“A mess. According to Luke, he and Wyatt are going to be up all night painting the place.”
“How does a bar fight involve new paint?”
Melanie shook her head. “It doesn’t. But patching a wall isn’t Wyatt’s style without a complete upgrade . . . at least according to Luke.”
Miss Gina looked around the reception area. “Maybe we need to start a fight here.”
Mel nudged Miss Gina aside and stepped around her. “You’re bad.”
“Sounds like a big job for just two men.”
“It is. I was wondering if you’d mind keeping an ear out for Hope tonight so I can lend a hand.”
“Of course, love. Hope is easy. And if painting results in an overnight stay, that’s fine, too.”
Melanie’s jaw dropped for the second time that day. “Miss Gina!”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“You’re suggesting.”
They kept the conversation going as they entered the kitchen. “You’re young, honey. You should be knockin’ boots with someone while you can find them.”
She laughed. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve knocked anything with anyone?”
Miss Gina pulled her special lemonade from the refrigerator before turning over two glasses that were drying on a towel by the sink. “That’s a damn shame. When I was your age I didn’t go a week without sex.”
“Those were the sixties.”
Miss Gina stopped pouring and stared longingly out the back window. “Indeed they were. Best time ever.”
Melanie accepted the lemonade and leaned against the counter. “Why is it there isn’t a Mr. Gina around?”
A visible shiver actually ran down Miss Gina’s body. “Good God no. Commitment? I never could go that route.”
“I’m sure there had to be someone, somewhere who made you consider it . . .”
A play of emotions danced over her face as if she were rewinding the tape of her life and watching it a second time. “Nope. Not really. When I was your age, the men were everywhere. The last thing I wanted was to pick just one.”
“What about later?”
“Later happened in my thirties. I had a few men pass through town once I started the inn, but they weren’t the sticking type, and I wasn’t one to ask to change their minds. I understand a free spirit.”
“Yet you’ve had the inn for decades and almost never leave town.”
“Doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to.”
That’s where Melanie found herself stuck. “Then why didn’t you? Why not find someone to help with the inn and tap into that free spirit of yours?”
Miss Gina sent her a devil of a smile. “That’s a really good idea. Maybe I should pack my bags and go to Europe for the rest of the summer.”
Melanie choked on her drink, started coughing until tears welled behind her eyes. “W-wait . . .” She looked around the kitchen as if it were an unfamiliar space. “I didn’t mean . . . I don’t know.”
Miss Gina replaced the devil with innocence and chuckled. “Relax, sweetie. You’re not ready to take over quite yet. But by the fall, things should settle into place.”
Trepidation and pride in Miss Gina’s words left warmth in Melanie’s heart. The fact that the woman she’d felt closer to than her own mother was confident enough to leave her baby for Melanie to run did something more than a paycheck could.
“Maybe by fall,” Melanie found herself saying.
“It’s paint!” If Melanie had a romantic thought in her brain about how the night was going to go . . . it was all but gone after an hour under Wyatt’s direction. Direction being the completely wrong word for how he ordered everyone around.
Everyone consisted of Jo, Luke, Mel, and Josie.
“It’s really hard to screw up paint,” Luke added to Melanie’s previous words.
“You tell that to Josie in the morning after it’s dry and half of it looks like five-year-olds tossed this on the wall.” Wyatt stood with a roller in one hand, his other pointing at the wall that looked less than perfect.
“I think five-year-olds might have done it the last time.” Josie tipped back a beer that was free for everyone to drink during the all-night paint party.
“Well it’s not being done by five-year-olds this time.” Wyatt placed his roller on the wall with conviction. “Make sure you cover every inch. And Jo,” he said with a shake of his free hand. “If you’re not going to use the tape around the molding, don’t slop it on. Be more careful.”
Jo saluted him with a wet paintbrush, which brought laughter from the others in the room.
Josie placed the digital jukebox on free play and had a few tunes pumping into the room while they worked.
“I swear this bar wasn’t this big when we walked in,” Luke said less than ten minutes later.
“Just keep moving,” Wyatt said from the corner of his mouth.
Jo leaned close to Melanie. “He’s a paint Nazi.”
“I heard that!” Wyatt said over the music.
Melanie laughed. “You know what this reminds me of?”
Paint dripped from the end of Jo’s brush and ended up on her shirt. “No, what?”
Melanie reached out to try and remove some of the mess Jo was making. “Why I don’t do home improvement projects.”
“Amen,” Luke said.
“It’s just paint.” Wyatt moved faster than all of them combined. He was clearly on a mission and focused on his work.
Luke reloaded his roller and stepped back up to reach the top third of the wall. “Says the man whose own home is in a constant state of unfinished projects.”
Melanie stopped smearing the paint over Jo’s clothing and focused on Wyatt. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.”
Luke laughed.
“No, wait . . . what is Luke talking about?”
“It’s nothing.” Only Wyatt glared at Luke.
“Wyatt has a hard time completing his own projects within any reasonable time frame,” Jo told her.
“But this is what you do.”
“I’m busy. And since it doesn’t affect anyone but me, I can take my time.”
“Nothing like living on milk crates and walking on plastic to make you feel at home.”
“Screw you, Luke.” Apparently Wyatt didn’t like his imperfection vocalized for everyone to hear.
“Grrr,” Luke teased.
“Living the cliché, eh, Wyatt?” Josie asked.
“Every cliché holds truth or it wouldn’t have made it to cliché status.”
“Paint Nazi and philosopher. You’re a man of many talents.” Jo paused and tilted back her beer.
“Are we going to talk or get this shit finished?”
“Someone is sensitive,” Luke said.
“Just keep painting.”
The hour rounded on two before they lowered the last brush and surveyed their work.
“Wow.”
“It’s awesome.” Josie wore a huge grin.
“I can’t believe how big this place feels now,” Luke said.
“The last time it was painted was before we banned smoking in here. I guess I should have painted sooner.” The fresh paint, even in a soft beige color, lightened up the room.
“It’s a bar, Josie. No one really cared.”
“We’ll see about that when people come in tomorrow night.” Josie did a full turn and took in the room. “The floors could use an upgrade.”
Wyatt groaned.
“If you don’t want the job, I can find someone else.”
“Bite your tongue.” Wyatt drew in a full breath and met Melanie’s eyes. “See why my house never gets done?”
“Well I’m shot. C’mon, Jo . . . you can give me a ride home,” Luke offered.
“The brushes need to be cleaned
,” Wyatt said.
“And you can clean them. My head is killing me.”
“And I have to work in the morning,” Jo said.
Melanie stayed back while the others prepared to leave. “I’ll help.”
“There is a faucet out back,” Josie told them. “I’ll turn a light on.”
After Jo and Luke drove off, Josie stayed inside and cleaned up.
A few bugs buzzed around them as they started pulling paint from the brushes. “Don’t they make these in a disposable variety?”
“The cheap ones. I don’t like them.”
“A perfectionist.”
“I’m nowhere close to perfect,” he said.
Water-coated paint ran from her hand to the ground, where it splattered on her bare legs. Wearing an old pair of shorts to paint in had been a great idea considering how much of the stuff she managed to accumulate on her skin.
“Imperfect house . . . I heard.”
He grumbled.
“Why did Luke talking about your house bother you so much?”
He ran his hands through the brush with more vigor. “I don’t know.”
She knelt closer to the ground to keep the splatter to a minimum. “Yes you do. Out with it.”
“You’re bossy.”
“Says the paint Nazi.”
“Humph!”
“So why?”
Wyatt was quiet for a minute. “Letting a woman discover my faults isn’t the best way to impress her.”
The comfortable warmth that Wyatt always managed to put in her belly snuck inside again.
“A woman?”
He glanced at her. “You.”
She knew that, but enjoyed the unease vocalizing it gave him. He’d been so confident since they met; it was nice to know he was knocked back a little with her presence.
“You think I’d be less interested if I learned your house isn’t a castle?”
He shrugged.
“Oh, my God, you do.”
He stayed quiet.
“Wyatt?”
“Yeah, I . . .” He ran the back of his hand along the side of his face before leveling his gaze on her.
Melanie stood slowly and brushed her thumb along the smudge of paint he’d left on his forehead. “I’m already impressed. Your house isn’t going to change that.”
He captured her hand and pressed it into his cheek before kissing her palm.
She melted. His soft smile and tiny insecurity empowered something inside her and made her want him all the more. Melanie dropped her paintbrush and pressed her lips to his.
She heard his brush hit the ground and felt his hand reach around her waist to pull her close.
He warmed the chill the outside brought to her skin and deepened their kiss. The familiar swipe of his tongue against her lips had her opening. He tasted like hops and barley and felt like home.
As her eyes closed and he tilted her head back, she knew this night was going to end in satisfaction instead of frustration.
Melanie ran a hand down his hips and pressed as close as she could.
Wyatt moaned and pulled away. “You’re killing me.”
She giggled and lifted her knee to run against his leg. “You dropped your paintbrush.”
“Fuck the paintbrush.”
His lips found hers again with hot, impatient kisses. Wyatt lifted her offered leg and wrapped it around his waist as he backed her up against the back of Josie’s bar. His hips pushed against her, the heat and friction of him made her stomach spasm. Made her want.
Wyatt pulled away, then changed his mind and returned with a force that made her breath catch in the back of her throat.
He held her against the wall, his hands rounded on her ass, kept her pinned, and seemed content to kiss her until she wept for air. Only her body wanted more than air, she wanted more.
It was her turn to pull away. “Take me to your castle, Wyatt.”
He hesitated, his lips hovering over hers, his breath short and hot. “What about the inn?”
She shook her head. “One guest. Miss Gina said . . .” Melanie didn’t elaborate. “It’s fine.”
He kissed her again, sucked her lip between his teeth and gave a tiny bite. “You’re sure?”
“Are you going to make me beg?”
His eyes grew wide, his grin even wider before he released her and wrapped his fingers around hers. Wyatt started toward his truck, then detoured to the back door of the bar. He poked his head inside and yelled. “We’ll be back in the morning, Josie.”
Laughter followed them as they drove away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Wyatt’s home sat on the opposite side of town from R&B’s. The single-story ranch sat on a little bit of land, as did most of the homes in the area. As a kid she’d passed this place continually en route to her family home, which sat on a hill behind his.
The house was dark with the exception of a single porch light.
They’d driven to his house with only a few words.
Are you sure about this?
More than sure.
It was the holding of her hand the entire trip to his home that turned her to mush. The cab of Wyatt’s truck wasn’t exactly small, and his reach had to be uncomfortable . . . but he held it anyway.
He pulled into the driveway, then lifted a finger in the air when she reached for the door. “Hold up.”
She let go of the handle and waited for him to run around the truck to open the door for her.
“You’re crazy.”
“A little,” he agreed as he grasped her hand and tucked her into his side. “The house isn’t as bad as Luke led you to believe.”
The second her foot stepped through the front door, she thought Luke had it completely right. The bare living room held a couch, a hillbilly coffee table, and a TV.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked as he led her to his kitchen. Obviously this was one of the finished rooms. Granite countertops and modern appliances were the cornerstone of the warm and inviting space. Brushed nickel pulls on the aged maple cabinets matched the longneck faucet over the sink. Melanie was innately happy Wyatt wasn’t into a cold, modern style of living with hard edges and uninviting surfaces.
“I’m good,” she told him. After turning a full circle, she asked for a bathroom.
“I have two, but the one in my bedroom is the only one working.”
She pointed down the hall. “That way?”
“End of the hall, double doors.”
She passed a couple of closed doors before making her way into Wyatt’s bedroom. Rustic wood furniture filled in the generous space. Dark colors adorned his unmade bed and a copy of Lee Child’s latest novel sat on the side table. One rustic red wall accented the room and drew her eye to a single piece of art. The Oregon coast with sea cliffs and crashing waves was captured in the same muted tones of the room, blending perfectly with the decor. To say she was impressed would have been an understatement.
When she stepped into the bathroom and switched on the light, she let out a tiny gasp.
The space was huge compared to most of the homes in River Bend. A deep vessel bathtub sat in front of a large window, the double vanity had glass sinks and a furniture base that she would never have thought would work together, but they did. It was the shower that was the most impressive, however. She couldn’t help but duck inside the space and gawk. A rain showerhead hovered on the ceiling with a fixed head on one side and a removable one on the other. The glass enclosure kept the space bright and cheery despite the dark tiles that covered the wall. It was stunning . . . all of it.
She caught her reflection in the mirror while she was washing her hands a couple of minutes later.
What a mess. Paint was everywhere, her eyes held tiny circles from many late nights and not enough sleep. How
could Wyatt look at her and do anything but cringe?
She removed the band from her hair and attempted to run her fingers through it and untangle some of the mess a labor-filled day caused.
It only looked worse.
She undid one of the buttons on her blouse and pushed her breasts a little higher in her bra before letting her hands drop to her sides. There wasn’t anything remotely sexy about her at two in the morning, she decided.
Second and third thoughts about being with Wyatt started to seep in. Not that she didn’t want the next step, but that he might realize that a woman like her might not measure up. Then the most disturbing thought of all came from nowhere . . . had Wyatt ever slept with a woman who had a child before? Melanie lifted her shirt and patted her mostly flat stomach.
A soft knock on the door had her tugging her shirt back down.
“You get lost in there?”
“Ah, no.” She scrambled with nerves leading her actions. She turned on the water and let it run for a second before turning it off. The reflection in the mirror laughed at her before she stopped watching it and walked away.
Wyatt stood outside the door, a cocky grin lingering on his face. “I was starting to worry.”
Melanie ran a hand over her hair, knew it was useless. “It’s a nice bathroom.” She wasn’t usually a nervous laughter kinda girl, but that was starting to change. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She leaned against the door frame and tried to feel the smile. “I look about as sexy as a wet cat.”
Wyatt’s eyes did a slow dance down her frame and took their time moving back up. A warm shiver had her catching her breath.
He took a step toward her and pulled her back into the bathroom. He sat her on the edge of the tub and turned toward the shower. He had the water flowing and the bright lights in the room dimmed to a romantic glow that made Melanie smile.
He leaned down and pulled her shoes off one at a time. All the while she watched him. Wyatt ran the edge of his thumb on her instep once her sock left her foot, and moved to the next. With her shoes to the side, he placed both hands on her bare knees and smiled up at her. Then, without notice, he grasped her hips and lifted her off the tub and carried her to the shower.
Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1) Page 16
