Still, Theo’s poker face was top notch, and he gave very little away. He only shrugged and gave me a noncommittal “it might be,” and went right back to blowing my mind with that back rub. So much, in fact, that my tongue loosened almost instantly.

“The Smithson-Napa reps want me to pitch them ideas for a bookish-themed home collection.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Yeah.” His fingers froze for a moment, like he was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying with my less than enthusiastic answer, but he didn’t. He kept massaging my shoulders in silence until I spilled my guts again. “They told me this afternoon, apparently Kayla also weaseled herself in there.”

He made one of those murder sounds that usually happened when Chase or his wife were the topic of conversation. “Kayla can’t touch what you’re going to bring to the table.”

“You don’t even know her work, Theo!” I cried, tipping my head up to look at him and he raised an eyebrow in challenge. I loved how serious he got when he talked about my work. About what he saw in me.

“I don’t need to know about her, I know about you.” He spoke so confidently, like he’d seen my future and there wasn’t a thing to worry about. God, I wanted to believe too.

“Let me feed you, sweetheart, you’re exhausted.” His fingers curled around my jaw, gentle and firm at once. And it took everything in me not to leap into his arms. Let him take care of me, like he was asking.

“Okay, but I need to finish this for Rocco’s niece after.” He was up and grabbing the plate in no time. We sat cross-legged on the floor while I ate. I couldn’t quash the tight, angry, needy thing in my chest that wished this could be my life. That I had someone who took care of me. Gave me what I needed. But I knew no one could put up with my chaos. He’d get tired of it eventually. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He made that face like I’d punched him and sighed.

“You deserve to be pampered, Alba. You work too fucking hard.”