Page 36 of Born in Fire
He approaches the drawing slowly, studying it with an intensity that makes me nervous. “It’s good. Really good.” He turns to me. “You didn’t tell me you were an artist.”
“I used to be.” I busy myself with dinner preparations. “I’m trying to be again.”
Dorian uncorks the wine, pouring two glasses. “What stopped you?”
The question is casual, but it touches something deeper. I consider deflecting, then choose honesty instead.
“Tyler—my ex—he didn’t approve. Said it was a waste of time.” I arrange chicken and vegetables on plates. “After a while, I stopped trying.”
Dorian’s expression darkens momentarily. “The flowers last night. That was him.”
I nod, carrying plates to the table. “Yes. But I filed a police report today. And I’m getting better security installed tomorrow.”
I feel another surge of pride at taking back control of my life.
“Good.” The single word carries weight. “That’s… really good, Juno.”
Over dinner, I tell him about my day—the boundary-setting with the flirtatious customer, reconnecting with Rachel,arranging security upgrades. He listens attentively, asking questions that show he’s genuinely engaged.
“You’ve accomplished a lot in one day,” he observes, refilling our wineglasses.
“It felt like time.” I meet his eyes. “Last night was… clarifying.”
“The panic attack?”
“That, and what came after.” Heat rises to my face at the memory. “The way you handled both.”
His expression softens. “I didn’t do much.”
“You did exactly what I needed.” I set down my fork. “Tyler would have used my vulnerability against me. You just… helped without taking over.”
Something flickers in his eyes—anger, perhaps, at the mention of Tyler, though it’s not directed at me.
“I’m glad I could help.”
After dinner, we move to the couch with our wine. The same couch where last night happened, though it feels different now—a choice rather than a circumstance.
“Tell me more about your art,” he says, gesturing toward the sketch. “Why did you draw me?”
I consider the question carefully. “There was something about you I wanted to capture. Something in your eyes that seemed… older than the rest of you.” I laugh softly. “That sounds strange, doesn’t it?”
“Not strange,” he says quietly. “Perceptive.”
We fall silent, the space between us charged with unspoken questions. Finally, I set down my wineglass and turn to face him fully.
“About last night,” I begin.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he interjects quickly.
“I want to.” I move closer, watching his reaction. “You stopped. You didn’t have to, but you did.”
His eyes hold mine. “It didn’t seem right to take advantage of the situation.”
“And now?” I ask, heart pounding. “What about now?”
In answer, he reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away. When his hand cups my cheek, I lean into the touch.
God, I want this man so much.
