fifteen
“Absolutely not.” Danny’s words echo throughout the store.
“Why not?” I grumble.
“You’re not doing bullshit white subway tile in that bathroom. You already have original in the upstairs bathroom.”
Well, crap.He’s right.
But the array of tile in front of me is damn overwhelming. Shapes, colors, patterns? Tragically more complicated than the paint-chip life I used to lead.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say with a frustrated groan. “This was a stupid idea. There’s no way that I can tile the bathroom. Not to mention, the fireplace fiasco.”
Danny moves behind me and solidly sets his hands down on my shoulders. “Yes, you can. I’ll help you. Paul will help you. Let’s figure out this bathroom first. Shut your eyes.”
“What?”
“Shut your eyes and pretend you’re looking at the floor of that downstairs bathroom.”
“Ugh. Fine.”
Despite my doubts, I do what he suggested. Until I peek about two seconds later. How am I not supposed to look at all of this crazy tile in front of me?
“Okay, cheater, let me help.” His hands gently cover my eyes, and his voice in my ear is haunting and so awesome. He walks me to my far left. “Try again. Close and then open.” He lifts his touch. “What do you see?”
“I dunno. Reds and pinks.”
“True. But look closer. Maybe you see more. Lemonade. Salmon. Rouge. Rosewood.”
My nod is weak. “Sure.”
Danny nudges me to the right, forcing me to take in more colors. “And now?”
“Purples. A million of them.”
“Look at the shades. Boysenberry. Sangria. Iris. Heather. Do they make you feel something?”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Keep going.”
“Let’s try blues.” He adjusts my view. “Peacock. Azure. Indigo.”
I stop in my tracks. “You left one out.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me.”
“Cerulean.” It’s so easy to picture now. “Your color. Herringbone pattern. Skinny, rectangular tiles.”
His fingers pull back more, maybe accidentally running through my hair, maybe accidentally grazing against my shoulders. Maybe not.
I can feel his breath against my collarbone right before he whispers in my ear. “I can’t argue with that.”
It’s not easy, but I wander away from him now, taking my time and looking at tile after tile, trying to envision what would work for the fireplace that I slaughtered.
After walking up and down the long aisle about a million times, I stop in my tracks. “Are you going to have a fit if I like this white tile for the fireplace It’s got curves and shit. Texture. It reminds me of waves.”
Danny pauses and looks at what I’m so excited about. “Okay, that is totally sexy. It’ll be perfect, especially if you do a beautiful, rustic wood mantel. And listen, white and gray and black and all of those non-colors that you love are crazy beautiful in their own way. I merely wanted to hear that you were open to more. That you could appreciate more.”
“I’m trying.”
