Miss Fix-It

Hell, I could still hear him zoom-zooming around the room and Brantley asking him to “Please stop zooming for a moment.”

I had a little chuckle at that. He was a different person when he was over their games—funny yet serious, and totally adorable in his frustration.

Shit.

Wait.

No.

Abort that line of thinking, Kali. That’s not going to lead anywhere. Nowhere good, anyway.

I retrieved my brushes, roller, and tray from the bathtub and went into Ellie’s room. The paint was, obviously, completely dry, but not as even as I’d have liked. The walls had been in such bad condition from bad papering and peeling paper that it was going to take more effort than I’d planned to paint it properly.

Still, I got started.

My tools and things were in a pile in the middle of the room. I opened my toolbox and pulled out a flat screwdriver to open the can of paint. I slipped it beneath the lid and pushed down, popping it open.

The bubblegum-pink was almost painful to look out, even for someone like me who liked pink, but I poured it into the tray and grabbed a roller.

I glanced at the door. There was some kind of a ruckus downstairs about who was better, princesses or superheroes.

Hmm.

That sounded like it was only a matter of time before a princess infiltrated my work.

Roller firmly in hand, I crossed the room and shut the door. Then shifted my toolbox in front of it.

There—it was now child and Brantley-proof.

Hopefully.

***

Knock, knock.

“Kawi?”

I rolled paint onto the wall.

“Kaaaawwwwiiiii?”

I gritted my teeth.

More knocks.

Quicker, endless knocks that went on until I felt like my brain was ready to explode.

“Yes?” I called. “I’m busy, Ellie.”

“I wanna see my woom.”

“It’s not done.” It had been two hours. I haven’t even done the two biggest walls yet.

“Pwease.”

Judging by the muffled huff and bang against the door, she’d slumped against it.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Making me a chocwat sammich,” she replied. “I wanna see.”

“You should go check on lunch,” I replied.

“I’m a pwincess, you know. You had to do what I say.”

Last time I checked, this was a republic, but whatever…

I set the roller in the tray, pushed my tools to the side, and opened the door.

She stood there, pouting for all it was worth, arms folded across her chest. Her tutu stuck out almost at a ninety-degree angle, and she had now adopted some plastic, backless, dress-up shoes that, in the color blue, were at odds with her pink outfit.

“Ellie,” I said softly. “I have to get my work done, okay?”

“Painting isn’t wort. It’s fun.”

“If you’re four.” I tapped her nose. “But painting rooms is part of my job. So, it’s work. Can you let me do it?”

She leaned to the side, her tiny hand gripping the doorframe. “Okay, but I don’t wanna.” She pouted and stalked off, sulking.

I dropped my head. I felt guilty, but there was no way I could have her in here. Turning back to my roller, I coated it in paint, and picked it up.

“Ellie,” I heard myself say. “Come here.”

Damn it, self.

She appeared as if by magic, a huge, hopeful grin stretched across her face. “Yeah?”

I sighed. “You can stay, but you sit quietly, and you must put on some proper clothes.”

Frowning, she stared down at herself. “Oh.”

She looked so sad, I was pretty sure she was going to change her mind about wanting to be in here with me.

“Okay,” she said after a moment of silence. “I get changed.”

I blinked, watching her as she disappeared.

A glob of paint fell off the end of my roller and hit my bare foot.

And that was reason number one why I didn’t want Ellie in the room.

I couldn’t focus for the life of me.

Another sigh escaped my lips as I turned and wiped it off my foot with my fingers. I awkwardly flicked it back into the tray, before wiping my fingers on my thigh awkwardly.

I could have gone to wash my hands in the sink, but…Actually, I had no reason for why I didn’t. Other than the risk of Ellie being in this room, alone, with paint, I was just being lazy.

“Hey—did you say Ellie could come up here with you?”

I squealed, dropping the roller. It landed smack on top of both of my feet before flipping onto the floor and coating the old wood in the teeth-gratingly sweet pink paint.

“Shit!” I turned. “Oh, crap! Is she up here?”

Brantley surveyed my feet, then the floor, then ran his eyes up my body. They lingered a little on my thighs, and I was going to believe it was because of the random pink stripes on them.

I mean, it probably was. Why was I even thinking that it wouldn’t be?

His lips pulled to one side. “No, she’s not up here. You’re all good.”

“Thank God.” I bent over and put the roller back in its tray so it could think about the mess it’d made of my feet—twice. “Yes, I did say she could come up here with me. I swear she has some freaky voodoo that sends me on a guilt trip every time she doesn’t get what she wants.”