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“You’ve spent the last week fighting with my belt. I removed the obstacle.”

I rise onto my toes and kiss him. Eric bends to meet me, one hand slipping into my hair while his other arm closes around my back and pulls me against him. Since he made such a point of choosing helpful clothes, I decide to test exactly how helpful they are. I trail my fingers down his stomach and beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

Eric breaks the kiss with a startled laugh. “Jesus, Rachel.”

“What?” I curl my fingers around him. “You said you removed the obstacle.”

His hand tightens on my hip as I stroke him. “Keep doing that and you’re going to give the security team an interesting night.”

I stop. “Security team?”

“There are cameras covering the driveway.”

I look toward the roof and spot a small black camera beneath the eaves. “You waited until my hand was inside your pants to mention that?”

“I was distracted.”

“Is someone watching?”

“No, but the cameras record everything.”

I slide my hand free. “In that case, we should go inside.”

“Good idea.”

Eric takes my hand and leads me through the front door.

The house is warmer than I expected. Cream walls, dark beams, and wood floors replace the glass and gray stone I imagined. Lamps glow beside deep couches, books crowd the shelves, and family photos fill the spaces between them.

“This isn’t what I pictured.”

“What did you picture?”

“Gray furniture nobody was allowed to sit on.”

He leads me into the living room. A photo on the shelf shows Eric, Tom, and Daniel as boys, standing beside a lake with wet hair and matching scowls. Beyond the glass doors, a terrace overlooks the lights of Alton Hills.

“This view is ridiculous.”

“It’s better during the day.”

Eric comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. His mouth brushes my neck, and I turn to kiss him. What begins as a quick kiss ends with my back against the glass and his hand in my hair.

Then I smell smoke.

“Is something burning?”

Eric goes still. “The bread.”

We hurry into the kitchen. He pulls a blackened loaf from the oven and drops it into the sink while I open a window. Luckily, the pasta, sauce, and salad have survived.

We eat beside each other at the kitchen table, talking easily. At some point, Eric begins ranking his brothers by how long they’d survive without money. He chooses Daniel at first, then changes his answer to Tom, who he claims could charm a stranger into feeding him within the hour.

Despite the easy conversation, Eric isn’t quite himself. He asks twice if I like the pasta, fills my glass before I can reach for the bottle, and changes the music halfway through dinner. By the time he asks whether I’m warm enough, I know something is bothering him.

After dinner, Eric refuses to let me help clean up. I sit on the counter while he loads the dishwasher, though he keeps stopping to kiss me. We take wine into the living room and settle on the couch with my legs across his lap.

“I loved the sketch,” I say. “I’m hanging it in my office.”