“That’s a much better way of saying it.” I nodded with a laugh.
“Am I forgiven?”
“I suppose.” I smiled.
“So, completely-not-defenseless Ellie, are you from Colorado?” he asked.
“No, Iowa,” I replied. “I moved here for school. Lily and I were roommates in college.”
“And your family’s still back in Iowa?” At my nod, he continued, “How did they feel about you moving out here?”
“Not great,” I admitted ruefully.
Especially after what happened soon after I moved, I thought with an inner cringe.
“They’re small-town people,” I explained, brushing away dark memories that threatened to surface without warning. “They have a gorgeous farm.” I smiled fondly, choosing to focus on happy ones instead. “My dad had me and my brother on horses before we could walk. The mountains here are spectacular, and I love how diverse it is. But I find myself missing the plains of Iowa. Everything is so golden, so… warm,” I tried to explain.
“But you didn’t stay,” he stated, studying me so intently that I fought the urge to squirm. His eyes were so full of expression as he gave me every ounce of his attention.
I shook my head. “I’d always wanted to study art. I loved the farm, but I didn’t want it to be my life. I wanted to see more of the world. So I traveled for a year before starting at University of Denver. What about you? Where are you from?” I asked, sipping my beer and looking over at him in the dim light. Now that I was growing more comfortable in his presence, I could truly appreciate how handsome he was.
“I’m from a small town too. Hawthorne, Nevada. I can relate to being homesick,” he explained. “I was back home for my sister’s wedding not long ago. Already miss my mom’s cooking.” He patted what I was sure was a ripped stomach, if the way his T-shirt stretched over his muscular biceps and shoulders was any indication.
I softened that much more at the fact that he was clearly close to his family. “How many siblings do you have?”
“Three. Two brothers and my sister, all older.”
“Aw, the baby of the family.” I grinned.
“That may be, but I’m also the biggest.” He winked. “So, did you manage to get a job with that art degree?” he asked, changing the subject.
I shot him a look, and he immediately looked contrite. “Shit, sorry, I seem to have a bad case of foot-in-mouth syndrome with you.”
I laughed. “It’s okay. There is a reason why we’re called starving artists,” I replied dryly. “And, not really,” I admitted, answering his question. “I work at an ad agency downtown to pay the bills. I paint in my free time. It’s fine,” I added.
And most of the time, it was.
“What do you do for work?” I asked as a female giggle that sounded very much like Lily traveled up from down below.
“It’s boring,” he answered evasively.
Or embarrassing, I thought sympathetically, not wanting to push him on the subject.
“So, so far I’ve got that you’re an artist who moved away from home, loves sci-fi…, oh, and you’re devastatingly beautiful. But you’re boring,” he hastened to add with a teasing grin.
I blushed, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, the compliment made me feel warm rather than fearful.
“I just don’t go out much,” I admitted, feeling shy. “I like to be alone. Lily is always accusing me of being a hermit,” I added, picking at the label of my beer.
His hand reached out and grasped mine, his skin warm and reassuring. “That’s not boring,” he argued.
“Well, I guess since you were in here hiding, you’d understand.” I smirked. “And there are plenty of places to hide in this house,” I added dryly.
He cocked his head to the side, assessing me. “You don’t like it?”
“The house?” I wrinkled my nose. “Just not my taste. It’s so ostentatious. I mean, what’s he trying to prove? Sorry, I know he must be your friend,” I hastened to add.
He chuckled, finding something about that more comical than I’d expect. “No, you’re right. So what would your dream home be like?”