by Hart, Emma
“I sowwy, Kawi,” I heard Eli say before Brantley shut the bedroom door behind him.
I let go of a long, shaky breath, slumping down as I was able to fully take in the sight of the mess that had been created by Ellie’s tantrum.
Then, I turned, and forgetting—or maybe just not caring—that the red paint was still wet, pressed my forehead against the wall.
Ground rules.
No. More. Kids. Near. Paint.
Chapter Sixteen
Five p.m. rolled around before I knew it. I was pretty sure I still had paint on my head. I sure as hell had it just about everywhere else. I was all dry and crusty and gross.
I’d barely been able to fix the mess caused by the kids when they fought. I’d managed to wipe the surplus paint off, but other than that… Let’s just say I had a couple more coats of white paint to do tomorrow.
I finished cleaning the rollers and trays off in the bathtub. The mix of blue and red as it swirled through the water before draining away was almost headache-inducing. It was much brighter wet, and mixed with water… Ugh.
I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like a complete mess. Red paint in my hair and over my forehead. There were streaks of blue and pink across my neck and chest. The same happened when I looked down. I was a walking art exhibition.
One day, I would be able to paint a wall and not cover myself in it.
It was amazing. I could install a kitchen without getting a splinter, but painting a wall without getting covered in paint?
Not a chance in hell.
I glanced around for a cloth to wipe my face with. I didn’t see one, so I switched on the tap and did the best I could with my fingers. It wasn’t great, but I managed to get the majority of it off, and a scrub with a towel did the rest. There wasn’t much I could do about my hair.
I gripped the edge of the sink and took a deep breath. I was exhausted. I could feel it as it snaked its way through the body. The last few hours of today had been hell, and Ellie had essentially wiped out everything I’d done in Eli’s room.
For that, I wanted to do Eli’s room first. To make her wait. But that was spiteful, too, and it didn’t make me, as a twenty-six-year-old adult any better than her at four-years-old.
I huffed and straightened up, then grabbed my stuff from the tub. Shaking off the excess water, I put one tray inside the other, then stacked the rollers and the brushes inside to pick up easily.
And walked right into Brantley.
Everything I’d just picked up clattered to the floor.
“Shit,” I whispered.
“I got it.” He got on his knees and picked it all up as I ran my hand over my face. Standing, he flicked her eyes over me. “You look exhausted.”
“Damn. I should have left the paint on my face if it’s that obvious.”
He smirked. “Should I pretend that the paint on the rest of you hides it?”
“Could you? Thanks.”
“In Eli’s room?” He lifted the tray slightly.
“Oh, er, yeah. Thanks.” I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something—”
He held his hands up. “Don’t worry. They won’t bug you anymore, I promise. I called Summer. They’re going to her every day until the walls and floors are done so you can work in peace. At the very least.”
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish.
“I’m sorry.” He met my eyes. “They never should have been with you in the first place. I was working with Ellie watching a movie, then the next thing I knew, she was upstairs. I was on my way up when…”
“When the gates of Hell opened up and swallowed my afternoon whole?”
“When the gates of Hell opened up and swallowed your afternoon whole.”
I grinned. “It happened. There’s no point in dwelling on it right now. I can’t change it, but I can fix it.”
“You’re very optimistic about this.”
“Hey—fixing things is what I do. If I got annoyed every time something went wrong, I’d never get my job done.”
He folded his arms across his chest, smiling. “You really are a regular little Miss Fix-It, aren’t you?”
I mock-curtseyed. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”
He laughed. “True. Thank you for, well, your bright outlook on the bullshit my children brought to your day.”
“You’re welcome.” I skirted around him and slowly made my way down the stairs. “I’ll see you at eight tomorrow.”
“Kali?”
My name on his lips sent a tingle down my spine.
I stopped, gripping the banister.
“I, er… I made a bit too much pasta tonight. Would you…wanna stay and help me eat it? The kids are ready for bed, and it just needs reheating…”
Dinner? Again?
Did we not establish last night that was not a good idea?
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said slowly. “I mean…”
Brantley’s lipped thinned, his eyes flashing with something I couldn’t recognize. “Right. Forgive me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I raised my hand in an awkward wave. Willpower made me walk, not run, down the stairs, but the second my feet hit the hallway, I was off. I left the house before either of the kids saw me or I changed my mind.
I pulled my keys from my ass pocket and got into my truck. My phone was in the glovebox, and I retrieved it, sticking my keys into the ignition at the same time. Then, I pulled up my messages and texted Jayda.
Me: He just asked me to stay for dinner
Jayda: Call me right now
I sighed and, still sitting in his driveway, did just that.
“He asked you to stay for dinner?” she rambled the second I answered my phone. “Why are you messaging me and not eating?”
“Because I said it wasn’t a good idea.”
“Of course, it’s a terrible idea! But, first, free food. Second, he’s hot.”
“You think the fact he’s hot and giving me food negates the fact it’s a bad idea?”
Silence. “Yeah, pretty much. Is it home-cooked food?”
“Does that make a difference?”
“It’s home-cooked.” She sighed heavily, the line crackling at her exhale. “Damn it, Kali. Just have dinner with the guy. What harm will it do?”
“What good will it do?” My voice raised a few decibels.
“With any luck, it’ll take you a little closer to getting laid. You’re basically a virgin.”
“I’m done with this conversation.”
“Wait! Maybe he needs a friend!” She quickly spat out. “Have you thought about that? Does he know anyone else in town? He spends all his time with pint-sized, puny humans. You’re, like, a unicorn.”
I paused. She had a point. And if Jayda had a point, we were all doomed. “You think that’s it? He needs a friend?”
“I think you should see if that’s what it is.”
“What if he kisses me again?”
“Kiss him back and hope you get laid.”
“Bye now.” I hung up before she could continue on any further down that track. But, damn. She’d planted the seed of an idea in my mind, and now I couldn’t shake it.
As far as I knew, he didn’t know anyone in town. Certainly not anyone on anything more than an acquaintance level. We were practically friends, I guess. If you considered we knew stuff about each other and talked every day…
And kissed once.
Sadness.
That had been what passed through his eyes when I’d said no.
A flicker. The barest hint of sadness, and loneliness, too.
I turned my phone over and tapped his name in the contacts.
Me: Just how much is ‘a bit extra pasta?’
Brantley: Are you texting me from the driveway?
Me: …yes. Is this not normal?
I stared at my phone, waiting for the response. When I didn’t get one, I hopped out of the truck to go kno
ck.
The front door opened as my feet hit the floor. He walked out and to my truck, eyebrow quirked in amusement.
I blushed, shutting the door and leaning against it. “Not normal, huh?”
His lips twitched, and he stood next to me, elbow on the wing mirror. “Definitely not normal. Why are you asking?”
“A ‘bit extra pasta’ is relative. You either did enough for one person or enough to feed another family. I didn’t consider that when I said no.”
“Enough to take it to the town hall in an hour and feed everyone at Bingo,” he admitted. “And, you didn’t say no. You said it was a bad idea.” His eyes met mine. “And I’m hard-pressed to disagree with you, which is why I don’t understand why you’re still here.”
“Let’s just say I’m very good at making bad decisions.”
Eyes.
Dropped to my mouth.
“You and me both,” he muttered.
I cleared my throat and glanced away briefly. “If you can give me half an hour to shower and change, I’d love to help you finish that pasta,” I said quietly.
“Half an hour. Really?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Shall I have it ready in an hour?”
I nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
He grinned, pulling back from the truck. “All right then.”
“I…Hold on. Did you…shower…after all hell broke loose?”
“No. I cleaned up, but I didn’t have a chance yet. Why?”
“You’ve got…” I stopped, biting the inside of my lower lip as I smiled, eyes following the giant, blue streak that colored his dark hair.
He blinked at me. “Got what? Why are you grinning at me like that?”
I stepped forward. “Paint.” Lifting my hand to his face, I ran my finger along the side of his head, from a spot just above his ear, through his hair, and down to the soft spot just beneath his air. “Right along there.”
His gaze shifted from the inside of my arm. Our eyes met, and I took a deep breath. I was still touching him, my fingers just barely ghosting down the side of his neck.
A short breath juddered out of me. Stutter-like and harsh, I forced myself to take another deep breath in or I knew I’d lose control.
Especially when he raised his hand to mine and curled his fingers around my wrist.
Hot little bursts of desire danced up my arm where his fingertips pressed against the tender skin there. It almost tickled as they trailed up the inside of my arm when it lowered.
“Good to know.” His voice was deep and low, almost rough. “I’ll go fix that now. You’ll be back in an hour?”
I nodded, pressing my hands flat against the hot door of my truck. “An hour,” I said scratchily. I swallowed, then cleared my throat again, pretending not to see how his eyes dropped when my throat bobbed. “Right. An hour. See you then.”
Brantley took a few steps back, lips twitching as he backed away. “See you, Kali.”
***
I dressed as casually as I could. Yoga pants, a loose shirt, and an old, zip-up sweatshirt. My hair was still-damp and in its natural state of loose curls, all pulled up into a ponytail on top of my head. I barely even wore make-up. A light layer of foundation and some mascara was all I’d put on.
I wanted to believe that the nugget of bullshit Jayda planted in my mind was real.
A part of me did. I couldn’t begin to imagine how lonely Brantley actually was. My whole life had been lived here in Rock Bay. He’d uprooted his entire life in favor of a new one—of one better than the one he’d been existing through before.
He wanted, maybe even needed, a friend. Sure.
But there was more there.
I’d felt it when he’d kissed me, and I’d felt it an hour ago when I’d made the mistake of touching his paint-covered hair.
I was an idiot, that much was true. I don’t know what had possessed me to do that. I could have just said and pointed, but no. I practically ran my fingers through his hair and down the side of his neck.
What was wrong with me? I’d spent the entire morning berating myself for kissing him, and I’d allowed my best friend to guilt me into having dinner with him.
I was an idiot, but here I was, ready to get free pasta.
The door swung open before I could knock. “Come in. Sorry. It’s burning.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I stifled a giggle as I closed the door behind me. Sure enough, as I joined him in the kitchen, I could smell the faint yet distinct scent of something burning.
“Fuck it, fuck it!” Brantley swept a huge pan over the sink and ditched the contents in a drainer. “Goddamn hob!”
I leaned against the table, taking a moment to notice that it was set. Plates, cutlery—the half-full bottle of wine I hadn’t finished the night before.
Um.
“Having problems?” I grinned at his back.
“I know you’re smiling, so stop it,” he said without looking at me.
I smiled wider.
“And, yes. Problems. This damn thing drives me crazy.” He waved his hand in the direction of the stove-top. “It heats up quicker than I can turn it down, and now I can’t turn it off.”
I leaned over. “The child-lock is on.”
He froze, looking over his shoulder at me. “It has a child-lock?”
Closing the distance between me and the hob, I pressed the key-shaped pad on the top until it beeped, then turned it off.
“Well, fuck me,” Brantley muttered.
Okay.
Wait, no.
I shook my head and took a seat at the table. He chuckled, and… Oh my god.
Oh. My. God.
I shook my head. It looked like I was answering his question.
This. This was why I shouldn’t be here. I couldn’t even plan a goddamn headshake that was the equivalent of an eyeroll.
He poured the spaghetti back into the pan and mixed in some sauce, this time, operating the stove-top very carefully. I stifled a laugh as he jabbed frantically at the flat buttons hoping they’d register his touch.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I got up and nudged him out the way. “Gently is the key,” I said, wiping off the touch pad with the bottom of my shirt to clear his prints. I hit the power button, then the back circle. “What number power?”
“Uh…”
“Five it is.” I pressed the ‘down’ key until it was on the middle heat. “You’re jabbing at it too hard. Just touch it, like your phone.”
“My phone doesn’t beep at me angrily every time I touch it.”
“Yours is better behaved than mine.”
He laughed, pulling a spoon out of the utensil pot. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this kitchen.”
“Well, if it comes to it, I know someone who can fit you another.”
His gaze slid to me. “Pimping yourself out?”
“No. I actually know someone who can fix this.” I circled my finger in the area of the stove. “But, if you want new cabinets…” I clicked my tongue and pointed to myself. “I’m your girl.”
“Good to know.” He held my gaze, spoon stilled in the center of the pot.
I blushed.
“Did you know that you blush a lot?”
I blushed harder. “Did you know that you didn’t put the sauce in that pasta and you’re burning it again?”
“Shit!”
I didn’t try to hide my laughter this time. I laughed out loud, pressing my hand to my stomach as I gripped the edge of the counter. This was the very first imperfection I’d seen in Brantley Cooper, and it was both wonderful and curious.
Wonderful because he’d been almost too perfect until now.
Curious, because how had he kept himself and two other people alive if he was burning pasta?
“Stop laughing at me.” He poured the sauce from the other pan into the pasta. “I swear, I’m not a culinary idiot.”
“You can�
�t work your stove!”
“That’s a simple matter of electronic semantics.”
“Electronic semantics, my ass! It’s a simple matter of male impatience. And you’re still burning the pasta!”
“Fucking hell!”
“Oh god, move.” I shoved him out of the way, literally plucking the spoon from his hand and shifting in front of him. I pulled the pan off the burner and stirred it then, scraping the pasta off the bottom of the pan. “Sauce.”
Brantley slid past me, his hand brushing my lower back as he went. I ignored it the best I could, if we considered the fact I was biting the inside of my cheek and avoiding his eyes.
He put the sauce into the pan, his chest brushing against my arm as I put it back onto the burner. I cleared my throat and stirred, mixing it all into the pasta and chicken carefully. The creamy, white sauce splattered as I lost my hold on the spoon, and I winced, screwing my face up as it spat at me.
Brantley laughed. “Painting…cooking…it’s all relative for you, isn’t it?”
“Shut up,” I muttered, wiping my forehead.
He leaned over and swiped his thumb along my cheekbone. “There. Now it’s all gone.”
I blushed and turned off the burner. “It’s done.” I stepped back from the stove and went back to the table.
He side-eyed me with a half-smile as he took over, pulling two plates from the cupboard closest to him.
I turned away, looking out of the window as he served it up. This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to have dinner with him—this attraction.
It was undeniable. For us both. It was the elephant in the room every time our eyes met, and it was getting harder and harder to hide my reactions whenever we touched.
The problem was, I’d screwed all my own attempts at putting distance between us. I was sitting on the wall that divided professional and personal, one leg on each side, staring down the line until it disappeared.
I had no idea what I was doing with my life.
Brantley set a plate in front of me, and I murmured a “thank you” as he took his seat.
What were we going to talk about?
Did we have anything in common? I doubted he enjoyed Friends re-runs as enthusiastically as I did, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be drawn into a conversation about sports. The last sports I watched was when I was a senior in high school, and that was only because I had a crush on the running back on our team.
