Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(11)

“I remember filling the order for that job!” She leans on the counter, eyes wide. “I thought it was for road painting or something! Did the Haver brothers paint that?”

“That they did.”

“What color are they going to paint it now?”

“Decorator’s white. I think they burned their retinas with that yellow. I wore antiglare sunglasses, and I still feel like I’ve been staring directly into a solar eclipse.”

“You want me to get a five-gallon bucket of that ready for you too?” Chloe asks.

Aaron gives his head a shake. “Nah, there’s a good chance they’ll change their mind again. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to repaint rooms for them.”

“Must be nice to have all that money to throw around on frivolous things like paint, huh? My mom thought sunset peach would be a great color for the living room and hated it the second it went on the walls, but they’ve been that color since I was in middle school. After a while you stop seeing it, don’tcha?”

“I’m not sure canary yellow is ever something you can get used to, but I’ll take your word for it on the sunset peach.”

It’s embarrassing to realize I’ve done that before—had a room painted only to change my mind once it was finished and then had it repainted right away. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I haven’t been able to secure a job or even an interview today, because I look too much like the people they’re talking about.

Chloe glances over Aaron’s shoulder at me. “Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. You get the information you need?”

“I sure did!”

At the sound of my voice Aaron’s shoulders tense, which makes the muscles under his shirt flex. I’d be able to appreciate the view a heck of a lot more if the reaction I incited weren’t a full-body cringe.

I fight the urge to shrink like a wilted flower. I used to do that when I was younger. One of the things I’ve learned to do when I feel insecure is to smile brighter and stand up straighter. Never let anyone see your weaknesses. It’s okay to have them, as long as no one knows what they are; otherwise they can use them against you. Like Troy did. And Portia, and to some extent my younger brother, Bradley.

“Great. Just give me a minute, and I’ll help get you set up,” Chloe says.

“No rush, thanks.”

“For sure.” She rounds the counter. “I’ll be right back with that primer, Aaron.”

“Sure thing,” Aaron says with a smile.

Chloe skirts around the counter and walks toward the back of the store, leaving us alone at the paint desk.

I take a step forward until I’m standing next to Aaron. The hairs on his arm rise, and he tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. I nudge him with my elbow. “Hi, Aaron, fancy meeting you here.”

He slowly, oh so slowly looks my way. His expression is remote. He blinks once, twice.

“Teagan, Van’s sister.”

“Yeah. I remember.” His gaze moves over me, another slow sweep. But it’s not the kind I associate with someone checking me out or appreciating my excellent fashion sense; it’s more the kind someone gives you when they wish you would disappear. “What’re you doing here?”

“Getting some paint for the loft so I can start decorating it.”

“Why would you be doing that if you’re only here for the weekend?”

“To give it some personality.” He doesn’t need to know about my plan to move here. Which won’t happen if I can’t get a job.

He glances at the paint swatches and the patterned wallpaper samples. His eyebrow lifts. “Bold choices. Might want to consider picking up some primer in case you have regrets.”

“Thanks, but I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t look like a professional painter.”

I wave a hand around. “Not the painting part, but how hard can it be? It’s just rolling paint on walls. I mean the decorating stuff.” I was responsible for decorating my dad’s house when we moved in, mostly because we couldn’t afford an interior designer and a lot of our furniture was too big for the space. We had to sell it and buy new stuff. That was the fun part. Not the selling—that sucked—but the picking stuff that fit the space and a budget.

Aaron glances at my outfit and then back at the paint and wallpaper samples. “I guess we’ll see how that works out, won’t we?”

“Does that mean you’re coming back to put up the light fixtures?” I should not be excited about the prospect, especially with his aloof, surly demeanor, but he sure is nice to look at.

“And the trim, yeah, eventually. Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your weekend getaway with all the noise.”

“The floors look great. Sorry for making you almost saw off your foot. And thanks for setting up my bed for me. I really appreciate that.”

“Can’t imagine you’ve spent much time sleeping on an air mattress. Figured you wouldn’t want to start now.”

I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or mean or considerate. Probably not the last one.

A woman who looks to be a few years older than me, dressed in worn jean shorts, a white tank, and a plaid shirt tied at the waist, makes a beeline for Aaron. “A-A. How are you? I haven’t seen you in a hot minute.” She throws her arms around him, and he gives her a one-armed hug.