Page 46 of Make it Real
“I can’t wait to move into a new house. Start from scratch, where every room has endless possibilities, and I can turn it into anything I want.”
“You and June must get along great.” I closed my eyes again, letting the heat of the day relax my muscles. Probably not a good idea to get used to siestas during harvest, but I had a few minutes to spare.
“I haven’t asked her that much about decorating yet. I don’t want her to think I’m weird.”
I rolled to face her and laid my head on my bicep. “She wouldn’t think you’re weird, she’d be glad to talk to someone as enthusiastic about houses as she is.”
She ran a hand over the plaid blanket between us. “Maybe.”
“What would you do if you had a house to decorate from the bare bones?”
Sunlight dappled over Callie’s bright smile. “I’d go bold. Color everywhere, rich jewel tones on the walls and furniture. Big patterns. Maybe some really striking wallpaper in a powder room or something. Not anything too busy or hectic, but definitely no beige or gray.”
I closed my eyes again. “I like that for you.”
Bright, bold colors suited her.
“What’s your house like?” she asked.
“All beige and gray.”
She laughed. “I don’t believe you. You’re not a beige kind of guy.”
My eyes popped open. “No? I’ve been told I’m quite drab.”
“You’re such a liar. Nobody sees you and thinks drab.”
I could say the same about her. Still couldn’t understand how she’d flown this far under the radar in town, even if the selfish side of me was glad of it. From her dark brown eyes that noticed everything to her soft, full lips, every part of her appealed on a visceral level. The deeper parts—her endless optimism, her infectious enthusiasm, her genuine love of life—well, let’s just say, a guy could fall pretty hard for Callie Matheson.
“It’s unfair, really,” she said. “You’re so good-looking, it’s just gross.”
I blew out a laugh. “You sure know how to give a compliment.”
“It’s true, though. Your hair looks good no matter how messy it is. Your eyebrows are stupidly thick.”
She ran a finger over one eyebrow, and I struggled not to lean into that small touch.
“Your eyelashes are the whole reason mascara was invented. Your jawline is romance-novel perfect.” She lightly pinched my chin, punctuating her rundown of my features. “Your only aesthetic flaw is maybe your eyes are a little too close together.”
That earned another laugh. “My eyes are too close together?”
“I only said maybe.”
Her gaze went up to my hair, and her fingers followed, pulling through the strands in light strokes that made my stomach flip. Laying on the blanket with a few inches of nothing between us, all her casual touching could get real dangerous real quick.
“Even these gray hairs look good.”
This woman could never seem to decide if she wanted to boost my ego or crush it like a bug. I’d found a few gray hairs scattered over my temples, the first dash of salt into my pepper. Hadn’t thought anyone else had noticed yet.
“A nicer girlfriend wouldn’t have pointed them out.”
She ran her fingers through my hair again, her eyes trailing their path. “I like them.”
When she pulled her hand away to place it back on the blanket between us, I felt like I’d lost something I wanted back.
“Even scars would probably look good on you, but you don’t have a single one.”
She had no idea.
