Accidental Shield

I do, pausing for a moment. The room looks exactly like she’d drawn it, except she’d done her sketch with pencil. The room’s bursting with color.

The walls are still covered with builder’s white paint, but the bedding, rugs, pictures, and accessories bring it to life. Damn.

The bed sits between two windows, covered with a comforter of tans, greys, and greens that match the sheer curtains hanging to the floor. It’s flanked by tables on each side, both with bamboo shaded lamps. There’s a ladder shelf near the closet, along with a monkey wood chair, and a fuck-huge chest of drawers on the other wall, plus a tall leaning mirror.

“Shit, Val. You really went all out.” I’m not just feeding her what she wants to hear. I let out a soft whistle as I really take it in, pacing the perimeter.

“Aw, shucks,” she says playfully. “You really like it, though?”

“Like it? Hell, woman, I’m in love.” I finish my rounds and nod, fully satisfied. Nothing’s too overdone. “It’s perfect.”

“Whew. Big relief. I worried I was overthinking it, and maybe you wouldn’t like it, but…check this out!” She takes great pride in pointing out the little things, the new photos of the palm leaves on the beach, the sunset portraits, different shaped throw pillows, knickknacks like tiny anchors and a leather-bound journal or two on the shelves.

“It’s everything you drew, and then some,” I say, amazed she could teleport the image in her head so clearly to my house. “I liked it then. Like it even more in the flesh.”

She grimaces slightly. “The other room isn’t exactly like I drew it. I took some liberties there. Come on.”

Val leads the way out of the room and down the hall. I follow, stepping around her as she opens the door.

I mentally prepare myself. This could be the overdone one.

I truly hadn’t paid that much attention to everything she’d picked out.

“Let’s see it,” I tell her.

“Okay. Take a deep breath.”

I fill my lungs and puff up my cheeks with this big, exaggerated breath so she laughs, then step into the room.

The air I’d been holding releases as I take it in. “Shit. I’m impressed.”

“You mean it?” she asks.

“Damn right I do.” My eyes trace over everything she’s done, clearly more eclectic and intensive than the first room.

The poster bed has white sheer curtains tied back on each post, and the bedding is white, with coral and pale-blue throw pillows. The pictures on the walls are ocean landscapes. The lamps beside the bed have tin shades, with seashell shapes cut out around the base.

Again, she’s outdone herself, making the room come alive in this quiet subtlety that hits you between the eyes when you focus.

The palm plants in the corners, the wicker trunk at the foot of the bed, a bench beneath one window, with a bookcase beside it…seems like it belongs here. Every last bit of it, and it’s a kinder, more thoughtful touch than anything I could’ve dreamed up in a thousand years.

Along the other wall, there’s even a white dresser with an oval mirror that has faint starfish etched around the edges. “I can see why this room’s your favorite. Looks like a nice place for an artist to unwind.”

“Well, as soon as I saw this poster bed, I knew I had to change up my picture.”

“Whatever, Miss Modesty. You’re talented as hell. I’m just glad I got the works.” Smiling, I walk over, smoothing my hand over the plush, smooth comforter. “Drawing, design, and decorating. Couldn’t have done better if I’d hired a pro.”

When I look up, she’s flushed.

Her cheeks glow rosy pink, just like the day we shared that kiss. It almost stings to stick my hands in my pockets, trying to hide the insta-wood I get just seeing her. Especially when she’s at her sweetest and shyest.

“You did good, Val. Did me right.” Yeah, this is where I need to shut my fool mouth.

“Actually, I do have one small favor to ask,” she says, standing next to the trunk near our knees.

“What’s up?” I ask. She seems nervous.

“Could I maybe just…use this room? Move my stuff up here? Then I wouldn’t have to take over your bed anymore and you could have the master bedroom back.”

I consider asking if she’d be more comfortable downstairs, where she’s been, but I don’t because I already know the answer. Her eyes are twinkling.

“Consider it done. If you think you’ll be more comfortable up here, then it’s where you belong.”

A weird second of doubt flicks through me.

Hell, I should be happy she’s moving out of my room, giving up my bed, but somehow, I’m just not feeling a reason to smile. It’s like a mad, screwed up part of me wants to keep her there, when I’ve got no damn right.

It’s too late, anyway.