Disappointment rocked her. For half a second, she thought he might kiss her. His warm, glove free finger traced the curve of her cheek. She leaned into his rough palm and smiled at him. For a long, breathless moment, neither of them moved.
Rover barked. A single yip.
They laughed and pulled apart.
“Jealous, boy?” He yipped again and put his paw on Hailey’s knees to lick her face. Laughter tumbled forth with a feeling of absolute contentment and a certainty that spending serious time with Jesse was right.
He wasn’t well off, but neither was she. He was well respected and a hard worker. He cared for his mother, despite her issues, and did his best to treat her well. Hailey could do a lot worse than falling for Jesse Phillips, even if their mothers were at loggerheads. He was a good man.
“Come on, Rover, we have painting to do.” She eased him off her lap and stood. Jesse folded the blanket and slipped it back into its bag. Hand in hand, they walked, slowly, back to the store.
* * *
“You’resure this is the color?” Jesse asked her, one brow raised skeptically.
“What’s wrong with sage?” she laughed.
He plucked a brilliant white chip from the paint display. “What about,” he read the chip, “winter white or snowdrift?”
For a renovator, he had no sense of color. His clients must make those decisions.
“What’s the one thing most Christmas ornaments have in common?”
“Snow?”
“Ding ding. Got it in one. You can’t display snow against white, it disappears. Dark green, like forest or pine, would be claustrophobic. White can be blinding. Sage displays most colors well.”
“That actually makes sense.” He held up two swatches, barely a shade apart, and studied them. He held one out to her. “This one. The other one’s too gray.”
“I like it.” She handed the swatch to the sales person. “I’ll take this one.” She glanced at Jesse. “How much?”
“We’ll start with a five-gallon pail. Eggshell finish.”
“Why not gloss?” She’d been planning on gloss.
“Eggshell has a shine, but isn’t glaring like gloss. Flat sucks in the light. Eggshell falls in the middle, between the two.”
“Good enough for me. I can’t wait to paint.”
Four hours later, her enthusiasm waned. She dropped her roller with its extension pole into the tray and groaned. “My arms are killing me. Are we done yet?” The change in the space was incredible. It was so open, and the sage brought a warm, comforting feel.
Jesse wrapped his brush in plastic. “For now. A couple hours to dry and we start again.”
“You’re a tyrant,” she joked, rotating her stiff shoulders and bending low to stretch out her back. “What about those edges?” She pointed to the rough edges around the openings. Don’t we need to do those?”
“Lucky for you, we don’t. I’m going to frame them with wooden trim, stained to match the shelving. They’ll be more durable than drywall.”
“Yay.” She did a happy dance. “For that, I’ll buy you lunch.”
He laughed and she joined in. when he let go, his laugh was infectious. “You buy me lunch every day.”
“True, but I mean real food. In a restaurant,” she whispered conspiratorially.
“In public?” He feigned fear and shock. “What would our mothers think?”
“Mine’s out of town and by the time she gets home, the gossips will have moved on. For the moment, yours is leaving us alone. I say we risk it. Give me fifteen to get home and change. I’ll meet you back here.”
“Done.” They high fived and parted.
