My eyes drag across the contours of his body before landing on his naked feet. His entire outfit seems like a completely unfair war tactic against my racing heart. It’s… He’s… Ugh!
I frown. “Hi.”
He makes a show of checking me out. Somehow, he makes my bell-bottom jeans and vintage T-shirt feel inappropriate.
He opens the door wider, giving me space to enter. But not enough, because his body remains in the middle of the door frame, forcing our skin to brush against each other.
He leads me toward a dimly lit living room fit for a family of fifty. The massive couch reminds me of a cloud I want to dive into while the carpet is plush enough to take a nap on.
He points me toward a cushion on the floor.
“This seems an awful lot like a date,” I mutter under my breath.
“Don’t be difficult. I know you’re hungry.”
I glare at him, hating that he’s right. I drop onto the cushion and cross my legs. He grabs the bag, removes the cartons, and serves me a plate of my favorite pad Thai. My stupid heart betrays me, clenching at the smallest hint of Rowan’s attention to detail.
Get a grip. It’s just dinner.
I straighten my spine. “Well. Let’s hear your apology.”
“Eat first.”
I roll my eyes at his command and keep my hands settled on my lap.
He sighs. “Please eat? I don’t want it to get cold.”
A ghost of a smile crosses my lips at his request. I only comply because I’m starving. Rowan takes a bite of his food with every bit of elegance I expect from American royalty. If only I looked half that good while eating.
We both eat in silence. I hate it enough to speak up because I can’t take it anymore.
“So you like to draw?”
His fork clatters against the plate.
Well, aren’t I the queen of casual conversations? I grin at my plate because making Rowan uncomfortable has become my new favorite game tonight.
He picks up his fork and twirls some noodles. “I used to love drawing.”
“Why did you stop?”
Rowan’s shoulders tense before he releases a shaky breath. “Why do most people stop doing things they love?”
I relate to that question. After everything Lance did, I stopped wanting to create anything. I paused my dreams because it seemed easier than facing the pain of his betrayal. The path of least resistance included shutting down things I loved because I was too afraid of the backlash.
At least until Rowan threw me out of my comfort zone. And for that, I’m indebted to him. It doesn’t make his choices correct, but it makes me a bit more forgiving. Because without him taking a chance on my drunken proposal, I wouldn’t have finally let go of the last bit of hurt holding me back.
The only person who has power over me is myself. Not Lance. Not my past mistakes. And definitely not fear.
I pluck at a loose thread on my jeans. “I’m not asking about people. I’m asking about you.”
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“If apologizing was easy, everyone would do it.”
He readjusts his glasses in a way that has my thighs pressing together to stop the dull throb. I swear he only wore them to wear me down.
“My grandpa got me into drawing at a very young age.”
I stay silent and waiting, not wanting to spook him.
“He always had a special something with my brothers and me, and drawing happened to be our thing. I was the only artistic one of my family besides him so I think he enjoyed having that kind of connection.”