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“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, smiling again at the thought of seeing her. It’s only been two weeks since I’ve seen her in person, but it feels like forever. She makes me feel like a teenager with a new crush. She’s all consuming.
“Two o’clock sound good? That way we can paint, change, and still get to dinner at a reasonable time.” Her voice is giddy and I feel a huge smile stretch across my face in response.
“I’ll be there.” We hang up and I feel a newfound determination to show Summer exactly what she deserves. I want to show her that I can be someone worth taking the risk for. Worth investing in. She won’t jump unless she can be sure that she has a soft place to land. I can’t blame her since she has a lot more to consider, but I hope to make the jump more enticing. Friend zone be damned.
CHAPTER 17
Summer
Saturday comes in a rush of fluttering anticipation and I’m feeling more like myself again. I’m still torn, because I know for a fact that I fell out of love with Jared a long time ago, but Emma having her parents together under one roof is a dream I’ve held on to for so long.
I also know that Ryan is right. The fact that Emma is thriving despite the split makes me hope that she really will be okay in the long run. The last thing I want to do is give her the same trauma I have. As a parent, you know you’ll never be able to protect your child from every hurt, but at the very least you don’t want to be the thing that lands them in therapy later. I shake my head. I’ve been thinking in circles over it since Wednesday, and I need to stop. I’m looking forward to today and I won’t let myself ruin it.
I’ve thrown my hair up into a messy (but hopefully cute) bun and am wearing old jean cut-offs and an oversized t-shirt that says ‘plant lady’ in a pretty font made up of different houseplants that Steph got me forever ago. Both are splattered in paint from the last time I did a home renovation project.
I’m just setting out the tarp in the living room when Ryanopens the door. At this point, he knows my habit of leaving it unlocked for guests. “Hey,” he greets behind me.
“Hey,” I throw over my shoulder, situating the tarp so it covers the furniture as well. I turn and a smile tugs at my lips when I see what he’s holding. “You brought flowers!” My heart pitter-patters like a puppy whose owner just got home after a long day at work.
He holds up his other hand, a grin on his handsome face. “And Scrabble.” He hands me the wildflower bouquet before setting the game on my dining table.
He walks over to me, looking like a calendar model for blue-collar jobs in his work pants and shirt that contours to his muscular frame, and I pull him towards me in a hug. “Thank you. No one has ever gotten me flowers unprompted. What are these for?” I squeeze him, inhaling his delectable spicy scent. His warm hands wrap around my back, with the top one going to cradle my head at the nape of my neck. Butterflies take flight in my stomach.
“Like I said, you deserve the world, Summer.” I swear I hear the unspoken words,“And I can give it to you,”but try not to read too much into it. “And I got them for you because I know you’re having a hard time right now. I wanted to cheer you up.”
He gives me another firm squeeze before loosening his grip. “So, painting. Is there anything you don’t have that we still need? I brought my usual stuff just in case,” he says. As his arms drop, and we both tip our heads back to look at the ceiling, I’m already itching to touch him again.
I work to get my mind on track and off the lines of his throat as he looks up. “I don’t think so. The only thing I didn’t have was primer, and I ran to the hardware store yesterday to grab some.”
“Oil-based?”
“Yes?” I shrug, drawing out the word.
He laughs, grabbing the can of primer from the floor. “Nope. Water-based. Be right back.” He disappears outside. I rifle through mykitchen cabinets to find a vase for the flowers. Ryan sets a new can of primer down on the floor in the living room. “Just for future reference, if you have a water stain, you want oil-based. Water-based primers will let the stain bleed through while the oil ones do a better job of holding it back.”
He shows me the can and points to the label where “oil-based” is written. “That makes sense. I didn’t really do much research,” I say sheepishly. I put the flowers in a vase with water and return to the living room.
I bend down with a paint key to open the can of primer over the tarp and pour the can into the paint tray. He grabs the roller brushes, getting them situated on the handles and hands one to me. “It took me years to learn all of this. It’s not something you would know unless you’ve had to deal with it a hundred times.” He shoots me a grin that could only be described as panty-melting. “What would you do without me?”
I meet his eye, and the bright-green color still takes my breath away. “I honestly don’t know.” After a beat, I feel as though I’ve exposed my soft underbelly, so I add, “I mean, I’d definitely still be using that bowl to catch water and potentially getting pink eye.” He laughs, but he definitely caught the undertone with the way his ears go red.
“Anyways, let’s knock this out so I can decimate you at Scrabble.” I’m trying my damndest to navigate us back to the familiar, friendly footing we’ve had the last few weeks, but his sudden flirtation is unnerving me. I read a lot of romance, but that’s mostly escapism. This real-world flirting might be the death of me.
We get all the painting done, but it takes longer than anticipated because we had to go over the entire ceiling in the living room, kitchen, and down the hall. When we painted over the stain, it was a completely different color than the rest. But painting with him was a fun release I wasn’t expecting. We cranked up some oldies and danced and sang along. Even thoughmy neck hurts from looking straight up multiple hours in a row, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. It’s the most carefree I’ve felt in a while.
“Okay, well, I am officially sweaty and in need of a shower before we go out.” He waves a hand over himself where he is, in fact, gleaming deliciously.
I swallow around my suddenly dry throat and say, “Yeah, me too.”
We’re sitting on the tarp in the center of the kitchen so we don’t get paint on any of the furniture. Ryan leans in and my breath catches as the air around us hums with the static of longing. He takes his thumb and rubs it along my cheekbone like the strike of a match.
“Paint,” he murmurs before removing his hand, making the air breathable again.
“Even more reason to shower. Little Ravenna’s is pretty casual, but not so casual that we can walk in sweaty and paint-splattered,” I say. I stand, wiping my hands on the seat of my shorts.
“I’m going to head home to shower and change. I’m only a couple minutes away, so I’ll be back soon,” he says, standing as well. We take a quick second to clean up the tarp and paint supplies before he heads out the door. “Lock this,” he says, pointing at the door on his way out.
“You know I won’t when you’re just coming right back,” I say sweetly. I hear him grumble something that sounds like “insufferable woman” before he waves and heads to his truck.
