29. Veronica
29
Veronica
“ I can’t believe you got me to wake up this early on a weekend,” I whine as I fall into a metal chair, closing my eyes.
“Oh, come on,” Blair says, coming up behind me and squeezing my shoulders. “It’s not that early.”
I disagree with a large exaggerated puff of air. “Speak for yourself. Eight is way too early for a Saturday morning.”
“Hey, at least she didn’t make you come in at six to get things ready,” Ford hollers from the other side of the room as he continues to move out the old shelves in Blair’s new photography studio. On second thought, maybe “new” isn’t the right word for this place.
Given that it’s one of the many buildings along Historic Main Street here in Evergreen, this place has been around for a while, and since the old model train store that used to occupy this space has been gone for a good five years now, this place has definitely seen better days.
I suppose that’s what we’re all here for, since we’ve been recruited not only to tidy the place up, but also give it a fresh paint job to spruce it up. I really shouldn’t complain. Blair having this studio is one of the main things keeping her here and excited about Evergreen—other than us, obviously—and for me, that’s a win.
“It’s still way too early,” I groan. Meanwhile, Blair gets back to work on the wall in front of us, grabbing one of the set-aside paint brushes and dipping it into the large gallon bucket.
“How about this?” Blair says, stopping mid-stroke as she looks at me over her shoulder. “We all take a quick break, and Ford and I can go grab some coffee and muffins from The Steamy Bean.”
I sway my head from side to side before sighing dramatically. “I suppose that could work.”
I still feel like it’s way too early, but from my experience there is very little that coffee—and especially one of those special white chocolate raspberry muffins—can’t cure. Maybe that’s all I need to give me the extra push to get going today.
“Hey, Ford,” Blair calls out, setting the brush back down. “I promised Ronnie here some breakfast and coffee from The Steamy Bean. So congratulations! You’ve officially been chosen as my special helper to pick it up and bring it back.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he says, clearly exhausted and ready for a break as beads of sweat form along his forehead.
“And what exactly are we supposed to do in the meantime?” Miles asks, walking toward us with his arms folded. My eyes instinctively drop to his biceps, where the fabric of his shirt pulls tight against his muscles. Unlike Ford, he’s completely unbothered by the manual labor, and it’s not hard to see why, given the way his body practically exudes strength and pure masculinity.
“Just relax and we’ll pick it all up again after we get some food and liquid energy in us,” Blair suggests as Ford walks her way, pulling her hand into his.
“Works for me,” I say, more than willing to keep my ass planted in this chair. I’ve never been an early riser and have always been one of those people you shouldn’t talk to or bother until they’ve had their morning cup of joe.
If I’d actually thought things through, I would’ve stopped for coffee before heading over. But after my first week back from my much-needed vacation, my body is running on empty. I spent the entire morning hitting snooze on my alarm, barely dragging myself out of bed with only minutes to spare before meeting Blair and Ford.
Luckily, one doesn’t actually need to dress up to work and paint, especially since I’m in an oversized, well-worn Evergreen Grove High School T-shirt and leggings. Even my hair is a mess, loosely tied back with a purple scrunchie, with far too many strands breaking free, but I’m too exhausted to care.
“Figured,” Blair says with a knowing smile before nodding for Ford to head out the door, leaving me and Miles behind.
While I’m more than happy to stay relaxed for as long as possible, he grabs Blair’s discarded brush and picks up right where she left off.
“Really?” I ask, my shoulders drooping. “We’re supposed to be taking a break. You’re going to make me look bad.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re making yourself look bad,” he states, his tone lacking the usual venom and carrying a more playful edge instead.
While golden retriever boyfriends seem to be all the rage right now, I’m thinking I might prefer the german shepherd type. There’s something strangely appealing about a man who’s tough and grumpy on the outside but fiercely loyal and protective when it counts. Sure, it’s less fun when he keeps his walls up, but I’m finding it incredibly rewarding as he finally starts to trust and let me in.
“You’re probably right, but it’s so much more comfortable to sit and be lazy,” I argue, settling back in my chair even more.
“You might also have a point, but the sooner we get this taken care of, the sooner we can get out of here and have our weekend back. Maybe get you home in time for a nap, or maybe for another one of those creepy shows you like to watch.”
A loud whine escapes my lips. “Ugh, why do you always have to be so right?” I grumble, as I regretfully push myself out of the chair I’ve made myself way too comfortable in.
“I wouldn’t say I’m always right, but what I am, is eager to get out of here at a decent hour.”
“Why?” I ask, reaching for the brush that Blair set out specifically for me, which, unfortunately, is free of paint, but not for long as I finally sink it into the large bucket. “You got a hot date tonight?”
His face scrunches up, his mouth pulled into a tight line as he sends me an incredulous stare. “You really think I’d be dating someone else while married?”
A delightful warmth spreads through me at his words, even if I get how illogical it is.
“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re married for real, or at least not in the way it counts. If you really wanted to, you’d be free to date whomever you want,” I remind him, even if saying so makes those warm and fuzzy feelings evaporate just as quickly as they came.
“Who would I even go on a date with in this town?” he asks, turning his attention back to the wall as he makes wide strokes.
I let out a small chuckle as I start painting as well. “There are plenty of interesting women in Evergreen.”
“Name one,” he challenges.
“Gemma,” I state without thinking. “In fact, she may have mentioned the other day that she thinks you’re pretty smoking hot.”
“Hmmm,” is all he mumbles in return as I sneak a glance his way.
“Hmmm? What does that even mean?” I ask, finding myself annoyingly curious. I’d like to think I wouldn’t stand in the way if there was an actual connection between my friend and him, but the green-eyed monster is definitely making its appearance, since it’s not something I want to see or even think about—even if I’d been the one who brought it up in the first place.
“It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t even know Gemma, other than that she was one of your bridesmaids.”
“So you don’t find her attractive?” I ask, trying to look nonplussed as I continue to move my brush up and down the wall.
“I didn’t say that.”
I stop mid-stroke. “So you are interested, then?”
“Well, I definitely didn’t say that either,” he says, stopping his painting as he turns to look at me. “Why do you even care? You really want me out there dating that badly? I mean, come on. You aren’t seriously trying to set me up with one of your friends, are you?”
“I mean, no, not really.” I mutter, doing my best to avoid his gaze.
“Well, then what do you want out of this?” he asks, turning his body to fully face mine, forcing me to look at him as his eyes search mine. Suddenly the air in here feels way too thick with tension.
“I want…” I start, my gaze locked on his, but I can’t let myself fall into this trap again, especially not after he turned me down the other day. “What I want…” I finally continue, using a husky tone as I take a step toward him, “is for you to stop being a goody-two shoes who makes me look bad.”
His brows furrow, clearly not expecting that response, nor the swipe of my brush across his cheek, leaving a big white mark behind.
His mouth drops open. “You did not just do that,” he says, his eyes growing dark as he takes a step toward me, while I have the good sense to match his movement and take a large step back as well.
“I mean, I sort of did,” I say, triumphantly smiling, the corners of my mouth twitching with laughter that’s desperate to escape.
Before I can react, his arm swings out, and with a swift motion, his paintbrush makes a bold swipe across my cheek. I try to turn my head in time to block some of the damage, but I’m not quick enough.
“Hmm, well, I guess I sort of just did that right back.”
“I can’t believe you, Broody Bennett. This is so not becoming of you,” I playfully chastise, the giggles I’d been trying to push back finally making an appearance. I’m not sure how I was expecting him to react, especially since he’s usually the put-together type, the one who hardly ever acts on impulse, and despite the fact my entire left cheek is covered in paint, I fucking love it.
“So I’m guessing this is unbecoming as well?” he asks, a warning in his tone as he comes at me again. Luckily, I dodge, darting to the side and ducking with a loud, girlish squeal.
“Did I just create a monster?” I ask, quickly dunking my brush back into the white gallon bucket before lifting it in front of me like a sword, or maybe a shield. At this point, I’m not quite sure.
“You realize you’re the one who started this, right?” he asks, holding his brush out in front of him as well. “All I wanted to do was paint so we could get out of here.”
“Okay, fine. We can call a truce. Plus, I’m pretty sure Blair isn’t going to be too happy if we waste all her paint on each other instead of the walls.”
“A truce? You really think I’d trust that coming from you?” he asks, still keeping his brush up and ready to go.
My mouth drops open and I place my free hand over my heart. “Ouch, Miles. I’m a woman of my word. How could you ever think that?” I ask, and this time I raise both my free hand and the one with my brush up into the air, as if to surrender before ultimately bending down to place it on the ground.
He gives a slow nod, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Wrong move, princess.” Before I can even process his words, he’s already darted toward me. I let out a shriek as I scramble to run, but it’s no use—he catches me effortlessly, lifting me up and throwing me over his shoulder like I’m nothing more than a sack of potatoes. “I’m putting you in time-out,” he announces with a smirk.
“A time-out? Really?” I ask, attempting to look up at him over my shoulder.
“Well, what would you prefer instead? A spanking?” he asks.
“I mean, if you’re offering,” I cheekily reply, as he just shakes his head.
“Okay, well, that’s enough from you,” he says, slowly lowering me to the ground. “But you better be on your best behavior.”
“And what if I’m not? Am I going to go back in time-out, or will I actually be lucky enough to get one of those spankings you just offered?” I tease, liking the way his cheeks flush a bright pink.
“Don’t tempt me,” he says, doing his best to recover as his eyes darken.
I take my bottom lip with my teeth, my gaze meeting his. “But what if I like tempting you? If anything, it should be you who stops tempting me, especially if you aren’t actually going to man up and act on it,” I challenge, since it certainly wasn’t me who stopped things the other night.
“I don’t think you fully grasp what you’re asking for here or what the negative repercussions of all this could be,” he says, his voice a low, husky growl. Ignoring the warning, I step closer, the air between us somehow charging even more.
“Believe me, I know exactly what I’m asking for,” I say, meeting his gaze with confidence. “And I’m not worried, and I don’t think you should be either.” Maybe I should be taking this more seriously—even with the paint smeared across his cheek—but in this moment, nothing has ever made me want Miles more than I want him right now.
A bell chimes from the front door, and while I stand my ground, Miles takes a step back, scratching at his neck with his free hand. “Took you all long enough,” he says, trying to act casual and not like we were just caught in the middle of an important conversation.
Blair’s eyes scan her new studio, her gaze taking an extra moment to assess the both of us and the trouble we’d caused. “Really, guys?” she asks, making her way inside as she hands over my usual white chocolate mocha iced coffee.
“What?” I innocently ask before bringing the cup to my lips and taking a sip.
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” she says, jutting out her hip as she places her now free hand atop it.
“Don’t worry. We didn’t make a mess,” Miles cuts in, thankfully taking some of the heat off me as he walks toward Ford and grabs his own coffee.
“Yeah, and you’re lucky because—” Blair starts, but Miles interrupts.
“And you’re lucky that we’re here on our day off helping, so you get what you get,” Miles responds, his happy-go-lucky attitude from just moments ago completely gone.
“Okay, so,” Ford cuts in, his usual peacemaker self making an appearance, “now that we all have our coffee and caffeine for the day, what do you need us to do next?” he asks, as Blair takes a moment to recenter herself and lets out a calming breath.
“You two finish with the shelves, and now that the grouchy princess has had her coffee, maybe she can finally help me with the painting,” she says, tilting her head toward me, a small smile tugging at her lips—the kind of smile that feels like a peace offering after the earlier tension.
“I think that can be arranged.” I return her smile, and while the coffee helps, my mind is buzzing, especially after everything that just went down with Miles. I’m wide awake now. My only regret? We never got to finish that conversation. But after the way he looked at me and how his walls seem to be coming down, brick by brick, I have no intention of letting this be the last of it.