“Thanks, Lauren.” He tugged gently on our joined hands and I tumbled into his arms.
He smelled of minty soap and snowy air, a freshness that made me breathe him in. I was in no hurry to get free, so I tucked my face against his neck and shivered each time he exhaled into my hair. Maybe he thought it was weird that I didn’t just thump him on the back a few times, but the last time he held me this way, I was sobbing too hard to enjoy it. This time I registered the strength of his chest and arms, his fierce, protective heat. Once Rob came down on your side, he never wavered. His hands were gentle as he stroked my back; each pass lit me up with more tingles.
I never saw him touch his sister like this.
Though I’d be happy to do this all day, we had work to do. So I sat back and curved my hand against his cheek, not something I’d have done before this talk, but we were closer now. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Rob said in apparent surprise. Then he pulled my palm down so it was open, facing up, and with one fingertip, he traced a curve. “You...” Then he repeated the motion on the other side, joining the invisible lines. “Are good for me.”
As he released me, and I curled my fingers instinctively, I realized he’d drawn a heart on my hand. Flustered, I tried to downplay my role in this conversation. “Avery wasn’t right for you. Anyone who cares would say the same.”
“Not everyone sees me like you do,” he answered.
Tiny shivers washed over me as I replayed how good it felt in his arms. “Their loss.”
Our eyes met for a long moment. I fell into the deep blue, briefly veiled by the thick fringe of his lashes when he blinked. His jaw was lightly stubbled, his mouth soft with the hint of a smile. I wished for some kind of secret message hidden in this silence, but it was enough that Rob seemed to be in a better mood; I considered cheering him up for a job well done.
“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat. “Ready to get to work?”
When we got to Rob’s place, the dining-room floor was ready to be stained. He must’ve been up half the night, completing preparations, but he didn’t reveal any hint of how exhausted he must be. That was when I realized fully how much he’d mastered the calm facade—to protect his privacy and keep the world at bay. People made the mistake of thinking he didn’t feel much, but it wasn’t that way at all. Everything was just hidden like a deep, deep well, and then sealed shut with an iron lid. Wistfully, I wondered what it would be like if he let me in. In retrospect, my crush seemed embarrassingly juvenile, based mostly on, OMG, he’s so hot. But there was so much more to him. Because after getting to know him better, I was falling hard. I couldn’t write it off as infatuation; these feelings were real.
He seemed oblivious to my inner turmoil. More cheerful now, he showed me the proper way to apply the stain. I was surprised when he damped the wood with meticulous care. At my puzzled look, he clarified, “It’s the best way to make sure the stain soaks in. I’m glad you’re here, this is actually a two-person job. I’ll apply the stain, then you go behind me and wipe it off.”
That seemed counterintuitive, but he was the pro, and it wasn’t like I minded working so close. At some point, I needed to back off, invent a reason why I couldn’t see him every day, but I wasn’t heartless enough to do it the day after he broke up with his girlfriend. With luck, I’d get the receptionist job, solving this dilemma without any need for complicated machinations.
By the time we finished the first coat, I was incredibly sticky. No euphemisms, I just wasn’t as tidy as Rob. Fortunately, he’d foreseen that we needed an exit strategy, and we finished on the side by the living room, not the far wall.
He laughed when he saw I’d managed to smear it on my shirt. “That probably won’t come out.”
“It’s well worth the sacrifice.” The floor looked fantastic, a smooth shade of golden oak that brightened the space. “Does it need another coat?”
“I don’t want it darker, so I’ll probably do a satin finish seal next.”
I nodded, like I completely understood what he was talking about. “What color for the dining room?”
“White ceiling and baseboards. I haven’t decided on the walls yet.”
“Lemon-yellow would be pretty.” But that might be too girly.
“Come with me to pick out the paint...I’m not much of a color guy. You could probably guess that from the tan bedroom.”
Maybe I was reading too much into this, but it seemed too personal to help him decorate, like imprinting myself permanently on his house. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. I trust you.”
Nothing he could’ve said would have made me happier. “Then I’m in.”
Before we ate lunch, he sent me upstairs with special solvent to clean up. It was no wonder he’d snickered; I was a mess. I yelled down the stairs, “Do you mind if I shower?”
“Go ahead,” he called back.
I’d used the bathroom before. Like his bedroom, it was finished, remodeled in blue and white tile. The space didn’t have much character, but the workmanship was sound. He needed some fluffy bath mats and pictures on the walls, maybe some candles and good-smelling soap. But he’d said decorating wasn’t really his thing. His house would be simple when he finished, waiting for some woman to add the finishing touches. A pang went through me, so sharp I couldn’t meet my own eyes in the mirror.
I used the chemicals on my hands to remove the stain, then I soaped them, rinsing the stuff off my skin. Afterward, I hopped in the bath to wash up quickly. It gave me a silly, illicit thrill to use Rob’s soap and shampoo, but I shut those feelings down fast. Rob needed time to get over Avery, and in his eyes I was still just a supportive friend.
Fifteen minutes later, I came out with wet hair; not my hottest look, but I felt much better. This wasn’t the normal way to attract a guy—I knew that—but Rob wasn’t the type to be drawn by cleavage shirts, fancy hair or makeup. It seemed like only honesty could pull him.
Rob had BLTs and potato salad waiting down the hall in his room. Taking the plate, I settled in the chair beside him with a happy sigh. “I eat better here than I do at home.”
“My mom made the salad. She thinks I’m living on ramen.”
“The woman doesn’t give you enough credit,” I said absently. “Nobody does.”
He shot me a shy, pleased smile, and his response came out soft, hesitant. “I...like hearing that.”