Marriage For One

“Maybe I have other things I need to get done here.”

“Then I’ll help with them too.” I thought that was uncharacteristically sweet of him—annoying, but in a sweet sort of way.

“I don’t need—” Another quick glance from him had the words dying on my lips.

“You look awful.” He gave me his back while I was still staring at him in shock. “Didn’t you like how the professionals painted it?” he asked.

Maybe he wasn’t so sweet after all, just plain old rude. To be honest, that comment hurt a little. “Thank you. I tried my best to look awful today—glad to hear it worked. Although, if I had known you were coming, I would’ve tried harder. Also, what professionals are you talking about? I’m painting the place myself.”

That confession earned me another indecipherable look, this one longer.

“Why?”

“Because I have a budget and I can’t blow it on things I can easily do myself. Does it look bad or something?” I narrowed my eyes and looked at the wall more carefully. “Do you still see that damn red underneath?”

The roller stopped moving for two seconds, but then he continued painting. “No. Considering you painted it on your own, it looks fine. Is this the only wall you’ll be painting?” he asked, his voice tighter.

“No. Tomorrow I’m starting on the rest of the place. I was only going to do one more coat for the green then call it a day.”

I moved forward, grabbed the small paintbrush, and dipped it in the paint bucket that was sitting at the end of the counter. “I’ll do the edges—it’ll go quicker.”

“No,” he replied in a clipped tone, blocking me. “You look like you’re about to keel over. I said I’ll get it done.” Without touching me, he pried the brush out of my hand.

“You don’t know how I want it done,” I protested, trying to take the brush back.

“I think it’s a pretty straightforward process, wouldn’t you agree? Sit down before you—”

“Keel over. I got it.”

It was tempting to stand upright the whole time as he painted my wall, but he was right—if I didn’t sit my ass down, I was about ready to pass out. Since the chairs hadn’t arrived yet, the only thing I could sit on was an old stool I had found in the back room and had cleaned just that morning.

After a few minutes of quiet where the only sounds you could hear were the traffic outside and the wet sounds of the paint roller, I couldn’t take it. “Thank you for helping, but Mr. Hawth—”

He stopped and turned around. Even with a paint roller in his hand, he looked attractive, not that it was any of my business. An attractive jerk didn’t hold much appeal.

“Jack,” he said quietly. “You need to call me Jack.”

I sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It…it still feels weird. I just wanted to say that I can’t stay in your apartment, not tonight,” I added quickly. “I’m really tired and I need to go home, shower, and…it really isn’t the best time for me to pack and move my clothes. Give me a week and I’ll—”

“Do you want to stay married?” Nonchalantly, he leaned down and dipped the roller into more paint. I didn’t reply; it wasn’t necessary—he knew the answer. He got back to painting and spoke toward the wall. “Good. We’ll go to your apartment and I’ll wait for you to grab a bag. If you don’t want your cousin to create problems down the road, you need to get rid of the apartment as soon as you can.”

I gritted my teeth. I knew he was right, but that didn’t mean I liked what he was saying. I still thought letting him know my thought on the matter was a good idea. “I don’t like this.”

That got him to look at me. “Really? I’m so surprised to hear that. And here I was having the time of my life.”

My lips twitched, but his face was unreadable—as always. I shook my head. “I’m glad I was able to provide that for you, and I know you’re right. It’s just that…I have a million things to do here in the upcoming days, and packing my stuff on top of all those things…I’m not sure I’ll have the energy. So, since I’d be more comfortable in my own space, how about I’ll keep paying my rent at least for another month or so and go back and forth while I’m working on the coffee shop and move slowly—”

“That’s not gonna work. You can pack whatever you’ll need for a few days, and I’ll send some people back to your apartment to pack your furniture.”

Send some people? What the hell was he talking about?

“I… The furniture isn’t mine. It’s a one-room studio apartment, a very small one. All it has is a Murphy bed, a small couch, and a coffee table, basically, and none of it is mine. Also, I don’t need someone else to pack my stuff. I’ll do it myself.”