Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
“Whose idea was this?” I ask two days later as I swipe my hair out of my face and feel a glob of “Extra White” paint, billed as a “clean white with nearly invisible warm undertones,” land on my cheek. I try to wipe it off and feel the paint coat my right earlobe.
My pleasure at having a genuine reason to blow off auditions and avoid rejection evaporated thirty minutes ago when I climbed the rickety ladder and started on the living room ceiling. (I am, after all, the only one here who is not in her eighties!) The windows are thrown open to keep the paint fumes to a minimum, and the breeze is cool and fresh. They definitely knew how to take advantage of cross breezes back in the day.
I’ve made it to the middle of the ceiling and am admiring my handiwork when I hear footsteps on the front porch followed by a knock on the front door.
“Come in!” I shout.
The door creaks open and Kyra steps inside. “Wow!” She does a slow turn, taking in the room. “This place is awesome!”
“It is, isn’t it?” I climb down and carefully tuck my paint pan and roller up against the ladder on the drop cloth.
“And that’s a great white. But I think you’re wearing almost as much of it as the ceiling is.”
“Tell me about it.”
Grand and Myra come out of the bedrooms they’ve started painting and pull bottled waters out of the ancient fridge. They are perfectly clean with just a few speckles of paint on their sneakers, which, frankly, look intentional.
The people who are not covered in paint hug hello.
Kyra shoots me a smile. “Avery’s planning to come by and check things out, but she and Chase are tied up at the Y today.”
“No worries.” Grand smiles. “We’ve got this.” She and Myra high-five each other. I’m assuming they leave me out of their “up high, down low” because my hands look as spattered as my face feels. “Why don’t you take a break and give Kyra the grand tour?”
I jump on her suggestion, which feels a bit like a last-minute reprieve from the governor, and even though this place doesn’t belong to Grand or me, I can’t help feeling gratified by Kyra’s enthusiasm for the bungalow.
When we reach the enclosed back porch, I talk her through our plans for the space and Grand’s ideas for a mural that will cover the wall and wrap around the run of clerestory windows. Then I expound on our ideas for book clubs and story time and kids’ art and maybe even acting classes.
“How wonderful to see you giving this place a facelift and a purpose again,” Kyra says when I walk her to the door. “I’m sorry I can’t stay and help, but why don’t you meet me at Harley’s for a drink when you’re done for the day? Just text me when you’re on your way. And bring Grand and Myra if they’re up for it. Something tells me they’ll love the place.”
· · ·
I’m back up on the ladder and almost finished with the living room ceiling when another knock sounds on the front door.
“Come in!” I shout because I’m in the middle of trying to wipe yet another glob of “Extra White” from my face and am covered in too much paint to climb down or touch the front door.
I try to hold back my groan when Luke Hayes steps inside.
“Wow!” he says but it’s unclear whether he’s referring to the space or the amount of paint I’m wearing.
“Wow,” he says again as I make my way carefully down the ladder with the paint tray and brush in my hand.
I keep my “wow” to myself along with the tingle I feel as he approaches. Luke is wearing swimming trunks slung low on his hips and a muscle T that does what it’s designed to do, which means I have to rip my gaze from the muscles on display. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m off today and I thought I’d hit the beach. When I saw your car, I figured I’d stop by and make sure you weren’t fighting off felons or impersonating a police officer.”
“Very funny.”
He looks me up and down, and I tingle again. “You do know that the paint is supposed to go on the house , right?”
“Of course I do.” I smile, toss my head, and let loose with what’s meant to be a nonchalant laugh. A glob of paint flies off my hair and lands at the edge of the drop cloth. I laugh again. “It’s just hard to have this much fun without making a bit of a mess.”
He snorts.
“But don’t think for a minute I’m going to let you join in.” I swipe at my forehead, and the back of my hand turns “Extra White.” “I don’t think you can handle this much fun.”
He laughs full out. “Fun, my ass. Who are you impersonating now, Tom Sawyer?”
I grit my teeth and try to keep the back of my hand away from my face. Grand and Myra take pity on me and give Luke a tour of the place. The tour involves a lot of what can only be called giggling; theirs, not his.
“Thanks for the tour, ladies,” he says to Grand and Myra when they arrive back at the front door. “Pass-a-Grille will definitely benefit from having an indie bookstore. And the place is looking great.” He shoots them a wink.
I get a shake of his head and a smirk. “Have fun!”
“Oh, I will!”
“Wow,” Myra says as the door closes behind him.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Grand smiles.
I roll my eyes. But I can’t quite keep the grin off my face.
· · ·
We knock off at four o’clock, and I manage to scrub most of the paint off my face and hands. Then I pull on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I look basically presentable. Unfortunately, I smell like turpentine.
It’s brisk and sunny outside. Harley’s is only a couple of blocks away, so the three of us walk over to meet Kyra.
“Well, look who’s here!” A.J. calls out from behind the bar. “How ya’ doing, Cassie?”
I sigh. “Just fine, thanks.”
“And who are these lovely ladies with you?”
I make the introductions as we take seats at a vacant table near the bar. There’s a bit of a stir as the white-haired bikers at the pool tables ogle Myra and Grand.
Kyra and Troy enter a few minutes later, and the younger males in the room snap to attention.
I, it seems, am not only the character I played, I am also chopped liver.
Troy dimples and glares at the same time—something I’ve never actually witnessed before. Then he puts his arm around Kyra’s shoulders. “Forget it, guys. I’m still not sure how I got so lucky, but she’s with me.”
A.J. comes over to wait on us personally. “What’ll it be, ladies?”
We give our orders, but he sighs and tuts when I ask for a margarita. “No can do, Cassie. I am not going to be the one who helps you fall off the wagon.”
Sure enough, when the drinks arrive, mine looks like a margarita on the rocks right down to the salted rim, but it doesn’t contain so much as a drop of tequila. At my first sip, my whole mouth puckers with longing.
I’m still sipping gingerly at my drink when A.J. comes back to the table to check on us. Everyone but me orders a second round.
“So, Cassie, I’ve been thinking,” he says when he delivers the second round to the table. “I know it’s wrong to ask you this when you really shouldn’t be hanging out in bars, but I had to let our bouncer, Jesse, go. He only worked Friday and Saturday nights, but he was drinking more than he was bouncing.” A.J. shakes his head sadly. “I was thinking that since you’re not on the police force anymore and you did such a great job handling the two guys that tried to rob me, maybe you’d like his job?” He smiles. “I know it will be a test of your willpower. But I’ll help by making sure not a single drop of alcohol crosses your lips while you’re here.”