“Yup, email or text?”
“Whatever’s easier for you.”
“Text then, please.”
“Awesome. Found it, I’m sending it to you now.”
My phone pings, and I check to make sure it’s from my brother. “Perfect! Thanks, Donny, you’re the best!”
“No problem. Make sure you have drop cloths to cover the floor.”
“Will do!” I end the call, pull up the message from Van, and step toward the paint desk, but I stop when I notice a man standing with his back to me.
A very tall, very broad man wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans. My gaze drops all the way down to his work boots and slowly climbs back up, pausing to admire his very nice butt, and then up higher, where I can appreciate the defined muscles under his shirt.
“Hey, Chloe, how’s your morning going?” His deep voice is familiar.
“Oh, hey. I’m good. How about you?” I glance up to see the girl tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling shyly up at him.
The man with the nice butt leans on the counter. “Can’t complain, really. How’s Charlie doing these days? He loving college?”
“I think he’d love it more if he could live on campus instead of having to commute,” she says with a laugh.
“Not quite as fun when you’re still living at home with your parents, huh?” he replies.
She shakes her head and bites her lip. “I’m applying out of state, but I’ll need all kinds of scholarships to be able to afford it, so I guess we’ll see.”
“You’re a smart girl, Chloe. I have faith you can make it happen.”
The way she ducks her head makes me wonder what his expression must be. “I hope so. I have trig and physics this semester, and I’m managing to keep my average above a 4.0, so cross your fingers for me.”
He holds up a giant hand and laps his middle finger over his pointer. “I don’t think you need any luck, but I’ll keep ’em crossed.”
“Thanks. Anyway, enough about boring high school classes. What can I do for you this morning, Aaron?” She’s all blushes and nervous lip biting.
I swallow down an annoyed sound when I realize this super-friendly, somewhat flirty guy whose butt I’ve been ogling is the same guy who was a grump with me. I’d think her reaction to him was cute if he hadn’t been so cold. Okay, it’s still cute that she’s smitten. And I get to see how he is around people he actually seems to like.
He holds up a pair of fingers. “I need two five-gallon buckets of primer.”
“Oh, wow. That’s a whole lot of primer. Must be a big job.”
“It’s for one of the places on the other side of the lake.” I can almost hear his eye roll. “Someone had the stellar idea to paint their entire living room canary yellow, and obviously they’re having remorse about that.”
“I remember filling the order for that job!” She leans on the counter, eyes wide. “I thought it was for road painting or something! Did the Haver brothers paint that?”
“That they did.”
“What color are they going to paint it now?”
“Decorator’s white. I think they burned their retinas with that yellow. I wore antiglare sunglasses, and I still feel like I’ve been staring directly into a solar eclipse.”
“You want me to get a five-gallon bucket of that ready for you too?” Chloe asks.
Aaron gives his head a shake. “Nah, there’s a good chance they’ll change their mind again. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to repaint rooms for them.”
“Must be nice to have all that money to throw around on frivolous things like paint, huh? My mom thought sunset peach would be a great color for the living room and hated it the second it went on the walls, but they’ve been that color since I was in middle school. After a while you stop seeing it, don’tcha?”
“I’m not sure canary yellow is ever something you can get used to, but I’ll take your word for it on the sunset peach.”
It’s embarrassing to realize I’ve done that before—had a room painted only to change my mind once it was finished and then had it repainted right away. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I haven’t been able to secure a job or even an interview today, because I look too much like the people they’re talking about.
Chloe glances over Aaron’s shoulder at me. “Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. You get the information you need?”
“I sure did!”
At the sound of my voice Aaron’s shoulders tense, which makes the muscles under his shirt flex. I’d be able to appreciate the view a heck of a lot more if the reaction I incited weren’t a full-body cringe.
I fight the urge to shrink like a wilted flower. I used to do that when I was younger. One of the things I’ve learned to do when I feel insecure is to smile brighter and stand up straighter. Never let anyone see your weaknesses. It’s okay to have them, as long as no one knows what they are; otherwise they can use them against you. Like Troy did. And Portia, and to some extent my younger brother, Bradley.
“Great. Just give me a minute, and I’ll help get you set up,” Chloe says.
“No rush, thanks.”
“For sure.” She rounds the counter. “I’ll be right back with that primer, Aaron.”
“Sure thing,” Aaron says with a smile.
Chloe skirts around the counter and walks toward the back of the store, leaving us alone at the paint desk.
I take a step forward until I’m standing next to Aaron. The hairs on his arm rise, and he tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. I nudge him with my elbow. “Hi, Aaron, fancy meeting you here.”
He slowly, oh so slowly looks my way. His expression is remote. He blinks once, twice.
“Teagan, Van’s sister.”
“Yeah. I remember.” His gaze moves over me, another slow sweep. But it’s not the kind I associate with someone checking me out or appreciating my excellent fashion sense; it’s more the kind someone gives you when they wish you would disappear. “What’re you doing here?”
“Getting some paint for the loft so I can start decorating it.”
“Why would you be doing that if you’re only here for the weekend?”
“To give it some personality.” He doesn’t need to know about my plan to move here. Which won’t happen if I can’t get a job.
He glances at the paint swatches and the patterned wallpaper samples. His eyebrow lifts. “Bold choices. Might want to consider picking up some primer in case you have regrets.”
“Thanks, but I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t look like a professional painter.”
I wave a hand around. “Not the painting part, but how hard can it be? It’s just rolling paint on walls. I mean the decorating stuff.” I was responsible for decorating my dad’s house when we moved in, mostly because we couldn’t afford an interior designer and a lot of our furniture was too big for the space. We had to sell it and buy new stuff. That was the fun part. Not the selling—that sucked—but the picking stuff that fit the space and a budget.