A FAMILIAR SOMETHING glints up at me, nestled inside the black cushioning and tugging my mouth open in awe.
"The cat."
When I look back over at Dane, he looks amused.
"You got me the cat?"
The tiny metal broach winks up at me with its jeweled eyes, and I feel my heart starting to chip into a million tiny pieces. "From the antique shop?"
He doesn't dignify the question with a response again, the answer to it becoming painfully obvious.
"Holy shit. I didn't know you were—I don't—When?"
"What are you asking?"
"This is for me?"
"I mean, it's not for me."
My splintering heart is beating like crazy. I run my finger down the metal before decisively saying. "I love it."
I don't look up at him, can't. "It reminds me of Crafty Corner."
"My present reminds you of work?"
"Yeah...well, no. Not work, but the place. If that makes sense."
When I finally do look up at him, some of the amusement seems to have faded, but a small beam of it still twinkles in his eyes. He's waiting for me to continue, interested in my explanation. I dig my fingernails into my hand.
"I started working at Crafty Corner when I was fifteen since work was slow for my mom at the time." Then I add, "She's an artist."
Dane nods, his apparent interest tugging at something in my stomach. "What kind of art does she make?"
"When it's for herself, she usually likes painting landscapes and, like, nature stuff. But for work, she's done just about everything—calendars, local business commissions, website designs."
I shrug, pressing my lips together. "She's always welcomed my creative passions. I know I'm lucky for that. Art's always been her thing, so I guess she wasn't really that surprised when I told her I didn't want to go into one of the typical STEM fields."
"Definitely lucky." Dane says, wry smile flitting over his face as I glance up. "I couldn't stand to see you as a doctor."
"Scared I'd let my knife slip on you in surgery?"
"Or worse—on someone who isn't expecting it," is his reply.
I cut my eyes at him before clearing my throat. "Anyway, my friend Sam—my best friend—I grew up with her, we learned how to ride our bikes together, etcetera—turns out her grandma was looking for another employee to help out around her shop since she was getting older. So I went in, and Roselyn hired me on the spot." I feel a smile tug at my lips. "She said she liked my spunk."
Dane snorts at that from across the table, and I scrunch my nose at him. "What?"
"Nothing, go on."
I cross my arms, leaning back in my chair. "So, yeah. I've been working there from sophomore year to now. And when I missed application deadlines and got rejected by my dream school, Crafty Corner was still there for me. It's just like a big family, you know? It feels..." I tilt my head back onto the headrest, searching for the perfect word. "Safe."
Dane's silent for a moment before asking a question that makes my heart squeeze in surprise. "Do I make you feel safe?"
"What?"
"That was the point of this story, yeah? The cat reminds you of Crafty Corner."
"Yeah, exactly the cat. You, on the other hand, make me feel like I'm walking on a goddamn tightrope without a safety net."
"I'm sure if you fell the worst you'd get is a couple of scrapes."
"Reassuring."
The small smile flits back over his face and he leans further over the table. "I think you like the thrill."
"You think wrong, Doggy."
"You're impulsive, I know you."
"You don't know me."
"I'm an observant guy, Cleodora."
"You're a freak."
"You're incredibly charming."
My eyes find the ink on his arm again, and before I know it, my hand's brushing up the sleeve of his button-up, eyes drinking in the lettering to distract from the way the words leave his mouth—almost sarcastic enough to be sincere.
In response, he takes my own arm, pulling it toward him over the table. "What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?" I counter.
"You started it. You're really doing everything except planning the concept for our piece."
"I could say the same about you. What does your tattoo say?"
"What do you think it says?"
"'I hate myself,'" is my smartass guess.
"Aw, don't be so hard on yourself, Cleodora."
"Funny. What does it say?"
"What do I get if I tell you?"
"Nothing."
"I feel like an exchange for confidential information is only fair."
I lean forward, meeting his eyes, holding them. "It doesn't have to be confidential."
"It does."
"Then what do you want, Dane?"
His eyes drift down just slightly, and I feel a heat I thought I'd banished course through my body.
"What do you think?"
Fuck.
"I don't know. Use your words."
"Okay. Get on the table."
Woah, woah, woah.
"Excuse me?"
His lips split into one of those evil grins he's so good at. I'm waiting for the punchline. "I think you heard me, Cleodora."
"I'm not getting on the fucking—"
He stands up suddenly, letting go of me to shrug off his coat, spread it out over the table. "Is that good enough for you, Princess?"
This must be a nightmare.
I don't have time to process before he's suddenly on my side, pulling me out of my chair, moving closer until my back is against the table, his hands braced on either side of me.
"Is this your idea of making me feel safe?"
He ignores my question entirely, "To what lengths would you go to get such inconsequential information about a tattoo of mine?"
I glare up at him, using a hand to try to pry his arm away from the table to see the words on his arm. When he does eventually budge, it's to move his hand up to cup my face gently, tilt my head up more.
"A tattoo? Are you saying there are more?"
"Do you want to find out?"
I hate the way my heart lurches at the question. "Do I look like I want to?"
"Kind of, yeah."
I don't dignify that with a response, letting this dreamlike haze bounce around us, the glow of the sun a halo against the devil's head.
And then my arms are looping around his neck, tugging him down until his lips meet mine. He allows me this moment for a couple seconds before his fingers dig into my waist, lifting me up to unceremoniously drop me on top of his coat, sealing my lips with his again.
My mouth opens on instinct, hand snapping up to tilt his jaw toward mine, body falling back the closer he draws. He's standing between my legs now, and I grab the collar of his shirt with my other hand, letting my tongue skate over his, teasing.
Hands creep down from my waist, leaving a hot trail in their wake, and a jolt of electricity runs down my spine as he squeezes my thighs, pulling me flush to him.
Oh my god.
The feeling tugs inexplicably at my core, turning me on in record time, low gasp spilling from my lips as his hips press into me more.
My heart is thudding through my fingertips violently as they untuck his shirt from his pants, gliding up until they reach bare skin, marveling at the solidness of the planes of his abs, the dips and curves of his skin that I remember so vividly.
He wrenches away from my mouth as I start to feel him up, lips darting down to suck my neck, teeth grazing ever-so gently, and I squeeze my legs together at the contact, a hiss leaving my mouth.
He's back like clockwork, kissing it off of me, matching every twist of my tongue with his own, fingers digging into my skin.
I cut my nails into him as if it will wake me from a bad dream, and he groans, nose knocking into mine deliriously.
"Fuck, you don't know what you do to me." It comes out between heavy breaths and I feel my back arch unconsciously. Those words are enough to have my heart galloping in my chest, freezing my breath in my throat.
"I think I have a pretty good idea."
"Mm. Amore sempre."
My heart stills at the familiar words. I'd paid enough attention in Latin class to have a basic idea of what he's saying. "What?"
"The tattoo—love always." His warm breath blows into my face. "It's Portugese."
"I thought you didn't believe in love."
He lets out a faint chuckle, eyes lowering before meeting mine again. "It was my grandma's idea. Her handwriting too."
My face gets colder as he pulls back slightly, holds his arm up for me to see. "I asked her to write something short—whatever she wanted. This is what we ended up with."
I feel my lips curve into a smile at that, fingers moving up to brush over the letters. "She sounds great."
"The best," he hums, hands moving down from the hem of my skirt, resting on my knees. A breath escapes my lips and he leans forward to chase it, hands steadily sliding back up, but then three loud knocks on the study room door make us both jump.
"EXCUSE ME! WHAT DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE DOING?"
***
if there's one thing about dane and cleo, it's that they're gonna embarrass themselves in public 😌 we love consistency