Chapter 11 Kira #2
Something stuttered in my chest as the sunlight from the window crept over his face, illuminating the slope of his shoulders, the hints of dark amber in his hair. For the first time since Landon returned, I took notice of how much he’d turned into a man.
Tanned, muscled, corded with sexy veins.
He may have left kickball and baseball in the past, but it looked like he set aside plenty of time for the gym.
Probably bench pressed twice my body weight.
He had taken off his hoodie before starting to paint, and the fine cotton of his white shirt was thin enough that I could see the planes of his muscles underneath it.
He smelled so nice, of coffee and a hint of bourbon, that I got the insane urge to press my face into his chest. Or worse, to press my mouth to the hollow of his throat and see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
An electric shiver ghosted down my spine. God, Landon was here, trying to help me work on the art residency application, and here I was lusting after him. It had been a while since I really, truly lusted after someone, but based on the ache between my thighs, my body hadn’t forgotten how.
Landon paused. He set down his brush and looked at me with warmth in his eyes.
Warmth I’d seen plenty of in the past but hadn’t reappeared just yet.
To have it now, to be able to drink it in, felt almost sinful.
Like I was becoming a glutton, gorging myself on the care he held just for me.
I wanted to stuff myself to the brim with it until I couldn’t breathe or think again.
What’s happening to me?
“Are you okay?” he asked tenderly.
I cleared my throat and turned back to my canvas. “Yeah.” A few absent-minded brushstrokes. “I’m fine.”
The weight of his gaze—almost physical, warm and rough against my neck—lingered for a few more seconds until he returned to painting. A small sigh of relief escaped me. I needed the break to finish my painting, which now looked like it was turning into a sunflower.
“Well, wait until you see my masterpiece. You can brag that you knew me before I got famous.”
I laughed. “Don’t forget me when you’re in galleries all over the globe.”
“Never.”
A few minutes later, we held up our canvases for the grand reveal.
My sunflower wasn’t my best work—some of the petals were uneven, and the shading was off—but it didn’t need to be perfect. Landon, on the other hand, had painted a bowl of lemons, bright and slightly messy, like he hadn’t overthought a single brushstroke. Or given it any thought at all.
“Feeling tart?” I teased.
He laughed. “I could always go for lemonade.”
We set our canvases down, and I turned to him. “Thanks for doing this with me.”
“Of course. It was fun.” Then, after a pause, “Even if someone might think you painted with a two-year-old.”
I chuckled. “It’s not that bad.”
Landon raised an eyebrow. “Here I thought we didn’t lie to each other.”
I stilled for half a second, a memory flashing through my mind. A middle school kickball game, the sun dipping low behind the field. Landon and I sat on the sidelines, catching our breaths after a brutal match.
“We should always tell each other the truth,” he’d said. “Even if it’s about how much we sucked during the game.”
I had agreed without hesitation.
Now, standing here, I exhaled slowly. “Maybe some things change.”
I gathered the canvases and set them in the corner to dry, but I felt his eyes on me, thoughtful, searching.
“Maybe some things don’t,” Landon murmured.
A strange pressure built in my chest. There were too many emotions, too fast. I needed an outlet, a distraction, something to pour this feeling into before it swallowed me whole.
“I think I know what I want to paint,” I blurted.
His brows lifted. “Oh?”
“It’s a secret.” I tucked my hands behind my back. “But trust me. It’s part of my identity.”
Something flickered across his expression, but he didn’t press. “Okay.” He stood, stretching. “I’ll leave you and your creative genius alone.”
“You can stay,” I offered, surprising myself.
“You sure?”
“Of course.” I turned back to my canvas, my mind buzzing with an energy I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Behind me, Landon settled comfortably onto the couch. It didn’t take long before he was snoring softly.
Hours later, I finally stepped back from my work, paint smudged across my fingers, exhaustion creeping into my limbs.
There, on the canvas, was the dugout where Landon and I had shared our first kiss. I pressed a hand to my mouth in shock. Even though I had taken an active role in the creation of this canvas, the outcome still surprised me.
“Wow,” Landon breathed behind me. “You chose this as part of your identity?”
I nodded. “Does that bother you?”
“Not at all. I’m honored, actually.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Because I’m mostly confused.”
Landon scooted backward on the couch, leaving an open area for me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
After a minute of internal debate, I crawled onto the couch next to him. Lying down, our chests nearly pressed together. “Not really.”
He hummed. “That’s okay too.”
Our breathing synced and there was something about that action that made my heart beat even faster. Landon wrapped a hand around my forearm, his long fingers gentle against my skin, and I tried so hard not to scare the moment away that I froze.
The thought of being close to Landon like this—not just of physical intimacy, but emotional intimacy too, was enough to make me forget to breathe. Perhaps that was the real reason why I tucked away my feelings for Landon and tried so hard to love others. Loving Landon was scary because it was real.
He met my stare with equal fervor and unlike my lack of breath, he breathed so hard he was almost panting. Maybe that was something that should disturb me, but it didn’t. It made an odd tingle run through me instead, an off pulse of something liquid and hot that I couldn’t think too deeply about.
Slowly, I leaned forward, but he stayed in place, letting me remain in control. When my lips touched his, it felt exactly how the romance books described: like coming home. His lips were warm under mine, and our eyes fluttered shut in unison.
His fingers tightened against my forearm, almost like he was resisting the urge to pull me closer. By many people’s standards, this kiss was the equivalent of two twelve-year-olds kissing behind the bleachers. But in my mind, this kiss was powerful enough to set me aflame.
As quickly as it started, I pulled away.
His eyes slowly opened and a soft smile appeared. “What do we do now?”
“Now we take a nap.” That was all I could consider for tonight. “And you tell me about how the diner is going.”
Landon, trapped between me and the back of the couch, wrapped his arm around my waist. That action alone sent goose bumps down my body. I pulled my legs closer to his, inviting him to push a knee in between mine.
I drifted somewhere between Landon telling me about the newest coffee machine and the color of the tables. It was peaceful, the way he spoke, and for the first time in a while, I let myself fully relax, thinking how simple and easy things felt between us.
I woke up to two realizations. The first was caused by a light shining on me relentlessly, which led me to blink rapidly and remember I didn’t take my contacts out before falling asleep.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force moisture into them, and opened them again, rubbing at the corners.
This action brought me to my second realization.
My best friend and roommate, Macey Monroe, was looking down at me from directly overhead, with a shit-eating grin on her face. “Well, don’t you two look cozy!”
Oh, no. I looked over my shoulder to confirm that yes, Landon was still behind me. Fast asleep.
“Nothing happened,” I whispered. “Nothing big anyways.”
She crouched down, eyes wide. “What does that mean?”
Just then, Landon woke, yawning against my ear. Macey shot me a look that indicated I would be fessing up everything later today.
Landon tightened his arm around me. “Good morning, Ki—Macey!”
“Scribbles, why is there a man calling your name in a sexy voice?” Noah called from the entryway. He held two large paper bags in his arms.
“It’s nothing, honey!” Macey stood and grabbed one of the bags out of his arms. “Right, Kira?”
“Right.” I sat up, frantically finger combing my hair. “Macey, you remember Landon, right?”
I was pretty sure Macey slammed the bag down on the counter just so she could cross her arms over her chest dramatically. “Uh-huh.”
For ray of sunshine Macey, that was as cold as it could get.
I found a hair tie on the edge of the couch and pulled my hair into a bun. “Landon, this is Macey’s boyfriend, Noah.”
Noah dropped his bag on the counter, a yellow squash tipping over. He slung an arm around Macey’s shoulders. “We’ve met. It’s nice to see you someplace other than a sketchy gas station.”
“Great.” I stood, knocking the blanket to the floor. “Now that everyone’s been reacquainted, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes…”
Landon grabbed my wrist to stop me, eyes pleading.
“I’ll be right back,” I whispered.
It felt a little like leaving a lamb in a lion’s den. But a few minutes later, I had a freshly washed face, glasses, and a change of clothes. I returned to awkward tension.
It looked like Landon had distracted himself by folding the blanket over the couch and cleaning up the mess we left, while Noah and Macey watched curiously. Macey looked distrustful but also entertained.
“So,” Macey drawled, eyes darting between me and Landon. “The gang’s all back together again, huh?”
Landon cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s really nice to be back.”
“What brings you home, Landon?” Macey casually unpacked the contents of the paper bag. Fruits, vegetables, the occasional potato. “And to our apartment.”
“I missed the hotdogs,” Landon joked.
It didn’t land for Macey, who stared deadpan at him.