Chapter 22
Olive Green Confessions
Andrew
Morninglightspillsthroughthe expansive windows of Vince's beach house where I've found myself after our run, agreeing to help paint his walls. We rarely spend time together outside our morning runs and lunches, so the prospect of a shared activity sends a quiet thrill through me. True to his word, we haven't discussed what was said at dinner.
I'm not ready yet.
The wounds from last night still feel raw, throbbing with every memory of Ted's accusations and Sam's final, devastating words. I'm still recovering, trying to piece together the fragments of a friendship I nearly shattered. I want to put it allbehind us, to erase the humiliation that still burns in my cheeks whenever I think of Vince defending me in that restaurant.
But mostly, I don't want to lose his friendship—the easy mornings, the shared jokes, the way he looks at me like I actually matter. The thought of that disappearing terrifies me more than any confrontation. So I'll paint these walls with a smile, pretend everything is fine, and hope that time will somehow mend what I've broken.
The house itself is tiny, but the location is incredible. The location is nearly right on the beach. The sound of waves crashing against the shore provides a constant, soothing backdrop.
It feels a little surreal, being here before ever seeing where Vince actually lives. Vince mentions that he doesn't use the place much anymore. They'd bought it for Kaitlynn, but it has mostly sat unused since. A lot of repairs have been done.
He's chosen olive green for the walls, a bold choice I hadn't expected. When he dramatically pries open the cans, I brace myself for one of those countless shades of white: eggshell, vanilla, lace. But this? It works. The large windows and bright rooms balance the rich color beautifully. Once the furniture is updated, the house will look modern and polished.
We aren't just tackling one room; we're painting two. Vince knows I have to leave later for my classes downtown, but we've already managed to finish the first room and have moved on to the second. Vince insists on doing the edges first, which means we start with brushes for the top and bottom of the walls before grabbing the rollers for the middle.
I'm currently relegated to the baseboards because of a small incident earlier.
I'd been painting near the ceiling on a ladder when I knocked over a can of paint. It wasn't a lot, and the floor is protectedwith its plastic cover, but Vince still banishes me to ground-level duty, clearly unimpressed.
Music from Vince's record collection plays softly in the background, filling the space with song.
We've talked nonstop the first couple of hours, but now the rhythm of painting has pulled us into a companionable silence. My hand starts cramping from the repetitive motion, so I pause to rub my palm, glancing up at Vince perched on the ladder.
He's chuckling to himself.
"What's funny?" I ask.
"This green," he says, gesturing to the wall. "It reminds me of the color your face turned when Ted outed you at dinner."
I freeze, my brush mid-stroke, paint pooling under the bristles.
"Wow," I mutter, dragging the brush back and forth to even out the streak I'd left in my shock. "You're the worst."
"You're the one who has a big ol' crush on me," he teases, laughing to himself. "I'm not sure what that says about you."
"You know what? You're right," I shoot back, glaring at the wall. "I do have terrible taste in men."
Vince's deep, genuine laugh fills the room, and despite my best efforts, I smile.
"You're the one who volunteered to help," he says, still amused. "You willingly subjected yourself to me for the next five hours."
I roll my eyes. "Only because you need help, and you're my best friend."
The words slip out before I can stop them. I keep my eyes glued to the wall, my brush moving in precise strokes, hoping he hasn't noticed.
He does.
From the corner of my eye, I see him look down from the ladder. "I know I promised not to bring any of it up," he sayswith a grin, "but Andy, how are we not supposed to talk about this? We talk about everything."
Except Ted.
Vince climbs down, setting his paint can on the floor before sitting between me and the ladder. "You're mine, too."
