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“I’m going to push,” Sam said on the other side.
She turned the knob, giving it a strong yank. The door popped open with Sam almost knocking her to the ground as his body collided with hers. His hands grasped her hips, keeping her upright. “Shit. Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
Luna couldn’t do more than shake her head as his hands dragged across her arms, taking the same path as those warm brown eyes, as he inspected her. His calloused skin was not even close to the smooth hands of Viggo, but Sam moved with reassuring purpose.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Luna pulled from his arms, and shook away the feeling of—
She didn’t feel anything. Why would she? It was ridiculous. But nothing or not, she shook it off anyway.
“I’ll take another stab at the door frame. Sorry about that.” He took a step away, his face flushing, and adjusted his hat. He clearly didn’t feel anything either because, again, ridiculous.
“I have everything in the kitchen.” She hoped to distract from the awkwardness and return them to the task. Her paint and brushes were waiting on the countertop.
He stepped outside, returning with his own can of paint.
“Oh, I already got…” she started. Luna couldn’t imagine what color he’d selected when she had already chosen the dream shade that was dove gray.
“Primer.”
“What?”
“I told you that if we were going to do this, it would be done right. It’s best to do a coat of primer on the wood before the paint.”
He strolled into her kitchen but stopped, peering through the plastic. “You tiled a backsplash?” The muscles in his jaw flexed in a way that was becoming quite familiar.
She was beginning to take a lot of pride in her ability to draw so much ire from the apartment manager. It meant she did a good job. On the other hand, if they were going to work together, perhaps it was time to let him in on her secret.
“It’s stick-on.”
“Sorry?”
“I didn’t actually tile it. It peels off.”
Maybe he didn’t believe her because he pulled the plastic away in order to inspect it closer. To his expert eye, it had to be obvious now, but from a distance, and for her purposes, she was quite happy with the results.
He pointed to the floor. “And this?”
“It’s floating. The linoleum is underneath.”
“But the wall…” He nodded to the peacock-colored wall in question.
“Peelable wallpaper. In the living room, they’re stick-on wall decals for the design. They can both be removed without any damage.”
His eyes rose to the new overhead light fixture in the dining room.
“An oversize shade with fabric glued to the bottom. It’s stuck to the ceiling with sticky Velcro since the shade isn’t heavy. The original light is underneath, although I removed the glass cover,” she said with pride.
“And the window shades?”
“Oh, those I definitely put in the right way. I figured if I’m allowed to put holes in the wall for shelving and pictures, then what’s a couple extra holes for proper window treatment.” She waited for him to praise her ability at being creative.
It was disappointing when a frown appeared instead. “Why would you waste your money like that?”
A flare of irritation surged inside her. He was one more person who didn’t get her and expected some kind of justification when she simply wanted to do what she wanted. “Why do you care?”
“And why the hell are you making me paint the cabinets?”
