by Jenny Hale
When it was mixed pretty well, she dumped it into the paint tray and dragged her roller back and forth in the gray mixture. Even on a long pole, given her height, the roller couldn’t reach the ceiling, so she had to teeter on the ladder to get up to the top. She left a few inches between the crown molding and the wall so she wouldn’t bump the woodwork with her roller. She’d have to go back and paint that with a brush, but even at the top of the ladder, she had no idea how she’d ever reach it. She rubbed an itch on her forehead with her wrist but still managed to get paint on herself. With a sigh, she kept rolling.
After she’d painted about two-thirds of the wall, she got down off the ladder to look at it. Part of it had dried somewhat already. In the dark of night, with the glow of the chandelier, it was difficult to tell if the paint was the right color. It didn’t look right, but she had to go with it. It was the best she had, and with the snow, she’d never be able to get out and buy more.
It had taken ages and she wasn’t even finished with one wall. She’d have to paint around all the woodwork and fireplace by hand, and she was getting tired. The room smelled of paint, and it was a wreck. She’d never get it finished and decorated by tomorrow. What had she been thinking? She should have added extra time into her schedule. She could’ve had her mother watch Max more often, and gotten ahead in anticipation of something like this happening. This room was huge. It could easily take her three days to paint.
Abbey had two more rooms she planned to paint. She had lighting to rewire, new chandeliers in a few of the rooms. She wanted to replace some nicked pieces of woodwork around an ornamental accent on the ceiling that encircled the chandelier. The snow would put this entire process behind because she couldn’t possibly do it all herself. And now, as she watched the paint drying, she finally admitted to herself that it was completely the wrong color. Her watch read nearly midnight. She’d spent a hour and hadn’t even finished a wall. Tears pricked her eyes.
She took in a deep breath to try to keep herself together but it caught, and she sucked in ragged breaths instead. This project meant a lot to her. It was the first time in her life she was doing something that made her happy. She was living out her dream. It was the shot of a lifetime. If she could pull this off, people would trust her and hire her for more projects. She might even be able to open her own business one day.
She was tired. She could feel her tears surfacing. With a sniffle, she put the roller back into the paint and started again.
“How’s it going?” Nick’s voice echoed through the room.
Abbey’s frustration and exhaustion had been building with every paint stroke, and if she spoke, she’d start to cry, so she just looked at him, her lip trembling against her will.
His face flooded with concern and he walked closer to her. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, holding her breath to keep the sobs at bay.
“Tell me,” he said gently.
“The paint’s the wrong color,” she said with a sniffle. Tears were filling her eyes, blurring her vision. She felt so unprofessional, but then again, she was covered in paint and still there, doing it all alone at midnight. None of it was going according to plan at the moment. “And the painters canceled.” She took in another jagged breath and a tear escaped down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and tried to breathe to release the tension in her chest. She had to get herself together.
Nick reached over and ran his finger across her cheek. Was she still crying? She was so embarrassed.
He held up his gray finger. “You have paint all over your face,” he said with a small smile. He turned around and looked at the room. “Are you painting all the walls in here?”
“Yes.”
“And when do you need to be finished with this one?”
“Yesterday,” she said.
He looked at her, more concern on his face. Was he worried that she wouldn’t get it done? Was he second-guessing his decision to hire her?
“I know,” she said, answering her own questions. “I should have a team doing this, but the snow caused my painters to cancel on me. There’s no one but me to do it.”
“Hmm,” he said. “I understand. I’ll see what I can do.”
Without another word, he left the room. Who was he going to get to help her at midnight? Was he going to personally have the roads plowed all the way to the paint company? There was nothing his money could do to help her now. She’d have to just do it herself. She rolled her head on her shoulders and tried not to think about how tired she’d be taking care of Max tomorrow after painting all night.
Abbey opened up another can of paint and poured it into the tray. Then, she started painting again. With every stroke, she worried more and more about finishing this tonight. It was proving to be a much bigger job than it had looked, but she kept painting.
“Tell me what to do,” Nick said from the doorway. He had on a T-shirt, jeans, and bare feet. He walked over and pulled one of the rollers off the floor, ripping the plastic packaging off and putting it into the paint.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, putting her roller down and walking over to him. “You’ve hired me to do it. I’d feel terrible making you work.”
“You asked once, how would I show someone I cared if I didn’t have my money to fall back on; remember that? Well, my money won’t help us tonight. So, I’m painting with you. Because I care.” He pushed the roller back and forth, filling it with paint and put it on the wall. “Just go up and down?”
With her tears still present and a smile on her face, she nodded. “Like this,” she said, moving her roller up and down at a slight angle. “Thank you,” she said as they both started to paint.
They both painted quietly, their rollers making wet, spongy noises against the wall. Abbey noticed how much more quickly it was going with two people, not to mention that Nick’s height allowed him to cover more of the wall with his strokes. He was also able to get up near the ceiling around the crown molding that she couldn’t reach. She’d shown him how to avoid brush strokes by going around the doorframe. After a few practices there, he’d done the area by the ceiling with ease.
As they finished the last wall, Nick said, “The color isn’t that bad.” He stopped and took a step back to look at it. Abbey turned toward him and laughed.
“What?”
She laughed again at the sight of him. “You have paint on your nose.”
Nick tried to wipe it off, only smudging more across his cheek.
“Now it’s on your cheek.”
“Well, we match then. Except you have some on your forehead as well.”
She walked over to him and looked up into his eyes sweetly. Then she dragged her hand across his forehead, making a large, gray streak. “Now we match,” she said.
He took a step back, a suspicious look on his face as she bent down, pretended to cover her roller, and wiggled her fingers around in the paint. He lifted his T-shirt to wipe his face. When he did, he revealed his bare chest and waist, the sight of it causing her to drop her roller. Paint splashed up on her, dousing her shirt with gray. He laughed, clearly realizing what had happened.
“Why did you drop your roller?” he asked.
“I was finished with it,” she said, having trouble making eye contact.
“Well,” he chuckled again, obviously seeing through her answer. “Now you have paint on your neck and your face. Would you like me to wipe it off with my T-shirt?” he asked, barely able to get the words out without laughing.
She faked a serious expression and turned away from him, glad the paint was covering her blushing cheeks.
“So, is this room finished now?” he asked, changing the subject.
She turned around. “I still want to fix the woodwork in that ornament on the ceiling.”
“Where?” He tilted his head back to look up at it.
“There,” she pointed at the spot.
“I don’t see it.”
“How can you not? It’s right the
re?”
“That little break?”
“Yes.”
“No one will see that. Don’t worry yourself with it.”
“They will if they’re lying in bed.”
“They’ll be sleeping.”
“What if they aren’t? They’ll see it.”
“Where’s the bed going to go?” he asked.
“Here.” She walked over to the spot where she’d planned to place the king-sized four-poster bed. “Look.” She lay down on the drop cloth and patted the area of floor beside her. “Come lie down and look at it. It’s an eyesore.”
Nick lay down beside her, their shoulders touching, and stared at the ceiling. “Are two people really going to be sleeping like this? Like statues?”
Abbey laughed.
They stared at it for a while, and Abbey could feel the drop of her eyelids and the silence that was settling upon them. It was nearly four in the morning now, and neither of them had stopped for even a breath. She let her eyes close.
* * *
Abbey was aware of the birds outside her window and the chemical smell of paint. She tried to open her eyes but they wouldn’t budge. She was too tired. Had she slept in the bed with paint still on her? Was she ruining the sheets? She forced her eyes to open and gasped. Nick stirred under her. They were still on the floor of the bedroom. As she tried to move, she had an ache in her hip and her lower back from sleeping on the wooden floor. Nick had his arm under her neck, his hand on her shoulder, and she was lying half on top of him and half on the floor. When she attempted to sit up, her shirt pulled away from her, causing her to stop and look down.
“Morning,” he said with sleepy eyes. She wanted to take in the adorable way he was looking at her, but she was in a slight panic as her shirt pulled further down her body. His eyes slid down her neck and she wriggled down to keep him from seeing anything else.
“Our shirts are stuck together,” she said. “The paint on my shirt must have dried last night while we were sleeping.”
“One of us will have to take our shirt off then,” he said with a crooked grin.
She cut her eyes at him.
“Okay,” he chuckled. “I’ll take mine off. You aren’t holding any rollers, are you?”
“Oh, hush,” she said, trying not to smile.
He pulled his arms out of his shirt and, as she held on to hers, trying desperately to keep herself covered, he slipped his off his head. Abbey wadded it up along the front of her and crossed her arms, trying her best not to look at him sitting there in only a pair of jeans.
“Thank you again for helping me last night. I hope I didn’t pull you from your work.”
“Nope,” he said with a smile. His dark hair was messy, and he had stubble on his face.
She swallowed, trying to keep her thoughts from showing.
“I got the company.” He grinned at her. “It cost me a million more than I’d wanted it to, and a dinner with Max, but I got it. I promise to make it up to him.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she meant it.
Chapter Seventeen
Abbey was tired today, so she switched a few things on her timeline and focused on the living room. It wasn’t as big as the ballroom, but it was still quite a large space. The ceilings were high, the walls a deep brown color with oversized moldings in stark white, making the room quite bright, and she already liked the color choices, which meant no painting was required. After last night, she was glad about that. The room had a lovely brown leather sofa and two matching chairs with a big-screen television on the wall.
She added mahogany side tables with oversized lamps, magazine racks for each side of the sofa, filled with the latest copies of travel and food magazines. The sofa was full of down-filled throw pillows in reds and deep blues, providing the pop of color that it needed. She hung a painting she’d found at an art gallery online on the large, blank wall opposite the sofa. It had all the colors tied together in streaks of bright paint on a stark white background. In the corner was an empty Christmas tree. Abbey was waiting to decorate that one. She had some plans to do it in a more traditional fashion, and she’d need Max to help her with it.
She looked around at how warm and cozy this room appeared after she’d had her hands on it. The recessed lighting in the ceiling, which was on a dimmer switch, was on, so she could make the room feel like it had more lamplight instead of harsh overhead lights. She’d adjusted the lighting and put the throw on the sofa when Nick came in.
“Hi,” he said as he looked around. “Wow, you don’t stop, do you? I could hardly get a cup of coffee in this morning.”
“I’m trying to keep my schedule,” she said with a smile. “But I have a quick moment for a break. Have you come in to relax?”
He smiled. “Relax?”
“Yes. I just figured you’d come to the living room to relax for a minute. Kick your feet up. Do you usually relax in here?”
“No,” he said, running his fingers along the new side table. “I hardly ever come in here. If I’m up, I’m working.”
“What if you were stuck in this house with no computer or phone—nothing to connect you to your job—what would you do to entertain yourself?” she asked as she sat down on the sofa.
He sat down beside her. “I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.” She nudged him playfully with her shoulder and he looked down at his arm, that curiosity evident again. “What do you love?”
“I’d compose music. For piano,” he said quietly.
Abbey remembered the sound of the notes he’d played and how they’d affected her. “Really?”
“Yes.” He allowed a small smile to emerge.
“Do you have anything you’ve composed?”
“I have whole folders full from when I was younger. Before my father died.”
“Where are these folders?” This conversation had taken such an unexpected turn. Abbey knew all too well what this was like for him. She had files of decorating pictures, ideas jotted down, torn-out pages of magazines. She still had them all. Just like he still had his music.
“In my office.”
“Would you play me something that you’ve written?”
“I’ve never played for anyone before.”
“Do you like my decorating?”
Nick blinked, obviously trying to tie the question to the conversation. “Yes.”
“Do you really like it?”
“Yes.” He smiled at her.
“The way you feel about playing me your music is the way I felt when I started decorating your house. I was worried too. Play me something.” She stood up.
“We’ll wake up Max.”
“Play softly then. And he sleeps like a log. You won’t wake him.” She grabbed his hand, and she could see the immediate response in his body. He was nervous. He stood up and looked down at their hands. She twisted her fingers in his grip and intertwined hers with his. For just a moment, he rubbed her hand with his thumb and the feeling was so intimate that she worried she’d start to tremble herself.
They walked together to his office. Nick was very quiet the whole way, and she knew why. This was a big deal. He’d said he’d never played his music for anyone before. She assumed that meant his family as well. He’d never played for Caroline or his sister. He’d never played for his parents. But he was going to play for her.
As they entered the office, Nick clicked on the light and walked over to the dark wood bookshelf that spanned one entire wall. He pulled out two brown folders and set them down on top of all the papers on his desk. He opened one, revealing sheets upon sheets of papers with music notes scratched in pencil on printed lines, all stuffed inside the pockets. She could see the remnants of marks that had been erased and rewritten several times, and she imagined him at the piano, tinkering with the notes as he changed them on the page. It made her impatient to hear him play now. There was something so calming, so attractive about watching him.
He was studying the pages, turning them then
turning back, obviously deliberating on which one to play. “May I choose?” she asked.
He stopped for a moment and looked at her. He was unsure, she could tell. She looked down at the pages. The notes meant nothing to her, so she read the titles. Carefully, she thumbed through, page after page, reading them until she got to the last one: “Dreams.” The title struck her. It was perfect.
“Play this one,” she said.
He slid it out of the folder’s pocket. As he turned to leave, Nick took her hand again, but this time it was like he was holding on to her for strength. This confident, wealthy businessman needed her?
The ballroom was bright with the morning light when they entered. Abbey let go of his hand and turned on the white lights of the two Christmas trees, and the lights looked like yellow stars against the gray sky outside. They cast a glow along the floor. Nick sat down. He propped the paper up on the music stand in front of them. Abbey sat down beside him. He turned to her, a subtle smile on his lips. Then, his foot settled on one of the pedals, and he placed his fingers on the keys.
He began to play. It was quiet, gentle, like the music boxes Max had had when he was a baby. The music was so beautiful that she closed her eyes to hear it better. It sounded tinkling and smooth at the same time, the notes bouncing around together softly. She’d never heard anything like it. It reminded her of a lullaby. Just hearing it took her back to those sleepless nights she’d had, a terrified new mother, all by herself with Max when he was a baby. It reminded her of rocking him, listening to his little sucking sounds once he’d fallen asleep, the smell of his hair. Like a slideshow, she thought of the smile Max had in his crib every morning, his first steps, the smear of birthday cake on his one-year-old lips, his first hit at his baseball game—so many memories.
Without warning, she could feel the swelling of tears in her closed eyes and she sniffled. Nick hadn’t even finished playing yet, and she already wanted to hear it again. She opened her eyes and a tear escaped down her cheek. She wiped it away. Never before had she had this kind of experience, and it made her feel differently in that moment. She felt like anything was possible.
