For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt charged, heavy with things they'd never said out loud.
She felt her heart beating hard against her ribs—too fast, too hopeful.
Lucas let out a slow breath, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
"You make it very difficult to stay away," he murmured.
She pressed her lips together, unsure if she wanted to smile or run.
"Then don't," she whispered before she could think better of it.
Something flickered in his eyes—something that made her stomach dip.
He didn't answer. Not in words.
Instead, he set the canvas carefully on the counter behind her, as if it were something fragile.
And for a moment longer, he simply looked at her, like she was the only thing in the world he wanted to see.
The hush between them stretched so long she thought she might break under it.
Her breath came shallow, her palms pressing into the edge of the counter for balance. Lucas stood so close she could feel the faint warmth of his chest against her own.
His thumb traced lightly across her cheek, brushing a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.
"Bella," he murmured, her name low and rough in his throat.
She didn't dare answer, couldn't find her voice. She could only look at him—at the way something unguarded flickered in his eyes, something that made her feel as if the floor might vanish beneath her feet.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer. His hand shifted to cup her jaw, guiding her face up to meet his.
Her pulse tripped and skittered, heat curling low in her belly.
She didn't think. She just let her eyes fall shut.
In that suspended breath, she realized she wanted this more than she could admit—even to herself.
His mouth hovered so close she could feel the whisper of it against her lips, not quite a kiss but enough to make her knees threaten to give out.
Her heart stuttered, caught between panic and wanting.
But before he could close that last impossible inch, a sudden loud buzz shattered the quiet.
They both jerked in surprise.
Bella's eyes flew open, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Lucas exhaled slowly, his forehead resting for just a moment against hers, as if he needed that contact to steady himself.
The buzzing came again—insistent and shrill. His phone.
He drew back, his expression taut with something she couldn't quite name.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough as he stepped away. The sudden loss of his warmth made her shiver.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone, pressing it to his ear.
"What is it?"
Bella pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to quiet the frantic drum of her heartbeat. She felt almost dizzy, like she'd been standing on the edge of something too high, too steep.
Lucas turned slightly away, his shoulders tense.
"Yes," he said into the phone, his tone clipped now. Businesslike. "Send me the file. I'll look at it immediately."
For a moment, she thought she saw regret in the slope of his shoulders, the way he rubbed the bridge of his nose before lowering the phone.
He ended the call and turned back to her, the softness of before replaced by a guarded calm.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, quieter this time. "I have to take care of something."
Bella nodded, her throat tight.
"Of course," she managed, though her voice sounded thinner than she liked.
His eyes searched hers, as if he wanted to say more. But whatever it was, he swallowed it down.
"I won't be long," he said finally.
She tried to smile. "It's all right."
Lucas lifted a hand, hesitated, then brushed her cheek once more before stepping back.
When he was gone, the kitchen felt too large, too silent.
Bella let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
And for a long moment, she simply stood there with her eyes closed, wishing she understood why her heart felt like it was splintering in her chest.
Bella wasn't sure how long she stood there in the kitchen, her hands braced against the counter, her mind looping the same seconds over and over:
His mouth hovering just above hers.
His thumb tracing her cheek.
The soft, low way he'd said her name.
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out again, wishing it would steady her heartbeat.
When she finally turned away, she pretended to tidy the groceries they hadn't even put away properly. Anything to keep her hands busy.
The floor creaked behind her, and she knew—without needing to look—that it was him.
Lucas's steps were slower than usual, almost hesitant.
She glanced over her shoulder. He was standing in the doorway, his shoulders framed by the soft afternoon light, the expression on his face a complicated tangle of things she couldn't quite name.
Their eyes met, and her breath caught.
Neither of them spoke right away.
Then he stepped inside, his gaze never leaving hers.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice quiet but rough around the edges. "I didn't mean to…disappear like that."
She swallowed. "It's all right. You had something important."
"That's not an excuse." He came closer, stopping just out of reach. "I didn't want you to think I…" He trailed off, shaking his head as if frustrated by his own lack of words.
"I know you didn't," she said softly.
He looked like he might say more. But then his gaze drifted down—taking in the way she was gripping the counter as if she needed it to stay upright.
His brow furrowed. "Are you all right?"
She hesitated. Part of her wanted to brush it off, to pretend nothing had happened. But the other part—tired of pretending—simply shook her head.
"I don't know," she whispered.
Something shifted in his expression. He crossed the small space between them and reached for her hand.
His fingers were warm, steady as they closed around hers.
"I didn't mean to…" He paused, searching her face. "Whatever that was—I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You didn't." The answer came out too quickly, too raw.
His thumb brushed over the back of her knuckles. "Then what did I do?"
She tried to laugh, but it sounded brittle. "You asked me a question I don't have an answer to."
His mouth curved, though it wasn't quite a smile. "About why you painted me?"
"Yes."
His hand tightened on hers. "And?"
"And…I still don't know."
For a moment, the silence between them felt like a held breath.
Then, quietly, he lifted her hand to his lips. The kiss he pressed there was nothing like the near-kiss they'd shared a little while ago—soft, almost reverent.
It left her more unsteady than before.
"Whatever the reason," he said, his voice low, "I'm not sorry you did."
Her heart stumbled in her chest.
Before she could think of how to respond, he turned away—giving her space, or maybe giving himself a chance to breathe.
He reached for the rice container she'd abandoned on the counter. "Were you planning to cook?"
She blinked, thrown by the abrupt change of subject. "I—yes."
"Let me help." He set the container down and moved to the sink to wash his hands, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Bella pressed a hand to her cheek, still warm from his touch, and wondered how a single man could make her feel so safe—and so unmoored—all at once.