Page 72 of Tipping Point

He’s never looked more gorgeous.

I am absolutely in love with this man. His eyes find mine and he holds my gaze while we make our way over, shoes crunching on the gravel, dragging the large bags of gear behind us.

It’s a jarring sound in the otherwise peaceful yard. Already I can hear crickets, the air cooling down to prepare for nighttime, and I’m grateful for it as it brushes against my warm cheeks.

I haven’t seen him up close for weeks and it physically hurts me to see him now. It aches low in my chest, and I am struggling to compose myself.

I wish he’d look away.

He steps back at the last moment to allow us to step inside.

I come to a standstill on the threshold.

It’s perfect.

The wall of windows gives uninterrupted views of the lush hills, fading from the green of day to the blue of night as pink and purple bruises colour the sky in the wake of the setting sun.

There’s a stone fireplace that has been lit, the fire crackling away merrily, and in front of it a large stone-coloured sofa, so soft you could sleep on it, with thick luxurious blankets thrown casually over the arm.

There’s a book on the floor next to it, and a glass of wine.

When he bends to scoop it up, I startle him.

“Don’t!”

He rises tentatively.

“It’s perfect like that. It’s human.”

His eyes turn black, and he steps back and out of the way as Jay sets up. Evan crouches by his own gear and enthusiastically plans the shots he’s going to take of the house from the outside once night has fallen.

The walls are covered in paintings, but they lack a theme. Or skill level, for that matter. From bright hues to subtle transitions, the artworks adorn every open wall space. I doubt they were purchased from galleries.

Finn calls Casey over and takes her to the kitchen, where he asks her to help him pour out glasses of wine. I follow out of curiosity. Two large platters of food are on the counter, covered in plastic wrap.

“Thank you for accommodating my request,” he says softly, formally. “I know it’s been a long day, so allow me to host you to some extent.”

Casey shrugs and grabs a couple of glasses by the stem, the bottle under her arm, and a platter of food.

She huddles close to Bruce as he sets up lighting by the couch.

I smile.

They know my style so well by now.

That is exactly where I’d want to interview him.

I turn around to tell him about our filming plan and he’s standing so close he startles me.

“I’m sorry.” He reaches out, touches me softly on the arm. Withdraws.

Doesn’t step away.

He’s got that same look on his face.

The one he wore at the ball when he pulled me against him.

The one he wore on the couch when he lowered his mouth onto me while keeping his black eyes locked onto mine.