“Figured I’d take it easy on you today.” She climbs down from the ladder, setting her roller on a nearby worktable made from a couple of sawhorses and a piece of plywood. “But don’t get too used to it.” When she smiles, a lightness envelopes her, as if yesterday never happened. “You’ll have your work cut out for you next weekend.”
“Oh yeah?” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
When I notice her eyes briefly go to my biceps as they stretch the fabric of my shirt, a flicker of excitement fills me. Maybe not all hope is lost. Maybe there’s still a chance, despite her insisting I not wait for her. But what she doesn’t understand is that I’d rather wait years for what I feel in my heart is extraordinary than settle for anything less. I’ve already waited thirty-six years to feel what I do for her. What’s a few more when it’s right? And nothing has ever felt so right, her past be damned.
“What’s next weekend?”
“The kitchen cabinets will be ready to be installed.” One of her curls falls in front of her face, and she pushes it behind her ear.
“You got some paint on your face now.” I laugh at how adorable she looks, the paint smear the perfect accessory to her outfit of cut-off shorts, white tank top, and work boots. She’s a mixture of style and grace, with a dash of don’t fuck with me. It’s this combination that’s drawn me to her from the moment we met.
She grabs a rag off the worktable and wipes at her forehead. “Did I get it?”
My laughter only increases when I see there’s now even more paint, thanks to the rag I’ve used to clean my hands throughout the day.
“Nope. Certainly didn’t.”
“And you’re laughing?” she shoots back, feigning annoyance. “That’s no way to treat a lady. And here I thought you were a gentleman.” She playfully bats her lashes, playing up the Southern accent in her intonation.
“Oh, I’m a gentleman all right.”
A few weeks ago, I would have made another suggestive comment, but I don’t want to push my luck with her. Not yet.
“We’ll see about that.” A mischievous glint in her eyes, she dips a brush into the gray paint we used on the bottom section of the walls, then flicks it at me, causing paint to splatter across my t-shirt.
I freeze, staring in shock for several moments. Then my gaze darkens. “You’re going to regret that, Londyn.”
I advance toward her, and she squeals, darting around the worktable, as if that will protect her. Grabbing the roller from the paint pan on the floor, I chase after her. She could escape into the hallway, but she doesn’t, heading farther into the parlor instead.
Easily reaching her, I run the roller along the back of her tank and the top of her shorts.
“That’s it, Bradford. This means war.” She briefly glances at the ladder, then the can of touch-up paint perched on the top. It may be small, but it will still do a fair bit of damage.
“You wouldn’t,” I say, keeping the roller stretched in front of me, like a sword warding off an opponent.
“Oh, no?”
“No,” I reply, although I can’t quite be certain.
A month ago, I wouldn’t have thought she’d do anything to risk ruining her hard work. But something about her right now — the excitement in her eyes, the devilish hint of a smile tugging on her lips, the easy, carefree attitude that’s a complete one-eighty from the tension-filled conversation when she shared her past — makes me think anything’s possible.
“What makes you say that?” she muses.
“All our hard work. If you do that, we’ll have to reprime and repaint the walls.”
“That’s true…”
She straightens her defensive stance, putting me at ease. Then she takes a few quick steps toward the ladder and tips it, the can on the top tumbling off. Paint splatters all over the room, the bulk of it landing directly on me.
Her infectious laughter echoes against the walls. “Like you said,” she struggles to say. “Painting is a lot easier than wallpaper. And look.” She nods at the wall behind me. “Only a few drops got on it. I believe the score is now Londyn, one. Wes, zero,” she boasts proudly, hands on her hips, head held high. I want to be mad that I’m dripping with paint, but I can’t be. Not when I see how happy she is.
“Don’t think you’ll get away with it so easily, Lo.”