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“Uh…” I drop my stare to the hoodie strings near the hollow of his throat, swallow, then lift my gaze to his. “Yeah. Sure.”
For someone so adamant about keeping us indefinitely in the friend zone, it seems as if Devlyn handed me an exclusive,I never give these to anyoneinvitation to the next step. I don’t want to feed my inner romantic—the one currently singing and doing backflips—and think more into what all this means. But ignoring this gesture is asinine and ignorant.
“I’ll text you my address. Give me an hour to clean up the house?” His fingers finally unravel from my arm and I miss the warmth of him immediately.
I nod. “Sounds good.” If this was any of my other guy friends, we’d plan food or movies or games. “Need me to bring anything?” A small crease forms between his brows. “Takeout or a movie?”
He steps back, inching closer to his car and farther from me. “Nah. We’ll figure it out.”
Who is this guy?
Everything with Devlyn has always been on the straight and narrow. No room for deviation. Sure, the occasional misunderstanding occurs, but he is quick to put us back on the path he finds most comfortable.
In the span of an hour, the space around us feels bigger. Expansive. Ever growing. Like a new side of him has emerged. One he kept locked away. Hidden. Safe. And I am not sure how to feel about the change. Should I welcome it with open arms? Or should I remain rooted and hesitant, arms hugging my chest? I’d rather it be the former, but mentally prepare myself for the latter.
“Okay.” I open the driver’s side door. “See you soon.”
Devlyn throws me a half smile. “See you.” Then he is in his car and driving out of the lot.
Minutes go by in a haze. I start the car but sit idle in the lot. The oak tree near my front bumper blurs into a blob of brown and green. The music on the radio fades into a low hum. Rain smacks the windshield in fatter drops, mottling my vision more as I get lost in thought.
What does this all mean?
Spending more time with Devlyn—in his home, no less—has my mind in a spiral. I don’t want to overthink the invitation—to his house or the exhibition. Overthinking is the enemy of happiness. But I need some form of clarity before taking another step.
What if this is just an extension of what Devlyn deems friendship? What if it’s not?
Devlyn is a great guy. Different than anyone I have met. More reserved, but it suits him. Occasionally cold, but I think him acting distant is a front to protect his heart from whatever—whoever—hurt him. Most of all, he has this complex, sensational energy. A magnetic field that pulls you in and holds you captive.
I don’t want to set myself up for heartache, but I don’t want to ignore the shift between us.
My phone dings with an incoming text, snapping me from my introspection. Unlocking it, I read the message with Devlyn’s address. I connect my phone to the car and map his address.Twenty minutes.Should be enough time to get my brain in the right headspace.
“God, I hope so.”
With a huff, I put the car in reverse and back out. I make a quick stop at home. Change out of my damp clothes. Eat a few pieces of chocolate. Give myself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror as I fix my ponytail. Then, I jump back in the car and drive east, toward the unknown.
* * *
“The destination is on the right.”
I park in the driveway behind Devlyn’s SUV and stare at the moody blue house. In the dark, with how far back it sits from the road, I’d easily miss it. The house a single story along the front with an additional story over the rear of what I assume was once a garage. Tall crepe myrtle trees fill the spacious front lawn—minimal foliage on the branches and bare of flowers.
Exiting the car, I shoulder my purse and walk toward the front door. Along the front of a small screened-in porch is a kaleidoscope of flowering plants. Dark-pink coneflowers and sunny bright coreopsis. Vibrant orange gerbera and purple shooting stars. Behind them, fountain grasses butt against the porch and fill in the space.
Before reaching the door, I already have a new perspective of Devlyn. One I never expected. Comprised of a large house and an even larger yard. Of plants to tend to and patio furniture on the porch. It all feels… odd. But in a good way.
I lift my hand and tap my knuckles on the door. Clattering echoes on the other side of the door, followed by adammit. A soft chuckle spills from my lips as I shake my head.
Then the door whips open and I remind myself to breathe.
Devlyn finger-combs his hair a beat before gesturing to the space at his back. “Come in.”
I duck my chin as a rush of heat blooms across my cheeks and I step over the threshold. Entering Devlyn’s space is taking a step into the inner workings of his mind. Sure, he didn’t construct the house, place the walls or windows, but his touch is everywhere.
The entry is a formal sitting room. Rustic wood floors as far as the eye can see. A simple yet sleek pale-gray sofa against the right wall, several throw pillows in various colors consume most of the sitting space, a khaki throw blanket draped over an arm. A white rug with eccentric black lines parked beneath an ashy oak coffee table. On the table is a thick book of artwork, a black three-wick candle and a small vase of common daisies. Two white lattice-woven chairs with frames matching the table sit on the opposite side of the table, facing the sofa.
Moody paintings on canvas hang on the gray wall above the sofa. The images purposely staggered, but all part of the same portrait. A woman walking in the distance, trees and flowers and tall grass in her surroundings. The image reminds me of the meadow Devlyn painted in the shop, only the observer stands farther back.
