Page 29 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
The pressure in my chest dissipates. “That’s exactly what I think.”
“Cool. Then we can just go back to being housemates. And friends.”
“I’d like that.”
She nods once before spinning around and padding to her bedroom. I try not to look at her ass as it sways with the movement. Because like we just agreed, we’re friends—and friends don’t check out each other’s asses.
I head out to the garage to grab a couple of hammers, a pry bar, and my recip saw and get ready for the day.
Chapter Eight
Harper
Well, damn. That went...differently than I expected.
As I brush my teeth in the master bathroom, I take a good look at myself in the mirror. Just a slight flush on my cheeks. My eyes are clear and bright. My posture’s not one bit hunched.
I’m weirdly proud of myself for keeping my composure during that awkward-as-hell discussion about our almost kiss last night. Not gonna lie, it did sting a bit to receive Lewis’s frosty reception this morning. But I can’t be all that surprised. After all,he’sthe one who backed out and ran off, disappearing into his bedroom for the second time in one day.
I was pretty stunned as I stood there on the veranda, processing what happened. But once it all soaked in, it was clear: he didn’t want to kiss me. And realizing that kind of sucked, because it always sucks to be rejected. But he’s right—it wouldn’t be the smartest thing in the world for us to kiss.
As I splash water over my face and lather my cleanser over my skin, I feel my cheeks go hot. I can’t believe I nearly jeopardized everything for a single kiss. Granted, it probably would have been one hell of a kiss, but still. It wouldn’t have been worth losing this golden opportunity to finish this remodel for free. Nothing is worth losing the chance to fix upApongBernie andApongVivian’s house in the most beautiful way.
I towel off, and when I pat moisturizer all over my face, my skin is cool to the touch. My head is clear, and my thoughts feel more focused. Last night was a fleeting moment. Today is a new day. We’re back to what we are: two people who are engaging in a mutually beneficial arrangement. Nothing more, nothing less.
When I’m dressed for the day, I walk out of my bedroom and back into the living room newly energized, ready to forget the awkward moment. I stop a few feet from where Lewis is standing, surveying the pile of tools next to his work boot–clad feet.
I clap my hands once. His eyebrows jump slightly when he looks up at me, then his expression turns amused.
I nod at him. “Let’s do this.”
“I honestly can’t tell the difference between gray-green and green-gray,” Lewis says, quirking his brow at the two color swatches I’ve painted on the living room wall.
“Seriously?” I huff out a breath and twist my neck to look at him as we stand side by side. “The gray-green one is slightly grayer. The green-gray one is slightly greener.”
“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” A deep sigh signals just how tired he is of me fixating on paint colors for the past week.
I ramble about how the sunlight can affect how bright certain paint colors appear.
Lewis nods along, slowly blinking, clearly still no more invested in one color than the other. “Choose whatever color you want, and I’ll order more paint so we can finish the living room and dining room walls,” he says.
I dart my gaze back and forth between the two squares. “It’s just so hard to decide. Green was my grandma’s favorite color, and gray was my grandpa’s favorite color. I want whatever color I choose to represent them both equally.”
Lewis’s tired expression eases slightly.
For the past week, we’ve been working on carefully ripping up the hardwood flooring in the living room and dining room. Our knees and backs are trashed from hunching and kneeling several hours in a row every day, so we’re taking a break and selecting the shade to paint over the horrible puke green Vlad’s crew painted the walls. For the past couple of hours, I’ve been working my way through paint samples I picked up from the hardware store, still nowhere closer to deciding on a color while poor Lewis patiently waits for me to decide.
One upside to all this tedious and backbreaking work? It’s distracted us from the awkwardness. We don’t have the energy to be nervous around each other while performing intense physical labor for hours every day. Now it feels like we’re just two workers on a reno crew busting our asses, ending each day completely exhausted.
“Didn’t you go through this when you renovated your house?” I ask, still glancing back and forth between the swatches.
He shrugs. “I hired a designer for that part.”
“Oh. Right.” I force a chuckle, feeling the slightest bit sheepish. Of course Lewis Prescott doesn’t obsess over paint colors. He’s a rich and famous celebrity who can afford to hire an entire staff of people to choose the most beautiful paint-color scheme, furniture, fixtures, decor, and literally anything else for his home. Listening to me go on and on must be boring him to tears.
“I’m sorry I’m being so tedious about this. You must think it’s silly.”
“I don’t think it’s silly.” He smiles. “I think it’s really sweet how thoughtful you’re being.”
