Love In Colour

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: GENIUS BOYFRIENDS & SMART INVENTIONS

On my first day off at work, Grayson has a meeting in his home office. He's been in there for close to an hour, and I am missing him greatly. It doesn't matter that I practically live with him since I no longer spend a lot of time at my place. When he's not near me, I miss him.

I don't know if that's a healthy thing or not for a relationship. I just want to be around him, and the feeling increases each day.

I'm just a girl who's in love with her man.

After a few minutes debating whether to go check on him or not, I finally crack and leave the documentary I was watching and make my way to his office.

The door to the home office is slightly ajar, and I slip through it as quietly as I can. He's at his desk facing the computer, his headset on and his brow furrowed in concentration. He's mid-sentence, explaining something technical to whoever is on the other end of the call.

I tiptoe to the small couch against the wall and settle on it, tucking my feet up beneath me. He hasn't noticed me yet; he is way too focused on his screen, on the diagrams and code he's sharing with his team.

I watch him.

There's something about watching him work that makes my heart swell. The way his hands move as he talks, illustrating points with gestures. The way his eyes light up when he's explaining something he's passionate about. The way his voice shifts—steady, confident, commanding.

He's so smart. So ridiculously, unfairly smart.

I could listen to him talk about code all day and understand maybe half of it. But that doesn't matter. What matters is the way he lights up when he talks about his work. The way he gets excited about solving problems, about creating something from nothing.

My boyfriend is a genius. The realisation makes me smile.

He's still talking, and I catch snippets— "optimisation algorithms," "user interface," "backend integration" — words that float over my head but sound impressive. He gestures at the screen, and I see lines of code I can't begin to decipher.

I love him. I love him so much it hurts.

The meeting ends, and I watch as he says goodbye to his colleagues, clicking out of a video call and leaning back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

"Gray," I utter softly.

He turns, and his face breaks into a smile when he sees me. "Hey. How long have you been there?"

"Long enough." I uncross my legs and stand, crossing the room to where he sits. "You're really smart, you know that?"

"I'm okay." He's already deflecting, already getting shy.

I climb onto his lap, straddling him and wrap my arms around his neck. "You're more than okay. You're brilliant; I could listen to you talk about your work all day."

He laughs, a little embarrassed. "You'd be bored."

"I wouldn't." I kiss his forehead. "Tell me about it. About your job. About what you were talking about."

"Thandi, it's really boring—"

"It's not boring. It's you. I want to understand."

He looks at me for a moment, searching my face. Whatever he sees there makes something in his expression shift—shyness fading, replaced by a warmth that makes my chest ache.

"Okay. What do you want to know?"

I stroke his hand, the one resting on my thigh, tracing the lines of his palm. "Start at the beginning. What are you working on right now?"