Ready for You (Ready #3)(62)

Next, we had tackled the other two bedrooms. We’d painted them various shades of tan since Mia hadn’t decided what she wanted to do with them. The house was massive. It was the perfect size for a family, but it almost swallowed Mia whole. She had more space than she knew what to do with.

We’d moved downstairs after that, painting the kitchen a rich golden yellow that brought sunshine to the old cabinets and appliances. I couldn’t wait to take a sledgehammer to some of these walls and make her a kitchen she’d be proud of. I’d mentioned that we needed to do some major repairs in there, but she had just shaken her head and said something about one step at a time.

She’d be singing a different tune if she was the one actually cooking in there.

After the kitchen, we’d moved into the office. To protect the brand-new floor, we’d laid down wall-to-wall plastic and taped it to the floorboards. Mia was not the neatest painter, and after watching her wield her paint roller like a psychopath, I didn’t trust her not to ruin the floor.

As I stretched my aching back and yawned from the lack of sleep, I found myself grinning. I was physically exhausted from the marathon painting, but I’d never felt better.

“What are you grinning about?” Mia asked, catching me mid thought.

“Just thinking how I feel like an eighty-year-old man, but I couldn’t be happier about it.”

A tender smile touched her lips. “I don’t know why we keep staying up so late. It’s not like we’re under a deadline.”

I nodded in agreement, but I knew why we’d stayed up into the wee hours of the night, painting and talking, when we both had jobs and responsibilities the next day. We couldn’t get enough of each other.

Every new minute I had with her felt like I was erasing one I’d lost.

I hadn’t put a single hour of overtime in at work for a month. I’d managed to get my head back in the game, and I’d started getting shit done, but I wouldn’t do more than I was required to anymore. I was now officially a retired workaholic. I’d reformed to a full-time minimalist. As soon as it reached five o’clock each day, I would practically fly out of the office. I’d cook a meal for us, or we’d run out for something down the street, and then we’d be back at the house, painting. I’d edge the walls with a paintbrush and listen as she spoke. She’d roll the paint up and down the wall, paint flying everywhere, and finally talk about her life.

At last, I had a rough outline of the life she’d had after me. I could at least picture her sitting in a classroom at the small private college she’d attended in Oregon. I had a vision now of her graduating and moving to Atlanta to begin her career.

She’d told me about some of her friends and how much she missed them. I’d suggested we take a trip there and visit, but she’d immediately turned me down.

Excitedly, she’d said, It’s okay. I’d rather go do something else. We should go to the beach!

She’d opened up to me, yet I still felt she was hiding pieces of her life, and I didn’t know why.

I looked around the half-painted room with boxes piled high and a small desk in the center.

“What are you going to do with this room?” I asked.

Mia surveyed the space as she turned. “I think I’m going to finally set up that clunker of a computer I have and use it to enroll in a few courses.”

“As in college courses?”

She smiled and nodded.

“What are you going to take?” I asked, full of happy anticipation for her.

“I don’t know yet, but I know I don’t want to work in the hospital for the rest of my life, and I definitely don’t want to go back to accounting.”

“Get your teaching credential,” I said suddenly.

“What?”

“It was always your dream to teach. Don’t give up on that,” I urged.

“But what would I teach?” she asked.

“Teach music. You’d be great at that.”

“I don’t know,” she answered quietly.

She would be an amazing teacher. She was patient, encouraging, and loving. I knew the past kept her from doing what she loved, but we were learning to move on, and I wanted to see her happy.

“Oh, I’m supposed to ask you,” she said moments later. “Leah and Declan are hosting an end-of-the-summer party at their house next weekend. They wanted to know if we could go?”

I turned with my brush in hand and asked in an amused tone, “So, now that you two are chummy, I don’t even get a call?”

“Did you just use the word chummy? Maybe you weren’t too far off with that eighty-year-old comment!”

“You better take that back,” I warned, holding my paintbrush out toward her as I advanced.

She backed away and laughed. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, don’t tempt me, Mia.”

I could see the mischief in her eyes seconds before she turned to dart away from me. I reached a hand out to pull her into my grasp, catching her easily.

“No!” she squealed as I dangled the paintbrush over her.

“Take it back.” I laughed.

She looked at the brush and squirmed in my grip. “Sam will attack you. He’ll defend me.”

I looked over at Sam, who was looking at us with upturned ears and a waggling tail.