Chapter 4
“You don’t know me,” I whispered.
“I know you sketch people when you think they aren’t looking.”
I blinked.
He continued, “I know you draw with your left hand but tattoo with your right.
I know you hate cinnamon in coffee, even though you order it during the holidays because Vanessa likes it.
I know you carry two pens because one always disappears.
I know you leave parties ten minutes before you start enjoying yourself.”
My throat tightened.
“You’ve been watching me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you act like I wasn’t there?”
“Because noticing you felt dangerous.”
I let out a small, disbelieving breath.
“I’m five foot four, Dominic.
The most dangerous thing about me is a poorly sterilized tattoo needle.”
“It wasn’t you I was afraid of.”
He looked toward the city again.
“It was what wanting something would make me do.”
The wind tugged at my curls, blowing several across my face.
Before I could push them away, Dominic lifted his hand.
He paused before touching me.
The hesitation mattered.
I nodded once.
His fingers gently moved the curls from my eyes.
His touch was warm despite the cold, careful enough to make my chest ache.
“What would wanting something make you do?”
I asked.
“Choose myself.”
I had expected a more romantic answer.
Something dramatic.
Something that made my pulse race.
Instead, his words reached a quieter place.
“Is that so difficult?”
“In my family, yes.”
He lowered his hand, but the warmth of it remained against my skin.
“My father built everything around obligation,” he said.
“My mother stayed because she believed leaving would destroy us.
I took over because I believed walking away would destroy Vanessa.
Every choice became a duty.
Every person became a responsibility.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m realizing that Vanessa may not need me to carry her life.
She may only need me to stop standing in front of it.”
I looked toward the skyline.
The city glittered as though every window held a separate story.
“That sounds like a good beginning.”
“It is.”
“For you?”
“For all of us.”
The countdown began below us.
Ten.
I could hear voices rising through the roof access door, people gathering in the warmer rooms beneath us.
Nine.
Dominic didn’t look at the city.
He looked at me.
Eight.
“Naomi,” he said.
Seven.
“What?”
Six.
“May I kiss you?”
The question struck me harder than his confession.