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“The company will give me the opportunity to travel and do what I love.”
“Which is?”
What was it that drew him to iSecure other than Lukas? Of all the options he’d considered, iSecure was the one that had held his interest. He hadn’t really questioned why. Not until Sarah asked.
“Protecting people.” It was true. He liked to protect people. He wasn’t sure that was what had appealed most about the Army, but it was an aspect he had enjoyed.
“Hmmm,” she said, wiping her paintbrush back and forth as she helped cut the corners in.
“Hmmm, what?”
“I was thinking we’re a lot more alike than I would have guessed.”
“How’s that?” He didn’t see it. She was sugar cookies on Christmas morning, and he was coal in a stocking. Not alike at all.
“We both like taking care of and helping others. Only, I want to do that in Pine Hill, and you want to do it wherever you’re ordered to go.”
That about summed it up.
He turned to tell her so, but she’d moved close, presumably to dip her paintbrush into the paint, but instead stood waiting for him to turn.
Because the moment he faced her, she dabbed her paintbrush toward him.
His instinct was to grab her wrist and stop her, but he allowed her to proceed, and was thankful he prevented himself from hurting her at the unexpected paint smeared across his cheek.
Delight shone in her eyes at what she’d done.
Bodie touched his wet cheek. “What was that for?”
Rather than answer, she dabbed her brush toward him again.
Again, he forced himself to let her. Her tickled smile was worth it.
Staring at her dancing eyes, her challenging smile, her poised paintbrush, that melting, cracking sensation hit him again.
Looking at her, he felt young, unjaded, unscarred. As if nothing bad had ever happened to him or ever could. Her barely-contained joy served as a balm to everything raw inside him.
“You know this means war, right?”
Her lips twitched. “Because you’re a soldier?”
“Because you deserve to pay for getting paint on me.”
“Oops.” She gestured to the smudges of paint on his cheek. “Did I do that?”
He rolled his eyes. “You church girls. Always playing innocent.”
“Sometimes we are innocent,” she defended, her eyes full of challenge.
“Not this time.” The brush in Bodie’s hand begged to retaliate, to dab a big glob of paint right across Sarah’s pert little nose, to start a playful paint war with her as he’d threatened.
Then he reminded himself he wasn’t here to play with Sarah or to dabble in whatever this feeling was that he experienced when she was near. He was here to help her do a job.
Not play in paint.
“You’re chicken, aren’t you?”
Her taunt had Bodie laughing out loud. Seriously? They were back to that?
