Page 89 of How to Love Your Neighbor
“Is there anything you can’t do well?” He put his hands to his hips, studying the painting.
She had a whole list of things she couldn’t do at all, never mind well. But she liked the way he viewed her. It made her want to see herself that way.
“You like it?”
He turned to meet her gaze. “It’s beautiful. It feels alive. This is what that quote means. It’s the perfect quote to describe you.”
Grace’s features crinkled. “What quote?”
“The one you were looking at out front. It’s what you make others see. You make me see things I never imagined, Grace.”
She sucked in a breath, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze. This was the kind of moment that could change a person. Depending on what action she took, she’d look back at these seconds as the ones that determined her path with Noah.All in one hundred percent, take no prisoners, leave me the tattered remains of my heart when you go. Or door number two: Let’s have some fun, tread lightly on each other’s emotions, remember me fondly when we part.
When he didn’t make a move, she went for door number two. Lifting her hand, she painted a strip of dark blue all the way down the front of his shirt. His jaw dropped, almost in slow motion, then he looked down.
Grace bit her lip to keep from giggling. When his gaze met hers again, she was pretty sure he could see right through her expression, so she offered, “Oops?”
“Really? ‘Oops’?”
“My bad?” She smiled, took a step back as he took one forward.
“Oh, Grace.”
She knew she should be worried by the gleam in his eye, the purpose in his step, and the fact that he’d grown up with siblings so he surpassed her abilities in this area. Instead, worry and intensity fled, leaving her with a bubbly joyous feeling. She sprinted around the tray station, squealing when he didn’t evenchase her but instead went the other way, cutting her off. The music switched to a heavier tempo as she all but crashed into his chest. He slipped the brush from her hand with an ease she didn’t have time to admire.
Squirming to get away from the brush, she arched her back over his forearm, which was wrapped around her body.
“Where you going, Gracie?” The brush dabbed her nose. “Oops.”
She laughed even as she reached out her arm to slide her fingers through the palette he’d left on the trolley. She swiped a blur of colors down his cheek.
“Back at you.”
Noah dropped the brush, pressed his hand into a tray of paints, and cupped her cheek. “You’re so cute,” he said, his eyes wide with mischief while his grip squeezed her cheek, making her laugh harder.
Grace turned in his arms, reached out to pick up a tray that had smears of red, orange, and yellow. Noah tightened his grip so she was basically back to his front but curled over. Her ribs hurt from the position combined with the uncontrollable laughter.
“Don’t do it, Grace. Call a truce.”
“Okay,” she said, breathing heavily.
His grip tightened. “For real?”
“Yes. Yes. Truce. Here, see?” she said, setting down the supplies.
Noah loosened his grip by degrees. Grace turned in one quick motion, grabbed the bottle of red that he’d left open, and pressed the plastic so a stream of paint shot all over his T-shirt.
When she went to run, she slipped on the rubber mat, dropping the paint.
“Shit, are you okay?” Noah came down after her, realized she was army-crawling to the paint, grabbed her leg, and yanked her closer. “No, you don’t.”
His longer arms won out, letting him snag the bottle. He rolled them, half pinning her under his large, sexy, slightly sweaty, definitely messy frame.
“Oh. What have we here?” He grinned like the damn Cheshire cat, holding the bottle above her head.
“You wouldn’t. Remember, you know how to treat a girl,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically.
“That’s true. Treat her like she treats you,” he said, squirting out a blob of paint onto her chin. “You got something right there.”
