"So? What do you think?" Jake asked, looking at her with an expression Delia could only read as excitement.

She blinked and stared more intently at the painting, though it was unnecessary. It was incredible.

"The owner commissioned it last year. She was the one who made it possible for me to exhibit my paintings at several galleries this year."

"The owner? Of the yacht?"

Jake nodded. "Mrs. Cartridge has been my most avid supporter and-" he chuckled, "my biggest fan."

"Your paintings are amazing, Jake. Your mix of avant-garde and impressionism is extraordinary."

"Thank you, but what do you think of this one?"

Delia smiled. "It's incredible. You can almost feel the ocean spray." She stepped forward, a hand slightly extended. "It calls to you, pulling you in." Her eyes roamed the intricate swirls of the ocean. Her hand hovered over the mermaid sitting on a large boulder, overlooking the impending storm brewing on the horizon. She closed her eyes, momentarily imagining herself on the boulder.

"Mermaids are not my usual repertoire," Jake murmured, and her eyes snapped open as his breath grazed her cheek. He was standing directly behind her, and the warmth emanating from him enveloped her like a blanket.

"It-it is different from- from your other paintings, though, like the ones displayed at the exhibit," Delia remarked. Her stomach clenched when the silk of his tuxedo jacket brushed the bare skin on her back.

Jake lifted a hand to point at a spot on the painting, his sleeve inadvertently rubbing against her arm. A gasp escaped her lips as she shivered at the contact.

Delia tried to concentrate on what Jake was saying, but his words were lost in the thundering of her heart in her ears. How many minutes had passed before the roar finally eased enough for her to catch a single word?

"...cold?"

"What?" She frowned.

"Are you cold?" Jake repeated. "Here, take my jacket."

Delia spun as Jake moved to slip off his jacket.

"No!" she said, perhaps a bit too quickly, and he paused mid-motion. The jacket was half off, almost to his waist, exposing the crisp white shirt he wore. She couldn't help but admire how perfectly it fit him. She shook her head and immediately reached for his jacket to pull it back into place.

Jake remained still as her hands tucked the jacket back over his shoulders.

"I am fine," Delia lied, stepping back. "We should probably return to the deck."

Jake frowned but nodded as she walked back to the stairs.

*

Back on the deck, Delia kept her distance as Jake thanked the party hosts and said their goodbyes. No one had really noticed her, and some were even surprised to see her standing behind Jake.

By the time they returned to the limousine, Jake was noticeably annoyed. The drive back to the apartment felt ridiculously long, and several times Delia looked at Jake, who had been staring out the window, a deep frown furrowing his brows.

Was she the cause of his changed demeanor?

Her shoulders sagged, and she sank deeper into her seat. This had been a mistake. Everything had been acceptably fine until they had gone down to see the painting. What had changed?

Delia did not notice the car had stopped until Jake opened the door, climbed out, and extended a hand toward her. She hesitated, contemplating scrambling out of the car undignifiedly and most likely falling over her feet in her desperation to flee.

She sighed and slipped her hand into his.

Jake held onto her hand tightly as they walked into the apartment building. He even refused the slight tug for release when they stepped into the elevator. He escorted her to her apartment door and only then let go of her hand. He waited for her to unlock the door and enter before mumbling a curt good night and heading to his apartment.

Delia leaned against the closed door, her forehead pressed firmly against it.

What the fuck had just happened? Jake was undoubtedly upset. Stella was going to ask him how the night had gone.

What was he going to say?

What was she going to tell Stella?

Everything had been fine until the painting.

Had he said something, and had she missed it?

Fuck.

*

Sleep did not come easily. Delia had rolled around for several hours before finally giving up and getting some work done. It was early morning when she craved a fresh cup of coffee. She grabbed her laptop and, with a newly brewed, steaming cup, plunked herself into the chair in front of the main apartment window. Her eyes darted to the clock, and right on time, she saw Jake coming out of the building for his morning jog.

Unlike other mornings, he paused at the gate and turned to look up at her apartment. Instinctively, Delia ducked away from the window. Did he see her?

She leaned forward and saw he was gone. She exhaled the breath she had unconsciously been holding. This was ridiculous. So what if he saw her? She lives here.

Last night was still a concern, and surprisingly, she had not received a call or text from her sister.

Delia sipped her coffee. Being in such proximity to Jake had not been ideal.

How long had it been since anyone had made her feel anything?

Stop it, Delia. It is just lust! You are attracted to Jake. Don't make it anything more than it is. Attraction is easily fixable. Just imagine the man in overgrown undies and a Santa Claus suit.

Oh fuck, he would make one sexy Santa.

Delia spilled her coffee as she choked on the vision.

How was she going to get through tonight?

She should cancel. Yes, cancel. She was sick. The flu? The plague?

Delia jumped at the sudden rap on the apartment door. She stood up, sliding her laptop onto the chair. Still holding the half-drunk, spilled cup of coffee, she opened the door.

"Jake?"