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“You look nice,” I blurt out and Hartley looks at me like I’m insane.
Where the heck did that come from? I mean, she does look pretty, but why would I say that?
“Thanks… oh! Is this practice for next week? I guess it would be a good idea to start getting to know each other and acting like a couple before we have to do it for an audience next week.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was doing.”
Hartley nods, her eyes scanning over my body. I’ve got a pair of gray sweatpants on and an old college t-shirt.
“You look nice too. Sorry—handsome. I like your sweatpants,” she says with a flirty smile and a wink, and I wonder if I’ve entered a different dimension.
“Uh, thanks.”
Hartley laughs, like she’s in on a joke that I’m just not getting.
“So, I already taped off the whole place and I’ve got all of the supplies ready for us.”
I trail after her as we head into the kitchen and I see everything set out on the counter. She has tarps and other coverings on the floor, so I head over and grab a roller and pan off the counter.
“Where are we starting?” I ask.
“Out in the main area. I think we’ll have to do two coats out there, so we should start there.”
“Sounds good. Lead the way, dear,” I say, adding a too-big smile to the pet name.
“Don’t call me dear,” she says as she grabs her own paint roller and leads the way out into the main area.
“How about baby?” I try.
“Absolutely not,” she says, prying open the paint can and dumping some into her tray.
“Sweetheart?” I try again as I join her.
“I’ll kill you,” she whispers and I laugh as I pick up my brush and head over to a wall.
“Honey, pumpkin, apple pie,” I ask, barely able to hold back my laugh.
“Why are pet names so awful?” Hartley asks as she starts to roll the paint onto the wall.
It’s a pretty lilac color and with the white trim, it will look light and happy in here.
“I don’t know, but most couples appear to like them,” I say with a shrug as I start to paint my own section of wall.
“What do you want me to call you then, baby?” she asks hesitantly and I laugh when she can barely say it without looking sick.
“How about Eli? It’s a nickname, but only close friends and family call me that.”
“Alright, Eli.”
My name sounds different in Hartley’s southern accent, but I find that I like it. She makes it sound sweet and even charming, instead of outdated or old fashioned.
“Is pink your favorite color?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
“It was my grandma’s. We had our own bakery all planned out when we lived back in Georgia. We were going to have light pastel pink walls and these cool old school light fixtures. We planned out everything, except the name, and I’m going to make it a reality.”
She sounds so determined and certain. It’s kind of cute.
“You miss her,” I say.
