“I got the impression that he was managing my expectations by not guaranteeing I’d get my money back,” I say. “But he seemed to indicate he thought I would. Eventually.”
Deiss nods. “Good.”
I smile tightly. “Sure.”
I don’t know how I’m supposed to last for what could be weeks or forever. It’s one thing to try to live off a credit card and whatever business I can drum up until everything is resolved. It’s another to not know if it ever will be. How am I supposed to just wake up day after day, pretending that everything is going to work out with no guarantee?
“You should paint it,” Deiss says, tilting his chin toward the room I’m staying in.
“What?” I look from him to the room and back again.
“You’re stressed about all of this, right?” He makes the claim against my mental state as casually as if he’s noting the color of my skirt （which is a lovely shade of lavender that should be making me feel better but is failing miserably）。
“It’s not my favorite situation I’ve ever been in,” I say dryly.
He shrugs and twists the bread bag back up. “I can’t picture you being comfortable in there anyway. You’re too . . .” He goes quiet.
“Too what?” I prompt, wanting to know just what it is about me, exactly, that doesn’t fit the color he’s chosen for the room he keeps his favorite things in. Am I too uptight? Too musically inadequate?
He tilts his head back and peers at me through lowered lids. “Shiny.”
Shiny. I don’t know what that means, so it certainly doesn’t warrant the flush that starts in my chest and burns up my neck and into my cheeks. I doubt it’s the compliment it sounded like. He probably means overly groomed. Or too made-up.
“Well, thank you for the offer,” I say, “but I need to go to your store and get on the laptop. I’ve got business to drum up, and I certainly don’t have money for paint at the moment.”
Deiss laughs. “You really think I’d let you pay to paint the walls in my house? If I gave you that kind of ownership, you’d start thinking you had a half stake in the remote or that you could call dibs on the washing machine.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Actually, I am calling dibs on the washing machine tonight. I had to wash a pair of panties in the sink last night just so I’d have a pair to put on today.”
His eyes drop curiously to just below my waist, like he can see through the wispy material to the silky thong beneath. Once again, I feel my cheeks go warm. I wish he’d go back to covering his face with hair, or that I could forget how his lips felt against mine. Despite the fact that my head has always been fully on board with our status as platonic friends, my skin seems to have gotten confused by all the changes.
I clear my throat to break the silence.
“Right,” he says, tugging his eyes back up. “And I’m guessing that Booker has activated your pride by declaring the laptop is his, so you’re going to insist on using it only at the shop.”
My eyes narrow in response. It’s not necessarily pride that will prevent me from taking their laptop out of the shop. I’d call it politeness. They might need it, and I’m too thoughtful to become the reason that need goes unmet.
“Which means,” he says, as if my silence is some kind of confirmation, “you won’t be working tonight because you’ll be doing laundry. So, let’s go.”
I watch him open the mostly empty fridge and toss the sandwich stuff inside.
“I don’t need to repaint the room,” I say when he turns back around.
He grabs one of my carrots and pops it in his mouth, causing me to shake my head.
“No,” I say sternly, pulling my bowl away from him. “Keep your hands away from my food. We’re not animals.”
“Speak for yourself.” He winks in a way that causes my mouth to twitch with a smile before I can tamp it down.
“And I won’t be here long enough to justify repainting the room.” I eye him as he grabs his keys off the counter. “So, thank you for the thoughtful offer, but it’s unnecessary.”
“What color do you think you’re going to pick?” He heads toward the door like I haven’t even spoken. “Is there a shade of white left, or have you used them all?”
“Oh,” I shoot back, following him out, “I think it’s too late to try to pull off chic. But if we search the indigo tones, we have a good shot at completing the rainbow.”