“Absolutely not,” she says, prying open the paint can and dumping some into her tray.
“Sweetheart?” I try again as I join her.
“I’ll kill you,” she whispers and I laugh as I pick up my brush and head over to a wall.
“Honey, pumpkin, apple pie,” I ask, barely able to hold back my laugh.
“Why are pet names so awful?” Hartley asks as she starts to roll the paint onto the wall.
It’s a pretty lilac color and with the white trim, it will look light and happy in here.
“I don’t know, but most couples appear to like them,” I say with a shrug as I start to paint my own section of wall.
“What do you want me to call you then, baby?” she asks hesitantly and I laugh when she can barely say it without looking sick.
“How about Eli? It’s a nickname, but only close friends and family call me that.”
“Alright, Eli.”
My name sounds different in Hartley’s southern accent, but I find that I like it. She makes it sound sweet and even charming, instead of outdated or old fashioned.
“Is pink your favorite color?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
“It was my grandma’s. We had our own bakery all planned out when we lived back in Georgia. We were going to have light pastel pink walls and these cool old school light fixtures. We planned out everything, except the name, and I’m going to make it a reality.”
She sounds so determined and certain. It’s kind of cute.
“You miss her,” I say.
It’s a statement. I can hear the grief clear as day in her voice and you can see it in the set of her shoulders and the downward tilt to her lips.
“I wish that she was here to do this with. She was the best. She… she raised me after my mom died. She was my parent and my best friend and my biggest cheerleader. It’s been lonely doing all this by myself,” she says, looking over her shoulder at the empty bakery.
“Well, now you’re not alone. I’m here to help you.”
“At least for the next week, huh?” she says with a small smile.
“Yeah,” I say, dipping my roller into the paint once more.
We work in silence for a bit. I think Hartley is still lost in old memories of her grandma and their big plans. We finish one of the walls together and I help Hartley move the ladder and paint over to a new section.
“So, tell me about your parents. What do I need to know as your loving, devoted, girlfriend?”
“Well, my mom grew up here in Honey Peak. My dad was passing through on his way home and he stopped at the diner that my mom was waitressing at. The story goes that they took one look at each other and fell in love right then and there.”
Hartley smiles at the story and I pause my painting as she starts to climb up the ladder.
“They were married a month later and my dad moved here. They bought a little house in town and took over the Grove Trading Post from my grandpa when he retired. Then they had me a few years later.”
“So the Post is a family business then?” she asks, running her roller along the tape on the ceiling.
“Yeah, I took it over from them when I got back from college and they officially retired and moved south a few years ago.”
“So you like it here in Honey Peak then? This is where you always wanted to live?” she asks, dipping her roller into the paint once more.
“I thought about leaving when I was in college, but I like it here. I’m an outdoorsy guy, so being surrounded by the mountains and having hiking and kayaking and everything is kind of a dream come true for me. What about you? Were you sad to leave Georgia?” I ask as we finish up the second wall and head over to the third one.
“I liked Georgia, but it just wasn’t home without Grams there. I couldn’t stand to live in our apartment without her.”