He lets himself out but stops and turns just over the threshold. “Oh.” “Yeah?” “The painting above your couch?” His lips tick almost imperceptibly, like he wants to smile but is trying not to. My stomach twists and my face heats, but I school my expression and clear my throat. “What about it?” He full-blown grins then. Dammit. I wrap my arms around myself, knowing I’ve been caught. “Your dress looked great on my floor. Night, Via.”
