her lips. “It’s too much. It’s unlived in. Feels like a hotel room, even a very nice one. I don’t know. It needs some warmer hues.”
“You can change it up however you want. I’ll pay for any renovation.”
“Nah, that’s too extreme for a few months.”
“It’s my place, but for the next ninety days, it’s also yours. I’ll decide what’s necessary to make you feel at home.”
She shakes her head, splashing my vision with blond-gold. “Yeah, but you’re already paying me to be here and fronting money for all my necessities. You shouldn’t have to redecorate on top of it. What’s three little months?”
We share a look that says exactly the kind of crushing weight it is.
I take another gulp from the wine bottle, breaking the awkward silence. “I think when you agree to live with a woman, a man expects to redecorate.”
Her laughter fills my ears.
“Warmer hues, am I right? I can tell you like the idea,” I say, pressing her.
She rolls one shoulder in a half shrug. “I mean...maybe just a little something to make it cozier.”
“Done. I’ll have Grayson take care of it tomorrow. See? We can resolve our issues like human beings.” I clink my wine bottle against her goblet, celebrating a rare agreement.
Of course, she loses her shit in a belly laugh.
Of course, I’m worried about my ears getting all too used to that warm serenade of good humor.
“Were you serious about opening a studio?” I ask, holding her dancing eyes.
She nods firmly. “Probably. I haven’t made a final decision but...yeah, it sounds nice. I love sculpting more than life. I’d like to be able to create without limitations again. Art can be a hard sell, and it takes time to nail the market, but I could always teach classes to make it profitable.”
“What limitations?”
“Huh?”
“You said you want to create without limitations again.”
“Oh—at Northwestern, the studio was always accessible as long as you had a code, and I had all the equipment and space I needed. I have a table kiln now, but it’s not full-sized. I also have pretty limited workspace. Still, I can’t complain. My apartment isn’t bad by Chicago shoebox standards. I just can’t bring everything to life there. It gets dark pretty quickly too. The lighting just isn’t the best.”
“You’re serious about your art,” I say, mulling over the obvious.
She nods and smiles. “Art makes pain beautiful and life make sense.”
Hell of an observation.
Still, I wonder. “If you’re so passionate about your work, why did you come to the firm for an EA role?”
A slow smear of a smile shows her pearly teeth.
“What’s not to like at Brandt Ideas? The pay rocks, and architecture is art, on a grand scale. You can’t be Beatrice’s grandson and not know it. She’s only said it a million times in interviews.”
“Touché,” I whisper, smiling in turn when I remember it was practically Grandma’s motto at every big speech for younger crowds.
“You guys make functional art for people. They can enjoy it daily, whether they’re inside the buildings or just gazing from the outside in. I love it, even if it’s not something I could do for a living.”
“Why? You’re creative and smart.”
Not to mention too gorgeous for life, I think to myself, clenching my mouth shut so it doesn’t slip out.
“Art and architecture are two different fields.” She grins. “Plus, I like the way it feels to have my hands buried in the clay, smoothing and pinching and bringing something new to life.”
Sweet hell, the dirty thoughts that image brings.
How did I ever think this girl was just a drunken partier?
“I tried pottery once—”
She rolls her eyes. “Sculpting goes way beyond pottery.”
“I know, but I wasn’t very good at pottery either. I just did it to get this girl to like me. But I shelled out fifty bucks at this ‘make your own coffee cup’ place, and there was no second date after my mug turned into a watering can,” I say, taking a long pull off my bottle.
Paige laughs, a lash of hair falling down her face.
“Desperate measures! I’m not sure why you’d even have to fake liking pottery to get a date, Ward.”
“Seems like faking romance is what I do.”
Her eyebrows go up. “Honestly, that story sounds more like your brother than you.”
“You don’t think Nick has a monopoly on stupid, do you? I was twenty-three and just back from Iraq. Can you blame me?”
“No. I’m just surprised you weren’t uptight back in the day.”