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“Are you saying that this”—he runs his hands down his body theatrically—“isn’t acceptable to answer your door?”

Struggling out of the cushions, I walk to the door, shaking my head. There are many ways that man is acceptable. Too many.

I walk into the kitchen to find him standing at the island, ready to assist. My mouth begins to water the moment steam plumes from the bag, carrying notes of the spices. My stomach lets out a moan of approval. Ethan chuckles in response.

We fix our plates and head to the living room.

Feigning disinterest in everything Ethan, I close my eyes and savor the sweet spice of the tikka. It takes all my willpower not to look at him as I take another bite, until I see movement out of the corner of my eye.

Using a knife, he begins organizing his food. At first, he separates the meat from the rice. He slowly taps the mound of grains until it forms an immaculately level surface. I turn, taking in all the minute details of his one-man show. He lifts a fork with an impeccably compacted section of rice. I worry he isn’t going to grab sauce but at the last moment, he drops a perfectly proportioned dollop of masala on top. He begins to bring the bite to his mouth, but his hand freezes before the fork breaches his lips. A smile crosses his face and I realize his gaze has honed on me.

“Balance. Structure. See?” Pointing to his fork, he smiles brightly.

I can’t help the burst of laughter from my lips. It’s such an endearing quirk. He shoves the bite into his mouth, casting me a little wink as he chews.

After a while, we settle into an oddly comfortable silence. The weight of this afternoon lingers on my mind, gnawing like an animal willing to be set free.

“Thank you, again…for this afternoon,” I whisper.

Ethan’s attention turns to me, but I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye.

“I don’t do well in warehouses. They remind me of cages. I spent too much time in a cage once.” The vulnerability of the statement makes me want to curl in on myself.

“I’m sorry.”

His hollow words sink in my stomach.

“We all have our cages. It’s what you choose to do with the freedom once you break free that matters. You broke free from your cage to bring beauty and safety into the world. I can’t think of a better use of freedom.”

His words seep into the crevices of my bones. That’s what I’ve always tried to do—create something beautiful from something ugly. Something no one else, except my sisters, has been able to see.

“What’s your cage?” I say through a soft voice alien to my own ears.

“Sorry?” His eyebrows pinch in confusion.

“You said we all have our cages. What’s yours?”

His lips tilt up slightly as his thumb runs across the top of my hand in a featherlight touch.

“Ah. My cage.” He lets out a sigh. “Sadly, my own mind. I grew up in chaos. Screaming, shouting, fighting. I used to hide in my room, just to get away from the noise. One night, it was so loud I tried to distract myself by rearranging my toys. Largest to smallest. Once that last toy was put in place, it was like a light snapped on in my head. I’ve never been able to turn it off.”

I smile in understanding.

“If it’s your own mind, how do you break free?” My eyes track down to his hand covering mine.

“My hobbies. You’ve seen my work. Does anything about it look orderly to you?” His eyebrow lifts in a mocking tilt, making me smile. “And of course, there’s always physical activities which offer some release.”

The thought of him with someone else feels like nails raking against my chest. Heat gathers on the back of my neck. I don’t know why I’m getting so upset. It’s not like I have any claim on him. Not that I would want any claim on him. I definitely wouldn’t scratch the bitch’s eyes out. I think.

“Ow!”

My eyes widen as I release his hand from my clutch. I try to pull it back but his fingers close around my wrist.

“Are you jealous?” He chuckles, but I don’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“No.”

“Then it wouldn’t interest you that it’s been a very, very long time since I had that as a release.” He presses a kiss along my knuckles.