Sean's Reckoning - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,62
at a neighborhood hardware store. Truthfully, her mother probably wasn’t even aware such stores existed, and she surely wouldn’t have approved of Deanna dating any man whose idea of a good time was taking her to such a place. Add to that her mother’s opinion of any home that hadn’t been fully decorated by an interior designer before the move, and Deanna was pretty sure her actions would have her mother’s head spinning. And that was even before she discovered that all Deanna’s furniture was likely to come from thrift stores.
Sean realized he’d made a mistake in agreeing to let Deanna accompany him when she spread ten different shades of yellow paint chips out on a counter and started pondering them, musing aloud about the advantages of one over the others. As far as he could tell, yellow was yellow. Maybe that was why she’d insisted on coming along.
She finally turned to him, a perplexed expression knitting her brow. “What do you think?”
“This one,” he said at once, choosing one at random.
“Really? Don’t you think it’s a little bright?”
He shrugged. “Looks fine to me, if cheerful’s what you want.”
“I want cheerful, but not overpowering.” She picked up a lighter shade. “How about this one?”
Eager to end the process, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll have ’em start mixing it.”
Before he could move, she picked up a second paint chip. “Then, again, this one is nice. It’s kind of soothing, like warm sunshine.”
Sean sighed and waited as a third chip was debated. “Could you at least rule out a couple?” he inquired. “You only have an hour for lunch, and we still have to look at all the blues.”
She frowned at him. “This is an important choice, one Kevin and I will have to live with for years and years.”
A knot formed in Sean’s stomach that had nothing to do with her disinclination to make a decision. It was the “years and years” comment that got to him. She was making a commitment to paint, for heaven’s sake. Why should that bother him?
He answered the question himself. Because it implied that there was going to be no place for him in her life, not for “years and years.” She had more faith in the endurance of paint than she did in their relationship.
So what the hell was he supposed to do about it? Was he supposed to ask her to marry him just to keep her from choosing a paint? Of course not. The whole idea was ridiculous, but damned if he wasn’t tempted to do just that.
Because the temptation was so real and so disturbing, he fell completely silent and let her struggle on all alone with her debate over the new apartment’s color scheme. He wasn’t going to be a party to it, no matter how ridiculous that made him feel. It was better than admitting to her just how badly he wanted her to forget all about this whole move and stay with Ruby.
Or move in with him. He was so stunned that such a thought had even crossed his mind, he had to clutch the edge of the counter to steady himself. That notion was even more absurd than marriage. She had a child. She had deeply held values. She wasn’t going to move in with him on a whim, not when she was gun-shy about relationships to begin with. Nope, with Deanna it was going to be permanence or nothing.
Sean sighed.
“Sean, what do you think?” she prodded, holding out what were apparently her two final choices.
Since one was right under his nose, while the other was barely in the air, he assumed there was a subliminal message there. “This one,” he said reluctantly, pointing to the closest choice.
Her expression brightened. “I think so, too. Now for the blues.” A frown puckered her brow. “Or do you think the bedrooms ought to be more neutral, maybe a soft cream color?”
He couldn’t do it. He could not debate the virtues of cream over blue, or vice-versa. Instead, he swooped in and kissed her to shut her up. He threw himself into the task, too, feeling the heat that spread through her almost at once, the way her knees buckled, so he practically had to hold her up. When he finally pulled away, she stared at him with dazed eyes.
“What was that for?”
He grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. “Just felt like it.”
“We don’t have time to go home and do anything about it,” she told him.
As if she’d even consider the notion