She fidgets, still looking outside.
“We’ll drive there.” I hold my hand up. “Scout’s honor. I’ll keep you out of the sun.”
“Fine.” A slight smile spreads across her lips. “Make it thirty minutes.”
“Deal.”
After Asra leaves, I glance at my watch. I have just enough time to wash Brendan’s walls and remove all of the outlet covers. After dumping out my water bucket and refilling it with clean water, I head into his room. Sighing, I ring out my rag and get to work, even though it feels a little colder in here.
After breakfast andpicking up Asra’s dress from the dry cleaners, I pull into the parking lot for the construction store.
“What’s here?” she asks, peering at the store through her dark sunglasses.
She changed into her hat and sunglasses before we left. Paired with her ripped up jeans shorts and an oversized, over the shoulder sweater, she’s still hot as hell in that relaxed style she normally sports. That same possessive streak of seeing her in mine and Brendan’s clothes is no longer there, but I still haven’t been able to take my eyes off her all day.
“Paint.” I smile, resisting the urge to caress her bare thighs.That will only lead to other things.
“Paint?” Her eyebrows rise above the rims of her glasses.
“Yep.” I reach into the backseat and grab a few of the spare tiles from my bathroom. “I want to pick up a few gallons and start painting today, that way we can get moved all the way in sooner.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“Already did everything I can for the day.” I bop her on the nose, then unbuckle. “Want to help me pick out colors?”
Inside the store, we head straight to the paint section. I stop in front of the paint chips and hold up my tiles.
“What colors are you looking for?” She hooks her sunglasses on the collar of her shirt, pulling it dangerously low.
I try not to notice, or stare. “Um, a light gray for my bedroom. I’d like it to match the bathroom if I can find one close. Either that or something in the same family.”
“Why don’t you just have them use their little scanny thing and match it?”
“Never really works.” I shake my head, holding up the pale gray, rectangular tile with a wave texture for her to see. “If they use their scanner, it will most likely pick up a shadow or highlight on the tile and won’t match right. Plus, custom colors are almost impossible to recreate. If I need more one day, it won’t be the same shade.”
I select a cool gray chip while she slowly nods her head.
Great, I shared too much. Now, she’ll see just how much of a perfectionist I am. It’s never a great trait. That’s one quality that’s only seen as a positive by bosses and clients. But in a relationship, it’s usually the end all, the excuse for why ‘it’s just not going to work.’ I run my free hand through my hair, trying to think of something to say to break the awkward silence that has engulfed us, but she beats me to it.
“What color are you getting for Brendan’s room?”
“I’m not.” She looks at me sideways so I quickly clarify. “There’s no way I’m picking out a color for him. Even if he were to pick the same exact color, I’d never hear the end of it. He’ll choose his own probably after work today or tomorrow.” It’s the same reason I didn’t even think about hiring a tile guy. If there was one tile that was even a millimeter off, he’d complain about it for years and we’d end up pulling it all off and redoing it all. I may be more open about being a perfectionist than Brendan, but there are some things he’s pickier about than I am.
“So . . . Is that all you need?”
“No, um,” I glance around at all the chips, “I need something for the living room.” Bedrooms, bathrooms, closets, and living room, then we can start moving in. After we get everything out of the dining room, I’ll worry about that room. And my office can wait a few more weeks.
Her eyes follow mine. “So what are you thinking?”
“Yeah, I don’t know exactly. Something bright.” I take in all the colors again. “I want it to feel light and airy, like the beach.” There’s no sense in having a beach house if it doesn’t feel like a beach house.
“Hmm,” she bites her bottom lip before selecting a few, “what about a pale yellow? Nothing’s brighter than the sun.”
“No. Too bold.”
“Okay.” She holds up another color. “What about sand?”
“It looks too much like khaki. Too boring. Brendan would hate it.”