Page 15 of Possessive Ink

“Marcus is Felix’s PA. He moved here with us,” Atticus says.

“Oh,” I say, because really, what other response is there?

“Bro, Marcus is finishing at one thirty p.m. because he came in once you set off the motion sensors down here at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Okay,” Felix says, eating as he draws lines that have somehow come together to create a rough wing shape on one of the five sketch pads he has mounted on easels.

“I’ve told him not to come in before eight thirty a.m. from now on.”

“Okay.”

“Tori and Lemon are going to have dinner with us tonight,” Atticus tells his brother.

Blinking, I turn to look at him in question. “Wait, what?”

“That’s good. Lemon, Thursdays are chili and cornbread,” Felix says, heading back to the cake box to take another pastry before moving to a different pad and starting to sketch again.

“Here, grab something to eat before Felix takes everything,” Atticus says, picking up the box and holding it out to me.

I plan to refuse until I glance into the box and spot one of the huge almond croissants Tori makes. Lifting it out, I take a bite and groan appreciatively. But I must have been louder than I realized, because Atticus’s expression darkens and even Felix turns from his sketch pads to look at me, although his gaze is more amused than anything else.

“See you later, Lemon,” Felix calls as Atticus’s palm curls around my hip, turning me toward the entrance and steering me back outside into the warm sunlight.

Marcus is lifting bags from the trunk when we approach the car, and Atticus guides me into the passenger seat before he helps Marcus get the rest of the groceries. “This one is Lemon’s,” he says, placing the bag full of steak and protein shakes back into the trunk. “Don’t forget to eat something else and drink your coffee before you head to Bozeman. And remember, you’re done for the day at one thirty p.m.”

“Thanks, Atticus,” Marcus says. I can’t see his face, but the tone of his voice is soft and maybe relieved.

“You’re welcome to join us for dinner tonight, if you don’t have plans,” Atticus offers.

“I think I might just have an early night,” Marcus says.

“Do you want me to arrange for dinner to be delivered to your place?”

“No,” Marcus rushes. “But thank you.”

“Okay. Enjoy your afternoon, try to get some rest, and remember no matter what time Felix gets up, your day does not start before eight thirty a.m.”

“Okay,” Marcus concedes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Marcus. Call me if you need anything.”

Closing the trunk, Atticus climbs into the driver’s seat, then turns to face me. “I don’t know the town that well yet, so shall we start with the furthest away and work our way back?” he suggests.

I nod, because I’d probably have zigzagged all over town without giving the order I crossed things off Wes’s list a thought.

“Give me your list, and I’ll work out where we go first,” he says, holding his hand out to me expectantly.

For a moment, I consider refusing, but something in his expression warns me not to. Digging the list from my purse, I hand it to him, and he grabs his cell, quickly googling each place before he spins his huge black car around and drives us through the gate and back onto the street.

Within moments we’re heading to tick off one of the items on my list, and somehow Atticus has taken control of my day so quickly I can barely keep up with what’s happening.

“My brother likes you. He rarely likes anyone,” he says. “He’s focused to the point of rigidity because he enjoys routine. But despite and because of his quirks, he’s the most important person in the world to me.”

“He gives great hugs,” I say stupidly, not sure how else to respond to his statement.

“He’s actually not much of a hugger outside of our family,” he says, surprising me.

“Why did you tell him I was coming for dinner?” I blurt.