“I’m not going to be wearing the bedroom,” I reminded him.
“No, but I plan on you being naked in there most of the time, so it will be the closest thing to clothes your skin sees in there.”
My breath caught at his smoldering words, and I suddenly didn’t care if the room was hot pink with purple polka dots.
“Orange it is,” I said quickly.
His face broke out into a smug grin. “I think we’re done for tonight.”
I nodded in agreement. “Yes, definitely.”
“Race you to the bedroom?” he challenged.
“Deal!” I yelled, taking off in a run toward the steps.
By the time we got to the top of the stairs, neither of us cared who would win.
~Garrett~
For the last three weeks, Mia and I had done nothing but paint. Mia had wanted every room a different color, and at first, I’d had serious doubts about her plan. But as we’d finished each room, the paint seemed to bring more and more vibrancy to the old house, resurrecting new life into the drab walls and bringing a renewed, fresh energy with every hue.
The house hadn’t been the only thing benefiting from the color enhancements. With every flick of the paintbrush, I’d found myself falling deeply and permanently in love with Mia. I’d never stopped loving her, even when I wanted to hate her. As the anger had melted, I had been able to turn away from the past, and I had fallen harder.
During our epic paint project, we’d painted the master bedroom a burnt orange. As soon as the paint had dried, I’d shown Mia just how serious I was about keeping her naked. I’d stripped her bare and kept her occupied in bed for almost an entire weekend.
Next, we had tackled the other two bedrooms. We’d painted them various shades of tan since Mia hadn’t decided what she wanted to do with them. The house was massive. It was the perfect size for a family, but it almost swallowed Mia whole. She had more space than she knew what to do with.
We’d moved downstairs after that, painting the kitchen a rich golden yellow that brought sunshine to the old cabinets and appliances. I couldn’t wait to take a sledgehammer to some of these walls and make her a kitchen she’d be proud of. I’d mentioned that we needed to do some major repairs in there, but she had just shaken her head and said something about one step at a time.
She’d be singing a different tune if she was the one actually cooking in there.
After the kitchen, we’d moved into the office. To protect the brand-new floor, we’d laid down wall-to-wall plastic and taped it to the floorboards. Mia was not the neatest painter, and after watching her wield her paint roller like a psychopath, I didn’t trust her not to ruin the floor.
As I stretched my aching back and yawned from the lack of sleep, I found myself grinning. I was physically exhausted from the marathon painting, but I’d never felt better.
“What are you grinning about?” Mia asked, catching me mid thought.
“Just thinking how I feel like an eighty-year-old man, but I couldn’t be happier about it.”
A tender smile touched her lips. “I don’t know why we keep staying up so late. It’s not like we’re under a deadline.”
I nodded in agreement, but I knew why we’d stayed up into the wee hours of the night, painting and talking, when we both had jobs and responsibilities the next day. We couldn’t get enough of each other.
Every new minute I had with her felt like I was erasing one I’d lost.
I hadn’t put a single hour of overtime in at work for a month. I’d managed to get my head back in the game, and I’d started getting shit done, but I wouldn’t do more than I was required to anymore. I was now officially a retired workaholic. I’d reformed to a full-time minimalist. As soon as it reached five o’clock each day, I would practically fly out of the office. I’d cook a meal for us, or we’d run out for something down the street, and then we’d be back at the house, painting. I’d edge the walls with a paintbrush and listen as she spoke. She’d roll the paint up and down the wall, paint flying everywhere, and finally talk about her life.
At last, I had a rough outline of the life she’d had after me. I could at least picture her sitting in a classroom at the small private college she’d attended in Oregon. I had a vision now of her graduating and moving to Atlanta to begin her career.
She’d told me about some of her friends and how much she missed them. I’d suggested we take a trip there and visit, but she’d immediately turned me down.
Excitedly, she’d said, It’s okay. I’d rather go do something else. We should go to the beach!
She’d opened up to me, yet I still felt she was hiding pieces of her life, and I didn’t know why.
I looked around the half-painted room with boxes piled high and a small desk in the center.
“What are you going to do with this room?” I asked.
Mia surveyed the space as she turned. “I think I’m going to finally set up that clunker of a computer I have and use it to enroll in a few courses.”
“As in college courses?”
She smiled and nodded.
“What are you going to take?” I asked, full of happy anticipation for her.
“I don’t know yet, but I know I don’t want to work in the hospital for the rest of my life, and I definitely don’t want to go back to accounting.”
“Get your teaching credential,” I said suddenly.
“What?”
“It was always your dream to teach. Don’t give up on that,” I urged.
“But what would I teach?” she asked.
“Teach music. You’d be great at that.”
“I don’t know,” she answered quietly.
She would be an amazing teacher. She was patient, encouraging, and loving. I knew the past kept her from doing what she loved, but we were learning to move on, and I wanted to see her happy.
“Oh, I’m supposed to ask you,” she said moments later. “Leah and Declan are hosting an end-of-the-summer party at their house next weekend. They wanted to know if we could go?”
I turned with my brush in hand and asked in an amused tone, “So, now that you two are chummy, I don’t even get a call?”
“Did you just use the word chummy? Maybe you weren’t too far off with that eighty-year-old comment!”
“You better take that back,” I warned, holding my paintbrush out toward her as I advanced.
She backed away and laughed. “You wouldn’t!”