Standing up to his full height he asked, “Do you have everything you need? Can I get you something?”
A curling fear of dread interrupted the most exciting forty-five minutes of my dating life and I nearly winced from the sharpness of it. “Was hiring me to do this mural part of your seduction?”
He shook his head—it looked like he was trying to recover from my conversational whiplash. “What?”
“Did you only hire me to do this job because you want to get in my pants?”
A slow, promising smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. If I hadn’t been so panicked, I would have spontaneously combusted from it.
“Is getting in your pants an option?” he asked.
“That absolutely depends on your answer,” I countered. “And I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.” He raised one eyebrow. “You’re very transparent,” I explained. Which wasn’t at all true, but it was better to let him think I had the upper hand. Maybe then he would believe it.
“The mural had nothing to do with us,” he answered sincerely. “And everything to do with your talent. I’m definitely interested in you, Molly, but I’m also a businessman. I wouldn’t have hired you to change the entire interior of my struggling restaurant if I didn’t think you would be able to make a seriously positive change.”
My fears abated and I sucked in a steadying breath. “Sorry, I freaked out at you. I just didn’t want this to be a pity painting.”
His lips twitched at my description. “It’s anything but. I’m anxious to see what you come up with.”
“What about the marketing account?” I demanded, half hoping he would tell me that was just a ploy to spend more time with me and that I sucked at design. Because then I would have a reason to quit STS and start over. I could pursue painting or basket weaving or beekeeping. Anything would be better than working with Henry at this point.
My argument was foolproof. Foolproof-ish.
“Again, Molly, I’m worried you don’t see how talented you are. Since I’ve hired you, I’ve learned more about the ins and outs of advertising than the last firm taught me in the entire three years I employed them. You know your stuff. I’m truly lucky to have you working for the restaurants.”
That was not the answer I was looking for, because it was leagues better. Those weren’t the kind of criticisms that ended careers, those were the kinds of compliments that reignited the deep and abiding love for my job.
I hated the politics of STS and my bosses, and okay, fine, my clients too. But I loved the design part of it. I loved that creating graphics was the opposite of painting, and that was okay, because I enjoyed the details and the hours of perfecting a meaningful project. I hated the company I worked for, but damn I loved the grind.
Which probably made me insane different than the rest of the world.
“Fine,” I groaned. “You win. I like you. A lot.”
He chuckled again, and the sound was rich and chocolatey. I felt it all the way to my toes. He kissed my forehead. “That does make me a winner.” He stepped back for real this time. “Holler if you need anything.”
“Sure thing.”
I watched him walk into the kitchen without moving. This was crazy. Right?
And if it wasn’t crazy, what was it? What were we?
We hadn’t even been on a date yet. We’d done nothing but kiss and confess feelings. I hadn’t even had time to process this long enough to decide what I wanted from Ezra.
Besides more kisses obviously.
So maybe I didn’t need to put a label on us yet. Or any kind of pressure to figure it out. I wasn’t going to obsess over him or us or this. I was just going to let it happen. Because it was anybody’s guess right now where we’d end up.
I was just Molly, remember? And he was Ezra F-something Baptiste.
I was just a girl trying to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life. And he was everything smooth and successful. He’d already figured out life. He’d already accomplished what he’d set out to do.
Oh my god. We were too different. This would never work.
It couldn’t.
I was in so far over my head, I was already drowning and we’d only just put our feet in the water.
Spinning around to face the white wall, I tried to stay the panic rising up inside me like a tidal wave. My chest hurt as I struggled to even out my breathing. My hands started shaking and I reflexively reached for a paintbrush.
There, that feels better.
When my heartbeat didn’t slow, I grabbed my palette too. I’d asked Ezra to repaint this wall before I started my mural, so a fresh coat of white gleamed back at me, like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. A beacon calling me to safer waters.
I couldn’t analyze Ezra right now without freaking out. I couldn’t wrap my head around our conversation or his kisses or anything that had to do with him having feelings for me.
I pushed my rampant thoughts out of my head and turned them into an endless flow of inspiration instead. His dark hair, those endless eyes, his mysterious smile that made my soul move in a way that nothing else ever had turned into a relentless vision that I couldn’t wait to chase.
After I’d sketched a rough outline with pencil, I returned to my palette. Reaching for the acrylics I’d bought just for this project, I spread them out on my palette and began mixing the right shades. When I finally reached for my paintbrush, something significant settled inside me, lessening my fears and strengthening my spirit.
Painting became the protective cocoon that rescued me from the trembling fear I only just kept at bay. Ezra stopped by later to ask if I wanted to eat lunch with him, but I couldn’t give up painting. I told him I was in the zone, but I would take a raincheck.
The truth was I’d only bought myself time. I had no idea if I would take a raincheck. I had no idea what I was doing at all with my life. Except for this mural, my life suddenly felt very much like it was careening out of control.
I needed to do something about that. Later. When I could think and obsess and freak out in private.
For now, I was going to paint.
Chapter Nineteen
“We need to talk.”
Instantly I was angry. Just like that I was bubbling with silent rage, my teeth dripping with venom, my claws growing and curling and preparing, ready for war. It was the voice. And the person. And every single thing about him.