Page 92 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“When it comes to you, I do.” As we walk through the gallery, we point out pictures, but I can tell Pepper doesn’t love any of them. “Why is your office naked, when your home is dressed up so pretty?”

“I don’t know. I’ve looked for artwork, but nothing speaks to me. I mean, look at this painting.” She motions to a landscape. “It’s beautiful, but I don’t feel a connection to it. I don’t know where that place is. I didn’t grow up there or have anything meaningful happen there or dream of going there. It’s just a pretty picture.”

Ah, she’s granting me another peek behind her veil. “Most people buy art because it’s pretty, but you want to feel it in your heart. Like you did with the Wall of Love. Why did you feel so connected to that wall?”

“I think because it stands for the one thing that’s important to me.”

“Love?”

“In a broad sense, yes. But more specifically, overcoming boundaries and loving people for who they are first and foremost.”

I remember what she said about dating apps and realize this is the true peek behind her veil. I wonder if the pain she experienced in college did more than turn her against dating athletes, and had also shaped her thoughts about love. Or if her views are driven by what she saw Amber go through when she was growing up with epilepsy. I have a feeling those are just two pieces of a much more complicated picture.

“It would make the world a better place, that’s for sure. What’s special enough to you to be forever memorialized in a painting or picture?”

Her eyes brighten. “That’s easy. My mom’s smile every time I walk into her kitchen, because it always makes me happy, and my dad’s hand, because holding it has always felt safe. The lake near my parents’ house where my dad and I used to sail the boats we built and the lab my dad built me in the loft of the barn. I can still remember what it felt like to sneak out there when I needed an escape. And the Stardust Café, because of all the great memories I have there with friends and family. The creek where Sable and I used to go for walks because she’d play her guitar and tell me all her secrets, which were always way more exciting than mine. I felt really close to her there.” She gazes at the painting like she’s watching a scene unfold within it. “And the tree on the hill by the old church in town.”

“Why that tree?”

“Because while my mom was shopping, my sisters and Axsel and I would run around there and play tag and other silly games.” Her expression warms. “Around that old tree, it didn’t matter if Gracie was too serious, or Sable or Brindle too brash. It was okay for Morgyn to be lost in a dream and Amber to be reading under the tree, being her careful self, and Axsel to be the little yappy boy he was.”

“And you?”

Her gaze softens. “I just remember feeling like I did when we were in Paris. Like I could just be me.”

“You were pretty stressed around your sisters and Axsel when we were there. You were afraid they’d find out about us.”

She lowers her gaze for a second, and as she meets mine, that slightly bashful smile appears. “I wasn’t talking about when I was with them in Paris. I meant when it was just you and me.”

Suddenly my chest feels too small for the emotions I’m keeping trapped there. “Aw, sweetheart.” I draw her into my arms. “That’s how I feel around you. Like I can just be myself, and not who everyone else needs me to be. I want you to feel that way all the time with me.”

“I do, most of the time.” She lowers her voice to a playful whisper. “But you keep bringing out someone in me I didn’t know existed, and that takes some getting used to.”

“My hidden temptress?” I hold her gaze. “I happen to be very fond of that side of you.”

“Me too.”

That feels like a victory. I kiss her and take her hand, heading for the exit. “Come on, Reckless. We need to hit the craft shop before we try out our first potential hobby.”

“Why the craft shop?”

“To get a boatbuilding kit. It may not have been a hobby for you, but it’ll be fun. We can build it together and float it on the lake tomorrow.”

“We didn’t build them from kits,” she says as we hit the sidewalk. “We designed them and built them from scratch, using Styrofoam and other things we had lying around the house. The only things we bought were the motor and batteries, a battery pack with leads, and a few other supplies we didn’t have lying around.”

“Of course you did,” I say with a laugh. “Well, there’s nothing like designing on the fly. Let’s go see what we can come up with.”

Her face lights up. “How about we make it even more fun?”

“And build it naked?” I waggle my brows. “I don’t think we’ll get much building done, but I’m game.”

She laughs. “I’m sure you are. Seeing as you’re ridiculously competitive, I was thinking about making it a competition. We each build a boat and see whose works better.”

“Seeing as I’m ridiculously competitive? You were valedictorian of your graduating class in high school and at UVA. You’re every bit as competitive as I am. You just cloak it well with sweetness.”

“Did you google me?” she asks with shock.

“I might’ve peeked at a thing or two when I was researching places to take you today. I think you might have an edge with this one, my R and D queen.”