“But you don’t go off the rails, Cole. Don’t you see?”
“I’m fighting every damn day, Kat.”
“But that’s the point. You’re fighting. You’re winning.” I slid my arms around his waist and moved in close. “You have more control than you give yourself credit for.”
“Someday I’m going to lose that battle and seriously hurt someone.” He hooked a finger under my chin and tilted my head up. “What if it’s you?”
“Not possible. For one thing, you’re not going to lose it. You may not see how strong you are, but I do. For another thing, the only way you’ll hurt me is if you leave me.” I swallowed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. “Don’t leave me, Cole,” I said, knowing that those words were stripping bare my soul. “Please don’t ever leave me.”
“No,” he said, pulling me close. And though the word that he said was “never,” in my heart, I knew that the message was, I love you.
twenty-two
Katrina Laron—domestic goddess.
That’s how I felt as I stood in the living room of my new house surrounded by pails of paint, drop cloths, brushes, and rollers.
The movers were scheduled for the next morning, and I was hoping to at least get the living room painted so that once the furniture arrived I could assemble one room and feel as though I had accomplished something.
Not that I’d be completely done with that room. I’d still need to deal with the floors, getting curtains, fixing the window panes that seemed likely to stick no matter what the weather, and all the other wonderful, happy, irritating quirks that came with home ownership.
I’d had the place for a grand total of three hours, and I was already desperately, hopelessly in love.
And speaking of desperately, hopelessly in love, I heard the familiar rhythm of Cole’s footsteps crossing the front porch, and I turned in time to see him open the screen door and step inside.
He carried two wrapped presents tucked under his arm—one big and one small. His other hand held tight to a toolbox on top of which he was balancing a bundle of roses.
“For me?”
“No, I just like to carry presents and roses whenever I take my tools out. Makes the repair work seem more festive.”
I rolled my eyes, and hurried to help him before he dropped everything—and to get a kiss.
“Congratulations,” he said, after he brushed his lips tenderly over mine. “You look beautiful. Home ownership suits you.”
Considering my hair was shoved up into a baseball cap and I was wearing ancient paint-splattered cargo pants and an old Disneyland T-shirt, I knew he was lying. But I still appreciated the thought.
“I don’t have anything to put the flowers in yet,” I said, looking around the room as if a stunning crystal vase would magically materialize. “But I think there’s a soda cup from Taco Bell in the trash. We can use that.”
He went to dig it out and fill it with water while I unwrapped the flowers from paper and plastic. We put them on the hearth, then stood back and admired them.
“Definitely makes the place more homey.”
“There’s more,” he said, nodding at the other two presents that were now on the floor.
I grinned up at him, feeling like a kid at Christmas. “You didn’t have to, but I’m thrilled you did.”
He laughed, then pointed to the larger, flat one. “That one first.”
I picked it up, easily able to tell that there was a framed piece of artwork hidden beneath the wrapping paper. “I hope it’s a Cole August original,” I said. “Those things are just going to shoot up in value.”