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“We?” I ask. “We, who?”
Essex turns to me and smiles again. My heart flutters.
Oh, my silly, inexperienced heart…making me believe I’m attracted to this terrible man.
“We are not painting anything,” I inform him. “You are going home.”
“Oh, come on. Clearly, you need the help.”
“I don’t need anything, Essex, now go on home.”
“No.” He flashes an arrogant smile. “I won’t.”
His smile drops as our eyes stay connected for longer than I expected they would. We stay this way – staring at each other like we can’t look away. It’s not until the movers are back, hauling something else inside that I blink away from him. I’m thoroughly overwhelmed – so much so that I feel like my head is about to explode. I say, “Okay, what’s going on here?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest, standing wide-legged like this is his domain.
“I mean, why are you doing this? All of this?”
“I told you why, Quintessa.”
“No, you didn’t—”
“I did. You just refuse to acknowledge it. So, I figured I’d show you that I like you instead of telling you because you don’t listen too well.”
“Why does that sound like an insult?”
“It’s not,” he says. “Okay, let me reset for a minute so I can convey to you exactly what I want to say.” He inhales deeply, then after releasing it, his chest moving inward, he says, “I like you, Quintessa.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. A lot.”
So, Ella was right. He does like me! But why? I’ve done nothing extraordinary to capture this man’s unwavering attention. All of this is over my head. I’ve never had a man come into my life so quickly and help me do anything. The last man I was involved with was the one who needed all the help. What am I supposed to do with this kind of attention?
When I stop my head from spinning, I look at Essex, surprised to see he’s already staring at me with anticipation glowing in his eyes, as if waiting for me to respond to his confession.
“That’s it, boss,” one of the delivery drivers says.
“Thank you, Mauricio,” Essex says, patting him on the shoulder.
He takes out his wallet and hands them both one-hundred-dollar tips.
“Gracias, Señor,” Mauricio says along with his workmate.
“Yep,” Essex replies casually.
He doesn’t say, ‘you’re welcome’. He just offers up a dry ‘yep’. His nonchalance is appalling.
The workers leave. Now, I’m alone with this powerful man who smells so doggone good. Who looks good. He’s giving good energy right now. It’s baffling to me how he’s bulldozed his way into my life in such a short period of time.
He rubs his hands together saying, “Snap out of it, girl. Let’s get to work.”
Still frozen in place, I look at him as he walks over to the paint bucket. He picks up the brush I had and asks, “Why were you using this?”
“Because it’s a brush.”
“You don’t have one of those roller brushes?”
