“Cillian,” I say in the same cadence. That earns me a raised brow. “You brought me here, remember? I think you would have noticed if I had some large mystery package with me.”
A wolfish grin narrows his eyes. “True. I guess I can just toss it?—”
“Oh, just open it!” I break, my anticipation overriding my patience.
He laughs and leans against the back of the heavy old sofa. Carefully, he tears away half of the paper before going so still I can’t be sure he’s even breathing, and when his eyes meet mine, wide and slightly glassy, I know I’m not.
Looking back at the canvas, he pulls the rest of the wrapping away. Again, that stillness.
Unsure, I finally break the silence. “Oliver told me everyone just kind of foists not-birthday birthday gifts on you.” I chew my lip. “I hope it’s ok...I just thought?—”
“It’s stunning, Antoinette. I—” He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “I don’t have words,” he says, huffing something close to a laugh.
Cillian gently places the canvas against the back of the sofa. His eyes linger on the sunset view from the Longfellow Bridge, rendered in vibrant colors, with gold leaf making the windows of the skyline glow. I even had to admit, it was one of my better pieces.
“Your tea,” I say, gesturing to the mug as he makes his way into the kitchen.
He doesn’t acknowledge it, just pulls me into his arms, his fingers fluidly cradling the back of my head as he kisses me. When he pulls back, the look in his eyes is?—
Alarm bells begin to sound in the back of my mind. A voice insisting that I needed to run while I could, while my knees still held me upright, because the moment they finally gave way, I’d be done for.
“Thank you,” Cillian’s voice is rough. He smooths a calloused thumb across my cheek.
“It’s just a painting,” I say, hoping to quiet the fluttering in my chest.
He cocks a brow. “Just a...that is the most beautiful gift I've ever received.” He grabs my chin, just firm enough to make a point. “And if I ever hear you downplaying your talent again, I will figure out a way to make you regret it.”
“Promise?” I ask.
“Promise,” he purrs, pulling me in for another kiss.
“Ok, enough of that. I don’t like puking first thing in the morning,” Ginelle says as she walks in. She closed the bar the night before but still made her way out here. I wasn’t sure where she’d spent the night, but I had my suspicions.
“Can we help you?” Cillian asks.
“Not unless you want to help me take a piss.”
“Can't rough it?” he teases.
“Why piss behind a tree when there's a perfectly good bathroom inside?” She closes the door just as Lucy comes in, confirming where Ginelle had spent the night.
“Gin beat you to the bathroom,” Cillian tells her.
“I’m good. Haven’t given up the perk of pissing standing up for a reason.”
“Kinda jealous of that, not gonna lie,” I say as Cillian reluctantly lets me go.
“You should be, it’s convenient,” Lucy says, giving me aplayful wink. She notices the painting against the couch. “Found the delivery from your fairy dyke mother I see.”
“You were the co-conspirator,” Cillian accuses fondly.
“Of course,” Lucy says.
“Will Gin want coffee?” I ask Lucy, passing her a mug.
“She will.” I set another mug beside hers as she pulls a sweetened coffee creamer from the fridge, doctoring one mug. She notices my curious expression—I’d mostly seen her take her coffee black unless it was a specialty drink at a coffee shop. “Don’t ask.”
“Wasn’t gonna.” I take a deep drink, filing that conversation away for a later date.
