Two weeks into gallery renovations, I learned several important things about Skyler Voss:
One, he looked unfairly attractive in a paint-stained t-shirt and jeans slung low on his hips.
Two, he was terrible at cutting straight lines with painter's tape.
And three, he sang off-key to classic rock while working, completely unselfconscious and adorable.
"You're staring," he said without turning around, currently rolling primer on the far wall.
"I'm admiring my incredibly helpful boyfriend who volunteered to spend his Saturday covered in paint fumes."
"Boyfriend?" He glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "That's what we're calling it?"
"What would you prefer? Mate-to-be? Future ceremonial partner? The guy who can't tape a straight line?"
"Hey, that last one is uncalled for." He gestured
