine as I shrug like a little kid afraid to answer.

Tell him the truth, Chase.

The phrase ghosts through my mind, but I can’t find it within me to ruin the evening—to potentially damage this—because there is something between us.

I shrug, unable to find the words I need to use, unable to bring myself to hurt him . . . or rather too selfish to risk losing him.

“Hey,” he says. He lifts from his seat so he can lean across the table and press his lips to mine. “We’re all different people sometimes.” Another press of his lips. “Sometimes it’s easier to be who you really are when you step outside of your daily grind and everything there holding you in its normal place.”

He leans back and holds my gaze as I just nod, unable to agree with him, and luckily saved by the buzzer Mimi has on her table telling us time is up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now time to reveal to your date their portrait or the image you’ve painted that reminds you of them. Deep breath. And . . . show them!”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Gunner

“YOU ACTUALLY SNORTED SO LOUD that everyone turned and looked at us,” Chase says as she steps a few feet away, turning to face me as she walks backward, that coy smile on her lips.

“You painted me an apple pie.” I can’t even say it without laughing.

“An ooey-gooey, hot, and juicy apple pie at that.” She curtsies. “You might not have been able to see those fine details, but I assure you they were there in spirit.”

I all but fell out of my chair when she turned her portrait around at the studio. I definitely snorted and was more than glad I’d swallowed my drink of wine before she did, because we both burst out in laughter.

“It’s the best. I’ll cherish it forever,” I say. “Mine is nowhere near as witty as yours is.”

“Red Converse in a field of white daisies. I’m more than impressed with your painting skills,” she says. “And the fact that you incorporated the rest of our date in it.” She motions to the field of wild daisies that blanket both sides of the path we’re on.

“I’m a much better painter than I am LEGO builder.”

“I, for one, love it and know exactly where it’s going to go on my shelf at home.”

Home.