The feeling of his fingers between mine forces my mind to think about how his fingers would feel…other places. Heat spills into my belly and I fight the urge to fidget.
“It’s not your fault. Let me take you to another nice restaurant. We’ll eat and I can get to know you.” His eyes are the softest shade of denim blue, and for a moment, I’m lost in them.
“Sounds perfect,” I say.
Mars’s fingers linger on mine for a second before he lets go of my hand. He drives off and in five minutes we’re at Juniper. It’s way more relaxed than Giovanni’s but there’s still valet parking. “I’ll park it myself,” Mars tells the valet. His shoulders are stiff and his jaw ticks when he pulls off to find a space. Like he can read my mind, he says, “I hate when other people drive my truck. I never know when it’s going to just die.”
He pulls into a space and kills the engine. “See why I hate this old thing?” He scoffs before hopping out. I watch his smooth stride over to my side. Mars walks like he owns the world. I can almost see the crimson aura floating around him…just like the dragonfly I painted.
“Thank you.” I nod as he helps me out of the tall truck. When I step down, I realize how much taller than me he is. I have to tip my head back to see his face.
“Wow, you’re tiny.”
“You’re welcome would have worked just fine,” I say with a laugh. His hand finds mine again and our palms touch.
I’m so grateful to sit down at a table because I’m not sure how much longer my legs would hold me up. Mars short-circuits my brain and makes everything fuzzy.
Our booth is cozy and close, I can see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes and I get lost mapping them out. “What are you thinking about, Sage? Whenever I see you…you’re always lost in your thoughts.” He tips his head to the side to study me the same way I’m studying him.
I bring my shoulders up around my ears a bit and shrug. I usually keep my thoughts to myself, but something about Mars makes me open up like a flower under the sun. I stretch my petals toward him and spill. “I was looking at the colors in your eyes and figuring out what colors I’d use to paint them.” The truth tumbles out and I expect for him to look at me like I’m insane. Like most people would.
Instead, he smiles. It’s a perfect smile, showing perfect white teeth, and making those denim blue eyes of his dance. “So you’re a painter?” he asks. His hand moves across the table to mine and he unfolds my curled fingers again. I revel in the smooth feeling that washes over me.
I realize I want more moments like this one. More moments where I connect with someone. More moments with Mars.
“That explains the paint-smudged fingertips.”
“You like art too,” I say. “I saw you sketching when I came into the shop.”
“Yeah. I like to draw…and I guess I like paint too.” I miss the warmth from his hand when he lets mine go. His long fingers fidget with his rolled up sleeve, and I pick up on his hesitance.
“You guess you like paint? Either you do or you don’t.” I flash him a smile and he pauses for a brief moment. The way he looks at me makes me tingle everywhere.
Everywhere.
“I do. I just don’t paint the way you do. Let me guess, you sit in front of an easel with a paintbrush between your pretty little fingers making magic, right?” He lifts a dark eyebrow at me and I blush a bit.
“Something like that,” I say with a shrug.
“I’m sure it’s exactly like that. My art isn’t as pretty. I like graffiti.” He watches me like he expects me to get up and walk out or something. I couldn’t walk away from him if I wanted to.
“That’s so fucking cool.” I grin. “I’ve always loved graffiti. The bold colors and lines are beautiful.”
“You just keep getting better and better. I thought you would turn your nose up at it.” A half-smile lifts one side of his mouth.
“I love all art.” We fall into a long stretch of silence, but nothing about it feels clunky or awkward. I sink into the way he stares at me because it makes me feel pretty.
“Can I ask you a question?” Mars watches me for an answer.
“Sure,” I drag out the word, wondering what he wants to ask.
“Why don’t I ever see you driving? The first time I saw you, I watched you walk off but you never got into a car. The second time, your dad drove you.” He wasn’t kidding when he said he noticed everything about me.