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As Josie stepped out from under the shelter of the metal sheet above her, there was a clunking sound before something wet and slimy hit her in the back of the head and ran down her neck, into her shirt and down her back. Complete silence followed. Even the birds seemed to stop singing, the breeze falling still around them.
Josie looked up, feeling the thick liquid squishing into the back of her hair as she did, and saw Sawyer’s paint tray upended on the edge of his platform. Sawyer himself was watching Josie with wide eyes, his lips pressed into a thin, anxious line as he gripped his own roller that was dripping onto his boots.
The silence was finally broken as a glob of paint fell off Josie’s forehead and onto the toe of her boot.
“Oh God,” Sawyer said. “Josie, I’m so sorry. It was an accident…” He trailed off and Josie was struck with an idea, partially fueled by boredom and partially from revenge.
“Hey, Sawyer, why don’t you come on down,” she said, scraping paint off of her ponytail and covering her fingers in the stuff, ready to flick him with it as soon as he was within range. She gave him the brightest smile she could possibly muster.
“You know what?” Sawyer said, suddenly sounding very nervous for such a large man. “I’m good.”
“Now don’t be like that. Come on down here.”
“I’m fine, thank you. I mean, this barn isn’t going to paint itself, is it?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think I’m gonna stay up here a while more.”
“But you’ve done such a good job today. I wanted to give you a hug. You know, for your efforts.”
Sawyer’s mouth visibly wobbled as he tried not to smile, still mortified with himself, but it only made Josie’s own grin turn more wicked.
“The view up here is real nice,” he said. “I want to enjoy it a bit longer.”
“That’s fine, I can wait. I’m gonna give you the best hug you’ve ever had. I don’t want you to miss out on it.”
They stared at each other in a stalemate for a few seconds, like they were playing a game of chess and trying to figure out their next move.
“You know what,” said Josie, struck with an idea. “I’ll just come up to you…” She put a foot up on the first rung of the scaffold, making to climb up with her paint-covered hands.
At that Sawyer scrambled down off the scaffolding andran, disappearing around the edge of the barn. Josie watched him go with a slack jaw for a moment, stunned by how fasthe was, hit with the realization that, oh yeah, this guy was anathlete. But then her need for revenge kicked in and took over, and she sped off after him. She wasn’t exactly slow herself and was quickly around the side of the barn, hurtling after Sawyer, looking like something out of a horror film. He dodged her easily enough,effortlessly nimble for a man so big, and disappeared around another corner.
Josie made her way back to the scaffolding having to admit that she was maybe a little out of shape because,holy moly,Sawyer could move. As she flung herself around the corner of the barn, Josie skidded to a stop as Sawyer met her with a paint roller, wielding the long pole like it was a battle spear, not even slightly out of breath.
He grinned, a smug, devilish thing, and they were in a stalemate once again. Then Josie saw her opening. She ducked to the left, under the reach of his paint roller and slammed into Sawyer’s side with her full body weight. He barely stumbled, and if he did, it was only because of shock. But in the time it took him to pause from her surprise “tackle,” Josie had been able to wrap her arms around his waist and rub her paint-covered face all over his shirt.
There was a flicker of a moment where Sawyer was still and silent, where Josie panicked that maybe she’d taken it too far. That he would be mad at her and go storming off to the house to shower and change. But then he laughed, and still hanging on to him, she could feel the deep rumble of it through her arms and chest and her own face. She had wondered how his laugh would feel, and now she knew.
“Okay, you win,” he conceded, holding his hands up in surrender. Josie reluctantly let go of him and forced herself a couple of steps back, bowing at her victory. She must have looked a mess because Sawyer was now covered in paint, bright red, sticky liquid splattered everywhere.
“You’d make a good football player,” Sawyer said, bestowing the compliment on her like it was a blessing.
“Thank you,” said Josie. She had no intention of ever playing football — or even watching a game, really — but she could tell it meant a lot, coming from Sawyer. And seeing him run and dodge like that with such ease, she figured the praise was far from empty.
“I need to tell you something?” he said very seriously.
“Oh?”
“You have paint on your nose.”
She laughed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, which was also covered in paint.
“Did that fix it?”
Sawyer stopped laughing long enough to say, “Uh, a little, yeah.”
“Well, I don’t know. I can’t see my own face, can I?”
