Roots and Wings (City Limits #1)(11)

“No problem. Where’s my brush, boss?” I said, trying to make it seem like I did this kind of thing for people all of the time. Although, I definitely would have, it simply wasn’t often when I found myself volunteering my time to people I’d known for less than twenty-four hours.

Okay. It was never.

I’d never just shown up at a stranger’s house, brought them food, and offered to do some light remodeling, but something about it was so right. Felt so good.

Plus, I liked his smile.





She was a damn hard worker and fun to talk with. You can get to know someone pretty fast that way, I guess, because she’d only been there for a few hours and already we’d painted the laundry room, the upstairs bathroom, and at the moment we were trimming the master bedroom.

She didn’t have any trouble saying what came to her, and telling me things she’d do if the place were hers.

Like not painting the original wood trim, which actually looked pretty great after a good scrub. And, how if she lived there, she’d keep the towels in the small closet across from the bathroom instead of putting shelves up. She said it would seem bigger without the extra “shit on the walls.”

“You’re telling me you think the grey color would look better in the front room?” I asked, after considering if I even had enough paint to do what she’d suggested.

“Yeah, you’re not going to see much of it in the kitchen with all the cabinets up anyway. It’s your house, but I like it better for the living room.”

It was straying from the plan, but f*ck the plan. Half of the people who came up with the plan didn’t even live here after all. It was another moment where it hit me that I was starting all over and this was my house—and only my house.

“You know what? I actually liked the color we put in the laundry room for the kitchen, too.” I’d voiced my opinion about it when wall colors were being chosen, but it was an argument I didn’t really care to have when it all was said and done.

“Yeah, see I like that better, too!” she exclaimed, slapping my arm. “Sorry. You’re staining those cabinets, right?” she asked, surprisingly into the whole thing.

“Yeah, it’s like a dark walnut color.”

“And you’ve got new counters coming this week?”

I thought about the granite that I wasn’t able to cancel because it had already been custom cut. Granite I didn’t like.

“Yes,” I said, but I wasn’t really that enthusiastic about it.

“Yes, but…” She urged me on, hearing how underwhelmed I was.

“Yes, but it wasn’t what I would have picked.”

“You have samples?”

I did actually. I’d seen them that morning.

“They’re outside in the garage,” I said and started walking that way.

“Wait, I wanna go,” I heard her say as she dropped her trimming brush into the paint pan then followed me. I liked it, but hated the thought of spoiling her day.

“Are you sure you don’t have stuff you’d rather be doing?” I asked, still a little skeptical of someone volunteering to help like she did.

“Yeah, because there’s so much happening in Wynne on Sunday afternoons.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic, I was just asking.” I shot back on the way out the back door, then I held it for her as she came right behind me.

“Thanks,” she said and kept walking. “Really, I didn’t have much to do, and it would suck doing all of this by yourself. I like helping. You never know, I might need help sometime, and I hope someone would do the same for me.”

Remember learning about the golden rule when you were a child? This woman actually lived by those words and it made me pause. This was the kind of person I was looking for when moving to a small town. Not that I’d planned on coming here to find a woman. Not in the least, but there she was.

O’Fallon was pretty and sincere, easy to talk to, and even though I’d only been there a day, I knew she was someone I was going to get to know better.

Not because it was a small town and I had to, but because I was truly interested. Curious. Intrigued.

How could I not be?

It didn’t hurt that she danced a little as she painted. It didn’t hurt that she sang along to songs she knew, but still admitted when she “f*cked up” the words. And, I was single, so it didn’t hurt that I thought she was sexy. I took stock that I didn’t feel guilty thinking it either.

It was simply unexpected.

But we’d just met, and we were alone, not that she couldn’t handle herself, but I didn’t want to flirt with her and make her uncomfortable when she was being so kind to help me and everything.

I didn’t even know if she was single, though she didn’t wear a ring and no one had called to see where she was, as far as I knew.

I’d get around to asking her about it, but it wasn’t the right time to do it.

“Damn, it’s getting hot out today,” she said and pulled the T-shirt over her head, leaving her standing in my garage in a white tank top, her jeans, and boots.

And then it was the right time.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, why?” she asked, almost like she was accusing me of something. “Do I need to be? I happen to be single by choice. I do not need a man to be happy. You got that?” It was obviously a sensitive subject. She walked out into the driveway, paced a few times, and kicked a rock. “You know what? You’re going to fit right in here in town. Seems you think like everyone else.”