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“Yes, ma’am.”
She led the way around the house, and Cal told himself to relax. The hug had been nice, more than nice, but only told him that Steph was … friendly? Interested in him? More interested in him than she was in the other people in all those photos on social media?
He told his brain to stop overanalyzing, stop obsessing, to just enjoy the day. Enjoy the beautiful, vivacious woman who happened to be paying him all kinds of attention right now.
Well, right now, she was technically instructing him about how the painting would go.
He figured there was more than one way to accomplish something, and he could do things her way.
“We’re not starting with sanding,” Pops said, cutting into Steph’s instructions. “I spent all day prepping yesterday, and it’s ready for painting.”
Steph set her hands on her hips and faced her grandpa. “I don’t know what you did all day yesterday, but nothing has been sanded.”
He walked over to the card table set up in the yard and picked up a worn piece of sandpaper. “Here’s the proof, missy.”
Steph pressed her lips together.
Even Cal could see splinters poking out from the wooden fence. Maybe Pops had sanded, but it needed to be more thorough.
“How about I do a few touchups while you two start painting at one end?” Cal offered.
Pops scowled, but Steph clapped her hands together. “That’s an excellent plan, don’t you think, Pops?”
He didn’t answer, unless a grumble counted. Cal decided not to ask if one of their neighbors had a sander. He picked up the seen-better-days sandpaper and set to work. Over the next hour, he went through every scrap of sandpaper, then had to make a run to the hardware store. Not only for sandpaper, but for another couple gallons of paint.
He picked up sandwiches at the deli along the way.
“Oh, you’re a lifesaver, Cal,” Pops said when he returned.
“I was planning on making us lunch,” Steph said.
He couldn’t quite read her tone. Was she annoyed? Who’d be annoyed with lunch—no matter where it came from?
“These are much better and faster,” Pops said, taking a huge bite from his sandwich. He hadn’t bothered to clean his hands, and paint flecks mixed with his food.
Cal looked over at Steph to find her inspecting the sandwich fixings, a slight frown on her face.
“Do you not like turkey? There’s a ham one, too. You take whichever one you like.”
She looked up at him. “Turkey’s fine, unless you want it?”
“I’ll eat anything.”
Her expression softened. “Anything?”
“Except asparagus and broccoli. Oh, and I don’t really like artichoke.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” Her expression sobered again. “You really didn’t have to buy us lunch—and do our errands. How much was everything?”
Pops had moved away, the sandwich dangling from his mouth as he began to paint again, sitting on the plastic chair that Steph had instructed him to use.
“It wasn’t much,” Cal said, stepping toward her. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask about the lunch plans, but I think I see what’s going on here.”
Her eyes flew to his. In their blue depths, he saw both curiosity and wariness.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been doing everything for your grandpa for years,” Cal said, lowering his voice. “And I know he’s grateful, and I’m sure your parents are, too, but it’s hard. No matter what you say or what you pretend to feel.”
