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I wasn’t the only one panicking; I was just too blind to see it.

Pushing open the door to my favorite room in my house, I come face to face with hours upon hours of work.

Instantly, I settle.

This is what I need to clear my head.

Sun streams through the windows, giving me the perfect light to work.

The walls are covered with canvases, and the ones that aren’t hanging are all propped up. There are far too many to display in this house. I have some of my favorites dotted about. But recently, every single moment I’ve had free has been spent in here. I’ve rediscovered the love, and I know why.

It’s my muse.

Every time I look at Garrett, all I want to do is paint him.

Every photo I take, I want to replicate.

And many of them, I have.

I scan my most recent pieces and finally, my chest begins to loosen, and my muscles relax.

But I still don’t open his message.

Instead, I step up to the easel of the piece I’m working on and take in the sketch that’s just begging for some charcoal.

With a sigh, I crack my fingers before reaching for one.

The second I touch the stick to my canvas, the world around me vanishes. It’s just me and my art.

Everything I was feeling in that hotel room and on the journey home fades, and for a few hours, nothing else exists.

Eventually, my growling stomach stops me. Putting the charcoal back into the tray, I take a step back and assess my progress.

A smile twitches at the corner of my mouth as I take in the definition I’ve created on Garrett’s abs. They lead my eyes straight down toward his impressive dick.

Fuck.

I drag my hand down my face as my blood begins to heat.

It’s only been hours since I had him. How can I still want more?

Because you’ve fallen for him, a little voice points out.

That thought makes my heart beat a little faster as I walk toward the kitchen in search of food.

Finding everything I need, I set about cooking the meal that’s on my plan for tonight. But ever since working side by side with Garrett, cooking alone isn’t the same.

Hell, doing anything alone isn’t the same.

My cell continues to taunt me on the counter as I eat.

Knowing that the message is there is killing me.

But opening it and discovering what I already know scares me.

What happens next?

What I told him this morning was true. If I could, I would give him all those things he talked about in a heartbeat. If life were different, if I weren’t who I was…