I drag the boxes across the kitchen floor, then onto the island, then onto every available surface until the pristine, minimalist space looks like it’s been taken hostage by me.
The kitchen island becomes a zoo.
Folders spill open and sketches fan out. I don’t bother being neat. I can’t. My energy is still crackling under my skin from the call.
I climb onto a stool and start sorting. I spread everything out across the marble, a paper storm of ideas I wasn’t ready for then but might be now.
Okay. Breathe. Think.
I sort quickly. Finished, almost finished, delusional but interesting. The pile I keep coming back to sits in the center. Designs that always felt too ambitious.
My fingers pause on one.
It’s a tuxedo with a coat, but not a traditional one. I played with different textures, adding black and red velvet. It’s extravagant, yes, but elegant in a way that doesn’t beg for attention—black-on-red with subtle texture shifts.
I lift the sketch; my heart does a weird little stutter.
I can see him in it immediately. Dom standing still while everyone else moves. The added coat hanging perfectly off his frame, tailored to his shoulders, his height, his presence.
Would he even agree?
I chew on my bottom lip, imagining the look he’d give me if I suggested it. That slow, assessing stare. The quiet question behind his eyes.
I shake my head at myself, smiling, and lay the sketch flat on the island. I could do it. I have time if I’m smart, don’t sleep, and commit.
The front door opens.
I startle, spinning halfway around as keys hit the counter, and Dominic walks in a few seconds later, back from practice. His presence fills the room before he says a word. White T-shirt and grey sweatpants. That’s it. That’s the outfit.
And yet somehow, he looks unreal. He looks too big for the fabric to handle, muscles filling and stretching it. He strides in, poised and unhurried, and his dark eyes sweep the space.
“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking to the chaos spread across the kitchen.
“Hey,”
He pauses, studying the island, and his gaze lingers, sharp and curious. “What happened here?”
“I did.” I shoot him an apologetic look.
That earns me a brow lift. “Clearly.”
He moves closer, scanning the sketches with a thoughtful calm that doesn’t match the way my pulse spikes when he gets within arm’s reach.
“How was practice?” I ask, distracted, my fingers still resting on the tuxedo sketch.
“Like usual.” His eyes follow the movement. “What’s this?” he asks.
I glance down, then back up at him. “Just an idea.” I grin, joy still buzzing under my skin, wild and barely contained.
The excitement won’t sit still in my chest. It keeps climbing up my throat, fizzing there, bright and sharpand impossible to swallow. My hands won’t stop moving.
“You’re wired,” he says finally.
“Am I?” I glance at him.
“Yes.” A beat. “Who put that smile on your face, hm?”
That does it. I laugh, a breathless sound that feels like it’s been waiting behind my ribs all day. I brace my hands on the edge of the island, grounding myself, because if I don’t, I might actually start bouncing on my toes.
