My gaze traveled across the space that had been full of boxes just days ago. “It’s safe to say I’m surprised.”

She clasped her hands in front of her, not coming any closer. “I know I might have overstepped, but I just wanted you to have this space done. Not to have to worry about unpacking or dealing with a bunch of crap. I wanted you to be able to just walk in and create.”

I crossed to Shay, pulling her into my arms. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

“I don’t hate hearing it.”

I swept my lips across hers. “I was grumpy this morning.”

She ran her hands through my hair, her nails grazing my scalp in that way I loved. “Why?”

“I woke up alone.”

Her expression gentled. “I’ve had to sneak away whenever I could to get this done. I knew if I got up early this morning, I could finish.” She was quiet for a minute. “What do you think? We still need to decorate. This place needs some character. I was thinking we could go to Bell’s store, Second Chances, tomorrow and—”

I cut off her words with a kiss. This one was no gentle good morning. It was hungry and just a little bit desperate. Seeking and demanding at the same time. When I pulled back, Shay’s eyes were a bit dazed.

“Does that mean you like it?” she asked.

I chuckled. “Never had anyone care this much that I had the perfect space to create.” And just the knowledge of that had the itch to paint taking root in me for the first time in over a week.

Shay let her hands trail over my face as if she were trying to commit it to memory. “What you do is important. Not just for you, but for the people your work touches. I read a few posts from fans, and you make them feel understood, seen, not so alone. That’s art’s greatest gift. I don’t want you to stop giving it to the world.”

I stilled, each word hitting me like a blow to the chest. “I don’t want to stop trying to create those kinds of pieces.”

“Then don’t.”

My hand slipped under the hem of Shay’s tank top, trailing across her lower back. “There’s something I need to do first, though.”

Her breath caught. “What’s that?”

“Christen this kitchen.”

She squealed as I lifted her into the air, her legs wrapping around me. And christen it we did. I’d always smile when I looked at that kitchen counter.

32

Shay

“Shay…”

My name was part warning and part exasperated groan. I held up the antique anchor so that Brody could see it better. “It’s perfect. And I know just the spot for it.”

“You said that about the last ten things you picked up.”