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He steels his expression and gives me a perfectly blank stare devoid of all emotion.

I narrow my eyes. “Okay, fine. Let’s see yours, then.”

He turns his mug around and I bark out a laugh; there’s no containing it now.

It’s fucking perfect. Like, sold-in-a-gallery perfect.

Clean lines and balanced colors; the shading is flawless. It’s simple, but in a way that you can’t replicate unless you actually have skill. It’s a portrait of me and I love it. Somehow it’s utterly faultless.

I set mine next to his. Side by side they look absolutely ridiculous.

“Sort of a . . . before and after vibe,” he muses, looking between them.

“Yeah, like an aerial photo of the destruction after a tornado levels a town.”

The woman who greeted us earlier ambles by and pauses to look at mine for a moment. She doesn’t comment on the portrait of Debra; instead she gives me two pity pats on the shoulder and walks off.

Casper loses it after that, and my giggles start up all over again. I tuck my head into my forearm on the table, attempting to compose myself.

We’re shushed by the insufferably-in-love couple trying to enjoy their date.

I apologize at the same time Casper says, “Oh, get bent.”

I take a steadying breath. “Okay, I’ll finish cleaning up. Will you take mine to the drop-off window? I’m too ashamed,” I say, huffing a small chuckle.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t be. I literally do this for a living. If I had to organize a corn maze it would be a disaster.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do on our next date; I need to redeem myself.” I hand him my abomination and he strolls off.

Beyond the shelf, I hear him hand them off to the attendant. “Oh, this is beautiful,” the attendant says. I peek through the shelf and watch them take my mug. “Aww, how old is the artist?” they ask. Christ, they think a toddler painted it.

“Twenty-eight,” Casper replies, stating his own age and taking the blame.

That man is dangerously charming.

My fingers lightly drag over his wrist and I inhale his scent. Our chests rise and fall as his thumbs rub circles near my hip. The calm after the storm. I sigh, content and satisfied after some seriously great sex. Casper’s quiet but alert. I can practically hear the gears and cogs in his head turning.

“Something on your mind?”

He hums, and I nuzzle into the reverberation in his chest. “Sex.” His voice is rough, low, and gritty—relaxed, post-bliss Casper has the sexiest voice.

“Highlight reel from tonight?”

He huffs a small laugh. “Actually, I was thinking about the cornfield.”

I break into a grin. “That was so hot.”

He nods. “What did you like about it?”

I blow out a breath, collecting my thoughts. “I’ve always kind of had a thing for voyeurism. Though, watching them, while being there with you, that was . . . beyond. It felt safe and controlled. You were right there the whole time, which meant I could step into the fantasy without losing myself.”

He shifts, glancing down at me, and I match his stare. There’s more he’s not saying.

“They belong to a club,” he says, eyes returning into empty space.

“Who?”

“The couple we saw.”