Since zipping it up, Poppy hadn’t opened the bag or thought about the outfit she’d worn for Violet’s wedding. The satin waistband and organza flower were hand-stitched; the dress had cost a fortune. She did love the full, fifties style tulle, tea-length skirt and the pale, almost nude color, but what did it matter? She’d never wear it again.
It wasn’t like her new life was ever going to feature any kind of formal event where it might be even close to appropriate.
That was the decision made. Freeing the dress from its bag, Poppy put it on fast and got to work following the steps Chester had laid out for her. It wasn’t easy, especially hauling the huge cans. Yet, she made progress. Maybe not as much as Chester or Turner would make, but still, progress.
She even went to the second bedroom, where Turner kept a bunch of supplies, to retrieve the ladder. Opening it out in the living room to work higher, Poppy practiced and improved, discovering that decorating was a lot of fun.
A couple of hours went by, though Poppy was so engrossed in painting that she didn’t notice the minutes passing.
Her task captivated her so much that she almost didn’t hear the knock on the door. “It’s open,” she called out, leaning back to admire her work.
The door opened. “Uh… what are you doing?”
Turning her back to the ladder, she went down a couple of rungs. “Painting,” Poppy said, trying to read his scrutiny of her handiwork.
“I know, I can smell it down the hall.”
Oh, she hadn’t thought about others being bothered by the smell. Turner went over to unlock the balcony doors and bent down to free the usually fixed one to open them both wide.
“Sorry,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Her apology wasn’t going well thus far. “I sorta like it.”
“Yeah, until you pass out,” he said, turning around.
His gaze snagged on something. With much more urgency, he started to move again, making a quick beeline toward her. Poppy didn’t understand the rush, especially when he stopped in front of her to lean in like maybe he wanted a kiss. Damming her breath, she stayed stock-still, anticipating… something. A metallic clank came from either side of her. Glancing left and right, she still didn’t know what was happening.
“You have to put on the safety clips,” he said, keeping his hands on either side of her on the ladder.
“Oh,” she said, brush in hand, extended out to the side. They’d never been eye to eye before. Her position on the ladder actually put her mouth just an inch above his. “Sorry.”
He tipped his head in a quick backwards nod. “What’s with the dress?”
“It’s the oldest thing I own,” she said, suppressing her urge to wrap a leg around his hip; it was tempting, almost too tempting. “Chester said old clothes.”
“You went to BJ’s?” he asked and started nodding as she did and at the same slow pace. It was no surprise he knew the hardware stores in the area. “You wanted to paint?”
“I wanted to apologize,” she said. “I was out of line this morning… and yesterday… and, well, sort of all the times we’ve been together.”
“You’ve never been out of line, baby,” he said, catching a loose tendril of hair at her temple to tuck it behind her ear. “You are good enough… You always please me.”
He came a little closer. Putting his hand on the ladder behind her again, Turner braced his weight.
“Please don’t repeat my words. I was upset… You said we couldn’t happen, so I told myself to be strong and get over it. But every time you’re sweet to me, and kind… it just makes me want you even more,” she whispered, almost touching his face, though the paint on her fingertips stopped her. “I’ve made a mess.”
“Of your pretty dress, yeah,” he said, without taking his eyes off her even when she wasn’t looking at him. He always looked, stared, like he just couldn’t tear his gaze away. “You wanted to apologize?” She nodded. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to do that. And I said I would help… something else I didn’t follow through on.”
“It’s my job to put this place together for you,” he said, scooping his fingers through her hair to her scalp beneath the mess of a chignon piled on her head. “My job.”