“Nope. Not once.”
“Why would you, I guess. You’re doing fine.”
She smiled and dipped the roller in the paint tray.
I didn’t know how she was still so damn happy. We hadn’t caught her stalker and it was only a matter of time before he struck again. There was no doubt in my mind he was behind the call to her boss. The fucker had hit her car, vandalized her house, and now he was trying to get her fired.
Yet there she was, humming to herself while she painted a bedroom.
I wasn’t so calm.
In fact, I was seething. I was mad on her behalf, but there was nothing I could do. Garrett said they were following up on everything, including who might have contacted Lou. But I was getting awfully tired of waiting for the cops to do their job.
Tired of feeling like I was chained up, being held back from taking care of this myself.
Not that I knew what I’d do, exactly. But it wouldn’t have been painting a stupid wall.
“Do you think Max is okay?” I asked.
We’d left him next door since there was a one hundred percent chance that he’d walk through the paint trays and we’d spend the rest of the day cleaning up dog footprints.
She pulled out her phone and checked the time. “We should probably wrap it up sooner rather than later.”
The paint was going on easily and we were almost done, which was good news because the carpet guys would be here in the morning. My tile guy was still out sick, but he planned to be here over the weekend so he could get caught up. That meant the vanities could go in the bathrooms later next week. Not quite on schedule, but close. And close was as good as it got in this business.
Audrey had picked the vanities. They weren’t identical to the kitchen cabinets, but had a similar vibe. I’d also had her pick the tile for all three bathrooms, as well as the lights and fixtures. I was basically designing the house to her taste, rather than erring on the side of neutral like I usually would for a rental. Maybe it wasn’t the best business decision, but there was something about seeing her vision for the house come to life that I liked.
Plus, she had good taste.
“We’re almost done anyway. Do you feel like going out after this, or staying in? I was thinking we could get a drink at the Timberbeast.”
“I like that idea.” She smiled. “But do you mind if I invite Marigold? We don’t have concrete plans, but we did talk about hanging out tonight.”
“Sure.”
She moved closer, popped up on her tiptoes, and kissed me. “Thank you.”
“I’ll finish up here if you want to go shower.”
“Am I dirty?”
I set the roller on the edge of the paint tray so I could hook an arm around her waist and drag her against me. “You’re covered in paint splatters.”
“Oops.”
“You did a good job but you made a mess.” I leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep. Her mouth was soft and warm against mine.
So good.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said.
“Don’t be. I just hope you planned on those being your permanent painting clothes.”
“They are now.” She smiled again.
Damn, that woman. Her smile was going to be the death of me. I dipped my mouth to hers and kissed her again, indulging in her taste.
I managed to let her go without ripping her clothes off. But only just. I finished the last part of the wall and cleaned up while she went next door to take Max outside. Concern pressed at me as soon as she left. I didn’t like it when she was out of my sight. So far, the stalker hadn’t attempted to hurt her directly. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
A peek out the window reassured me. She was wandering behind Max while he sniffed the yard. I waited until he did his business and they both went inside.
Cleaning up after a day of painting always took forever. I got everything washed out and put away in the garage, then went next door to get myself cleaned up so we could go out.
I was glad she’d agreed to a drink at the Timberbeast. I was too restless to stay in. Painting was physical enough work, it should have helped me burn off some of my excess energy. But it hadn’t. I hated feeling so useless. Like her stalker could do whatever he wanted and I had no way to answer back.
I kind of hoped he’d be at the bar—finally show himself in public. Then I could give him what he deserved.
The noise of voices and music spilled out into the parking lot when I opened the door. At a glance, it looked crowded but not packed. I could live with that. At least it wasn’t karaoke night.