“Feel better?” he asked, grinning.
“Shut up.”
“And here I thought you meant it when you said you trusted me.”
“I do! I do. It’s just ...”
“It’s your baby. I understand perfectly. Only giving you a hard time,” he said.
“I can’t believe you’ve never had Korean barbecue. Ever had something called bulgogi?”
“I have had bulgogi, yes.”
“That’s the most popular type of Korean barbecue,” I said.
“Well, then I’m looking forward to dinner. I’ve only had it once, but it was really good.”
“And here I thought you were looking forward to it because I was around,” I said.
“Figured that was a given.”
I whipped my gaze over to him as we pulled into the restaurant. I studied the side of his face, trying to see if he was making a joke and trying to see if that playful little smirk of his would pull at the corners of his cheeks.
But it didn’t.
He was completely serious.
“Ready to brave the rain?” he asked.
“One. Two.”
We both threw our doors open and ran to the restaurant. I had my wrap over my head, trying to make sure my newly-dyed hair didn’t get too wet. Bryan splashed in puddles, soaking the bottoms of his jeans as we leaped for the porch. We turned back out and looked at the sheets of rain coming down, laughing to ourselves as we both shook our heads.
“Is there any dye running down my neck?” I asked.
I felt his gaze heatedly on the back of my skin. Before I knew what was happening, his finger had hooked into the wide neck of my shirt, his fingernail grazing my skin as I jumped.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t see the goosebumps working their way up my back.
“I don’t see any dye dripping anywhere,” he said.
“Good. Thanks.”
Both of us were silent until we were sat at our tables. We ordered our drinks and placed our food orders, opting for a massive plate of sharable bulgogi on a bed of white rice. The rain slammed against the windows as the thunder shook the walls of the restaurant, and I didn’t even realize my eyes were gazing out in the direction of my art gallery.
“If you’re so worried about it, I could price out what it would take to weatherproof the entire thing. You know, like that storage unit you’ve got.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be so preoccupied with it. You guys have put a lot of hard work into it, and I’ve got all those paintings in that storage unit.”
“Trust me,” he said as he laid his hand on mine, “that storage unit you’ve got out back is a treasure. You could blow a tornado over that thing, and it would still be standing. Your artwork’s fine in there.”
I was painfully aware of how wonderful his hand felt on top of mine. Just as quickly as it had happened, the moment was gone, and I suddenly felt naked without his touch. Three times in the span of fifteen minutes, I’d felt some part of his body against mine, and I was having a hard time concentrating on anything else but his body. How his shirt clung to his muscles and how his broad shoulders tapered into a slim, toned pair of hips.
“Have you always loved art?” he asked.
“Oh, gosh, yes. Ever since I was a little kid. My mother probably has pictures somewhere of the artwork I used to draw on the walls. She would always say they weren’t your average doodles,” I said, giggling.