I’m Sorry
After a week of suffering from the stomach flu, Ida resumed her work, locking herself in her atelier pulling long hours. Finally lying down after a long day, she found herself pulled into Kensley’s warm embrace. “My art exhibition is next week,” Ida chided. Kensley chuckled and kissed the nape of her neck before nuzzling the back of her head, inhaling her scent. Trying to save face, his muddled brain clocked in on overtime. His husky voice murmured into her hair, “Don’t get me wrong. I was just comforting you. You’ll be fine; I saw your paintings, they look great.” Ida shrugged out of Kensley’s hold and turned to face him. Her eyes were bright with amazement as if he read her mind. “Wow! How did you know I always get jitters a few days before an event? For some reason, I keep getting n
- Writer
