by Nancy Naigle
“Got everything on the list.” He handed the large paper sack with the hardware store logo on it to her.
“Great. Can you bring me a big glass of water?” She dug through the bag and laid everything out on the tarp.
“Sure thing. Ice?”
“No. A plastic cup of tap water. For the paint.” She lifted her almost-empty beer. “I’ll stick with the beer to drink. I need to water down the paint.”
“Gotcha.”
She took a small clear plastic bucket from her box and mixed in some of the lighter blue paint.
He came back with a large plastic cup of water and two beers.
She accepted the cold beer and took a sip, then took the cup of water and tipped a small splash into the paint bucket and stirred it until she got the consistency she wanted. “This will be perfect.” She dipped the brush into the paint and then made a few long sweeping motions across the wall. The motion came with a natural ease. A comfortable rhythm.
Megan dipped a nearly dry brush into the cup of water and then softened the lines she’d just painted. Then, she stepped back and turned to Noah. “Okay, you paint everything above those blue lines with this.” She extended the cup of watered-down paint his way.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is.” He looked doubtful. “You can’t do anything I can’t fix. Trust me, if I was worried I wouldn’t let you help. Go to it.”
He sucked in a breath and picked up a brush. “Well, one thing I can promise. I’ll be faster than Mr. Owen.”
“That’s not really going to be helpful. Step it up, Buttercup.”
“Buttercup? Who you calling Buttercup?”
“You.” She tried to concentrate on her work but couldn’t help glancing his way playfully. “Chop. Chop. We’ve got to get this done quickly.”
The edge of his smile quirked upward. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a little bossy?”
Anyone? That was an understatement. She came by being bossy honestly. And was dang proud of it. “Hey, you asked for my help.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“Really? Sounds kind of like bellyaching to me.” And during all of that playful chatter, the mural was coming together, just like she’d never stopped painting. A little scary, but more comfortable than not.
“You might not play well with others,” he said under his breath.
She smiled, enjoying the banter. “Might be why I work alone.” Although he was easy to be around.
He used a large brush to start filling in the blue, and she got to work on the garage and the sign over it.
Using fat rounded block letters, the words Billy’s Garage now graced a perfect red oval in glossy white.
Megan put Noah to work on the light gray of the cinder-block garage, while she painted the bright caution-yellow curbing around the mock median near the gas pump.
Something plopped against her ball cap.
He did not just drip paint on my head, did he? She slowly looked up at the very moment he sloshed a little too much paint on his brush—again—and dripped paint right on her nose.
“Hey!” She swept the paint with her hand, the slick goop smearing under her fingers across her face. “Careful there, buddy.”
He looked down and started laughing. “Sorry.” He raised his paint cup up under the brush.
“It’s not funny.”
Nodding and grinning, he didn’t look too sorry. “It kind of is.”
She took her brush and dipped it back in her paint and dragged a bright yellow line right down his leg.
“I don’t think you know what you started. Mine was an accident.”
She stood up. Taking a ready stance. “What?” She rubbed her face on her sleeve.
He laughed, pointing at her cheek.
“Seriously? There’s still paint on my face. You deserved that.”
He thrust his brush forward and made a dot on her arm.
She retaliated with a slash of paint across his cheek, but he already had her looking like she had a case of the gray measles.
“Stop!” She twisted and zigzagged out of his way. “Okay. I’m sorry I started that.”
“At least you admit it.”
“Well, really you started it, but I didn’t let it go. But we better stop before we ruin the mural we just spent hours on.”
“You really giving in? Because you look like you’re ready to strike.”
She giggled. “Yes.” She let out a breath and cleaned out her brush.
Noah plopped down on the floor, letting out a huff. “That was fun.”
She used a paper towel to wipe as much paint off of herself as she could. “I think I need another beer,” she said. “And less help.”
“Aww, are you firing me?”
“No. You’re a good helper, I guess.”
He pulled his shirt off and found a dry spot, reached out, and smudged the paint from her cheek and her arm. “It really was an accident. The first time.”
His stomach was perfect. So perfect that she had the urge to stare, take in every ripple and the texture of the skin so she could later recreate it. But he was so close, stroking her cheek . . . softly. She took in a deep breath and swatted at his hand. “You don’t have to do that. You’re going to ruin your shirt.” Only it wasn’t his shirt she was worried about. She was having a little too much fun with this guy. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
“I don’t care. I have another one. We buy them by the case at the shop.” He dabbed at a spot of paint on the back of her leg.
His touch was strong yet gentle.
Wanting to tell him to stop, she struggled with herself because truthfully, she was enjoying his touch. But before she could win the battle of her own mind, he stopped and tossed the shirt across the room.
“Back to work,” he said.
“Now who is the bossy one?” she teased. Although having him boss her around wouldn’t be the worst job she’d ever had. She went to work, glancing back to take another look at his fit physique.
Two hours later they had the main portions of the mural filled in. All that was left was for Megan to finish some of the shading and details.
He stepped back, still watching her work. “This blows my mind. I can’t believe how fast you are.”
The easy feeling had returned. Was it that just enough time had finally passed? Or was there something about this project, maybe the purpose behind it, that made her feel one with the paints again? The edges of her mouth tickled, as she realized she was smiling. “It turned out exactly how I wanted it to. You can clean up the tarp and all of that stuff. I’ll just use my tray for the rest of the colors. I won’t make a mess. There’s only a little fine-tuning left to do.”
He stepped in closer, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to do this.” He leaned into her space. Speaking quietly. “Running into you at the hardware store was a really good thing. This is ten times better than I’d hoped.”
“I’m glad you let me be part of it.” Was he going to kiss her? She resisted pulling away.
The front door slammed open and the guys came in, hooting and hollering. “Dude. Where are you?”
He pulled back, and she turned back to the mural.
“I didn’t tell them you were coming. It’s going to be a surprise,” he said, racing to the hallway.
She wiped her sweating palms on her shorts, catching her breath from the almost-kiss just as Jackson and Ford herded Noah back into the room and crammed into the doorway.
Jackson pushed Ford out of the way. “Oh my gosh. No way.”
Megan smiled. Their reaction was all she needed.
“Amazing.”
“Did you do this? I know Noah didn’t do it.”
“I helped,” he said, looking to her for confirmation. “Didn’t I?”
“He was an excellent helper. He takes direction well.”
“That’s a first,” Ford said. “Trust me. Noah has never taken directi
on from anyone. Much less from a woman. You must have superpowers.”
“It’s true. He’s untrainable,” Jackson said. “This looks professional. I thought you made candles.”
“I do. I used to paint a little too.”
Noah grinned. “You should see the paintings in her house.”
Ford swung around and stared at Noah. “In her house?”
“Long story.” Noah’s face reddened.
“Oh I bet it is, Hot Rod,” Ford said.
“Hot Rod?” Megan looked to Noah for an explanation.
“Another long story. Shut up, Ford.” Noah’s face pinkened.
Megan enjoyed seeing him squirm, a little embarrassed, and her mind raced with possibilities of what that old nickname may have grown from. The dimple on his cheek deepened, and that was kind of cute. Cute? No. Sexy. Way sexy.
“Come on, you guys. Let’s load the bed in the room. I want to see this thing put together.”
“I’ll just finish up in here,” Megan continued to work on the mural as the guys bickered and joked around, making long work out of the short task of moving the bed into the room.
The bed looked great alongside the mural.
She stood between the painting and the bed, detailing the lines of the garage and shadowing the images. Billy would never notice the difference, but she’d know. It was her commitment to finish anything she started that wouldn’t allow her to stop at good enough.
Jackson left to get the box spring.
“We’re going to go with Jackson over to Criss Cross Farm for a cookout. You coming with us to his old stomping ground?” Ford asked Noah.
“Think I’ll pass. I’ll work on the room some more. You don’t mind giving me a ride back to the inn, do you, Megan?”
“Not at all.” Only she caught the glance between Ford and Noah when she answered. What was it between those two?
Noah grabbed Ford by the arm. “Come help me bring the dresser in. I’m going to paint it in the room so we don’t have to move it later.”
“Okay, man. Hey that hurts.”
She could hear Noah as they went down the hall saying, Hot Rod? You really had to call me Hot Rod in front of her? What the heck? Want me to tell her your nickname? Yeah. I didn’t think so.
She couldn’t help but smile. Boys were always boys. They just turned into boys in men’s bodies at some point.
Chapter Ten
Noah came back into the room with a stack of newspaper and a bag of supplies.
Megan didn’t even acknowledge him as she made tiny, wispy lines on the detailed mural.
He watched her graceful hand sweep across the page. Gentle strokes that created an image with just a few well-placed lines.
He wouldn’t mind having this same scene on a wall in his workshop. Something like that would probably cost a fortune, but it would be cool. Maybe he could talk her into coming out for a visit and doing some painting for him.
He tucked newspaper under the dresser and spread the tarp around it. Pulling a screwdriver from his back pocket, he popped the lid on the paint and stirred.
“Wow, that has a strong smell,” she commented.
“I guess I should crack a window.” He turned on the ceiling fan, and then walked over and opened a window. The heat rushed in.
“Not sure if being high or hot is worse,” she said.
“I hear ya. We’ll see how hot it gets. It won’t take long to paint this.” He went to work on the dresser, and it didn’t take long to get the first coat on.
“You know,” she said. “I think if you give it one more coat, and then we distress it a little, it’ll really look better than all shiny and new.”
“Scuff up the edges a little?”
“Yeah. We could even water down some brown paint and use it as a glaze. I mean, if you want. I don’t mean to be telling you how to do your project.”
“No. It’s a good idea. I like it.”
She smiled, making a quick movement with her shoulders. “Good.” She put her brushes in the cup of water and started closing lids and stacking things back into her box.
“You’re done?”
“I think so. Did I miss something?”
Not a thing. “No. It’s great.” But he wasn’t really ready for her to leave. “Help me with something else?”
“Sure. What ya got?”
Noah pointed to the roll of bubble wrap on top of his things. “Take a look in that for me. See what you think.”
She picked it up and reached her hand inside, looking serious. Pulling out the stack of chrome badges, her expression lightened. “Neat.” She shuffled through them. “They’re all different.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking now it may have been easier if they’d been all the same, but that’s what I had laying around. In my mind I was trying not to persuade Billy to my favorite cars, exposing him to an assortment.”
“Or a diverse addiction,” she said, joking.
“True,” he laughed. “Hadn’t considered that.” He stepped back and dabbed paint on a spot he’d missed. “Thought we might be able to use them somehow on the dresser. What do you think?”
“It goes with the theme.” She held one up and squinted, as if trying to imagine what it’d look like on the dresser.
“Think we can come up with something that doesn’t look tacky?”
“It’ll be cute. Plus they are shiny. Boys love shiny stuff. Especially chrome.”
“You trying to tell me that girls don’t?”
“I do. But I’m not most girls. Most girls are going to prefer diamonds to chrome.”
“Point taken. Different shiny. Kind of like that whole Women are from Mars; Men are from Venus thing.”
“I think you have that backwards,” she said with a grin.
“How about men are for chrome; women are for diamonds? Now that would have been a title people wouldn’t mix up. It’s way more clear.”
“Maybe you can write that book.”
“In my spare time.” He filled in another block and squatted to start another area.
“Right. We all have so much of that,” Megan said. “Although I’ll admit, a chrome ring might be kind of cool.”
“See. There’s hope. Maybe chrome is the new middle ground. Maybe I should start making some calls and start my own line of wedding rings.” Did I just use the word wedding in front of a woman? What the heck am I thinking? She’ll be humming “Wedding March” if I’m not careful.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Hard not to. You know women are a big mystery to us.” That’s right. Make it general. Not about her. Safer.
“Trust me, it goes both ways. We don’t understand y’all any better than y’all get us. We just don’t make it public knowledge. We’re better at keeping secrets.”
“Hey.”
“Hey, I wasn’t the one who told the secret about this room.”
“You tricked me into that.”
“Tricked you? Oh no. I don’t think there was anything tricky about it.” She sat cross-legged on the bed, watching him paint.
“Fine. I see how you are.”
“What are we going to do about the dresser?” She held up the VW and Mercedes badges. “With all of these?”
“Finish painting it and then I think we use the badges right down the center of each drawer. Smallest to biggest. That work?”
“Works for me.” She started organizing them in a pile by size. “Tell me, what exactly do you do at California Dreaming Restoration? Do you just gallivant around the country looking for cars to fix up?”
“First off all, I don’t gallivant. Ever. No gallivanting. No traipsing. Nothing so haphazard, I can assure you.”
“Pardon me. You know what I meant. Do you buy and fix up cars, kind of like a car flipper, or is this company just your way to write off a really expensive hobby?”
“Yes, and yes, and sometimes people gallivant over to me and ask for my services.”
“Best of both worlds, I guess. You
must stay really busy.”
“I do.” And when I get my hands on that Adventurer, it’ll probably fall into the really expensive hobby category, but worth every dollar.
“Do you have employees?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
He did a quick count in his head. Administrative, mechanics, paint and body, the core team, not including the lawyer and accountant. “About eighty.”
“Eighty?” She fumbled the VW emblem, sending it rolling across the floor.
He put out his foot to stop it, then leaned over and tossed it back to her.
She caught it midair.
“Nice catch.”
“Thanks. That’s a big company. A lot of salaries. A lot of responsibility for people’s livelihood.”
“I’m a responsible guy. Did I not mention that?” As much as she loved that car, he’d have to build her trust so that she’d want to sell it to him. Although spending time with her wasn’t really that much of a chore.
“Maybe I thought you were kidding.” She scooted off the bed and walked over to the dresser. She held the Mercedes and VW badges up to the drawers. “What do you think?”
“That’ll look good,” he said, but when she tipped her face toward his with a smile, he stalled out.
“Yeah. I like it too.” She leaned casually against the closet door. “I thought you were a small business person like me.”
“I think we have a lot in common.” He took a piece of sandpaper out of his bag and ran it lightly along some of the edges, exposing some of the brown finish below. “I also think we make a good team.”
She looked uncomfortable. He’d said too much. Hell, he wasn’t even sure where half of that had come from, but it had been a good day. A really good day. He’d never met anyone quite like her before. But then hadn’t he thought that when he’d met Jenny, later proposed, and regretted it like hell? And then Diane too. Was he really going to fall for that again?
“I think I was wrong,” she said.
He sucked in a breath. “About?”
“I don’t think the dresser needs a glaze. I like it with a little distressing on it. I think you’re about done.”