Page 114 of Finding Summer


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I shake my head, but can’t help the smile on my face. He’s fallen for her hard and this time, it’s not just a one-way relationship. It’s all of us.

As I start cutting the ceiling, he bumps his hips into hers, still working on that same section. I swear, he’s probably on his fifthcoat.

“Hey,” she swats him away, “you’re going to mess me up.”

“Don’t you worry, Little Girl, I plan on getting you all messy.”

She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, streaking it with blue. “Pretty sure I’m already messy enough.”

“Oh,” he leans closer, “I can always get you dirtier.”

“Mm,” she bites her bottom lip, “after I finish my wall.”

“Tease,” he mutters, kneeling down to start on the bottom edge.

“Let the girl work,” I call out.I have, all day, not saying it’s been easy, but at this point, I’m committed to finishing.

“What exactly are you doing?” he asks, staring at her progress.

She’s cut the wall along the ceiling and top half of both sides of the wall in blue. “It’s going to be a fade. Blue on top, green on bottom.”

He shakes his head. “You better work faster. I actually want to tap that ass sometime tonight.”

Laughing, she grabs the green paint.

He mutters a little more, but finally picks up his pace.

By the time we finish the first coat, Asra’s putting the final touches on her accent wall. Like a crystal sky fading to clear, deep depths without a defined horizon, it’s breathtaking. The kind of thing you’d see in an art museum, it looks almost too beautiful to be painted on one of my walls.

As I pour my excess paint back in the canister, I nudge Brendan and nod toward the wall.

“Damn.” He takes it all in for a long moment before his eyes meet mine again.

Like a giant seal, she’s branded herself to us. She’s part of our home. Part of us.

I nod again, knowing we can never let her go.

“Fuck, Prude,” he exclaims, strolling up to her, “you outdid yourself.”

“Um, thanks.” She brushes a few more strokes of the green up into the fade, wipes her brush on her jeans, then adds one more stroke.

“Where’d you learn to paint like that?”

“Mostly self-taught.” She takes a step back, admiring her work, “but I took a few painting classes during college.”

“Damn.” He says it again as I collect all of his and my brushes and keep cleaning up.

“What do you think?” she asks, turning my direction.

I toss the brushes in a Ziploc bag to save for the second coat and join them in front of the accent wall. “It’s remarkable. Just like you.” Leaning down, I kiss her, then pick up her leftover paint buckets. There’s not much left of the two colors, but with her fade, it doesn'tneed another coat.

As I hammer the lids back on them, Brendan’s eyes roam up and down her body. He scratches his chin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What?” She glances down at herself, still holding on to her brush. Paint smears and random sized white, gray, blue, and green dots cover nearly every inch of her, almost as much as is on the wall. It’s adorable, in a messy, carefree way, though I’m sure he has other thoughts about it.

“Just thinking of how I want you first.” He smirks as I shake my head.

Still, the air grows hotter in here. I tug at my shirt collar, hurrying up with cleaning it all up.

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