“Sounds easy enough, and I’m a pro at highlights, so this can’t be much different.”
“Not sure coloring someone’s hair and painting a wall are the same, but I guess we’ll find out.” He grins. I grin back, then watch what he does before I start on the other side of the kitchen. “Did you let your family know I’m coming to dinner?”
I bite my lip hard at the reminder he’s coming to my parents’ house with me this evening. “Not yet, but I’ll let my mom know after we’re done here.”
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
I stop painting so I can turn to look at him. “She cooks for an army. I always end up taking home leftovers. Plus, she loves feeding people. She’ll be happy to have another person to push food on.”
“Your mom sounds like my mom. Being southern, she thinks of food as love.”
“It kind of is, isn’t it?” I go back to painting. “My parents’ kitchen was where we congregated when I was growing up. It was where we talked, where we spent time together, even when we were all busy doing our own thing. It’s where we got advice when we had a problem, or just spent time laughing. Most of our time together as a family was spent over a meal or while preparing one.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” I say smugly.
“You’re a woman, so I guess you probably think that’s true.” Even though I’m not looking at him, I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Word of advice: you might not want to annoy me when I have a paintbrush in my hand,” I warn, and he chuckles.
“Just speaking from experience. I have a mom and a sister who are always right, even when they aren’t.”
“Whatever,” I mumble.
We’re both silent while we work, and I’m just about to ask him to turn on the radio when he asks, “What are your plans next Sunday?”
I pause to put more paint on my brush and look at him. “I’m off, but I have my nephews for the weekend. We’ll probably spend most of the time playing video games and eating all the junk food their parents won’t let them have but I do.” He raises a brow. “Don’t judge me. I’m trying to keep the title of the cool aunt.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, my oldest nephew, Owen, is seven, and he’s obsessed with anything to do with the ocean, so I might take him and his brother, Isaac, to the aquarium on Sunday. You’re more than welcome to join us.” Crap, there goes my mouth again, using words before asking me if they’re okay to come out. “I mean, if you don’t have plans already.”
“No plans—count me in.”
“Cool, it’s a date. I mean, we’ve got plans.”
He starts to laugh, and I have the urge to flick paint at him. I don’t, because so far I haven’t made a mess and I’m really trying to be neat.
“Can I ask something?” He breaks the silence that’s settled between us once more.
“Sure.” I shrug.
“Why the fuck don’t you have a man?”
“Why don’t you? I mean, a girlfriend.” My stomach drops suddenly. “Unless you do.”
“I don’t.” The statement is firm. “As to why not, I just hadn’t found anyone worth pursuing.” Should I read into him saying hadn’t instead of haven’t? No, I probably shouldn’t. “Now you.”
“Same. Well, kinda, anyway. I don’t want to chase anyone. I’ve done that before, and it hasn’t worked out, and I don’t want to keep someone who doesn’t want to be kept. Nowadays, it feels like the men I’ve met don’t actually know what they want. I’m thirty-three. I’m not saying I’m old, but I’m over the game playing and mixed messages. I’d rather be single than deal with all the confusion that comes along with a relationship.”
“I get that,” he says, and since I’m not looking at him, I can’t read his expression.
We paint and chat, and before I know it, my part of the job is done, and I didn’t get paint anywhere I wasn’t supposed to. While he uses the roller brush to finish the job, I go into the living room and sit on the couch with Bruce.
“It looks good.” I stand to survey the room while he washes the paintbrushes.
He looks around. “You did good. I might ask you to help me out with my bathroom next.”
“Will there be french toast?”
“I’ll make you french toast anytime you want it.”
I don’t have a comeback or want to get my hopes up, so I look at the clock on the front of the oven. “Since we’re done, I’m going to head home to go shower. I’ll be back here after I’m ready, if that works for you.”
“I’ll walk you over.”
“I can make it across our yards without an escort.” I roll my eyes at him.