Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Monroe
Present
Interior design is my passion. From the time I first walked into a furniture showroom with Monty when I was nine years old, the art of design immediately caught my eye.
Monty had taken me to buy a new bed shortly after my mom left, as he was grasping at straws trying to figure out what would help make a little girl forget she'd been abandoned. A frilly pink comforter and a princess canopy did just the trick, but it wasn’t the only thing that had me feeling like a little girl at the town fair.
Each showroom was impeccably designed and fully furnished as if it were in a home.
From large family living and dining rooms, fully functional kitchens with state-of-the-art appliances, beautifully styled bedrooms for everyone in your family, and even some neat luxury bathrooms that could only be meant for five-star hotels and resorts.
It inspired me to jump into the world of interior design when I enrolled at the University of North Carolina, and soon enough I was interning wherever I could gain any experience.
It wasn’t until I graduated and moved back in with Monty that I did it full time.
I partnered with him every summer while in school.
From choosing flooring and paint colors to furnishings and countertops, I was meticulous in the way I put together my designs.
Experimenting with different styles and patterns of tile was something Monty had to get used to since he could never see my vision until it came to life.
However, every step of the way, my big brother supported my dreams and even invested part of the capital to allow me to open Monroe Avenue.
I remained solely partnered with Montgomery Builds, but began doing freelance projects on the side over the last few years. Until now I've had some amazing clients I’ve worked with all around North Carolina, and soon after the birth of my baby, the goal is to jump right back into it all. I miss it.
For now, I'm taking some time to gather my thoughts and get used to the idea of the current predicament I’m in.
I’ve painted plenty of walls in my life, though I prefer to hire professionals, but never have I felt so out of sorts staring at a blank canvas. There’s nothing more daunting than designing a nursery for my baby.
Undecided as always, and even more now that I have such an important decision to make, I left the Red Barrel with four gallons of paint. I stare at the swatches of Sherwin-Williams paint, starting from a lighter shade of Santorini Blue to a dark Storm Cloud blue-gray.
All shades will fit perfectly with the neutral tones of the rest of the furniture and decorative pieces, but choosing a paint color is always the hardest part of any project.
Specifically, one so important as my baby bear’s nursery.
I went for gender-neutral tones paired with blues in case it’s a boy.
Yet the shades of blue I chose will fit perfectly with the aesthetic of the rest of the house, even if I have to add in some pink accents if it's a girl.
“Monroe Bishop,” Jase drawls as he enters the room. “Barefoot in cutoff jeans and one of my old T-shirts, hair pulled into a sexy mess, how lucky am I to get to come home to this.”
I roll my eyes at his teasing and turn back to the paint swatches on the main wall of the bedroom.
“Huh,” he says, his tone playful as he comes over to join me, his eyes focused on the paint. “Blue, blue number two, another blue and gray. How will you decide?”
“Stop being a jerk, Jameson. If you knew anything about design, you’d understand how incredibly different these shades will look.
The lighter blue might change in tone with the color and thickness of the curtains.
Whereas the darker blue-gray tone will change when the sunlight enters through the large bay window. ”
His gaze turns curious as he tilts his head to look in closer at the colors. “Then which one will you choose?”
I squint my eyes to get a better look myself and decide I really like the matte finish of the third one.
The way it softens with the natural light coming in yet remains dark enough that it will set the tone for a cozy sleep environment.
“I’m leaning toward the middle, maybe the cooler tone of Windy Blue,” I say, pointing to the one I’m referring to.
Without waiting for any direction, Jase grabs the large roller leaning against the wall and dunks it in the paint, rolling it up against the wall. Paint spills out of the tray as his roller drips along the plastic protective film I set up to cover the hardwood floor.
“Jase, you’re making a mess,” I shout, watching how he turns my neatly organized workspace into something that looks like it’s being painted by a group of four-year-olds.
“You're being too heavy on the roller,” I say, picking up the other roller and standing on my toes to show him how I dip it in the paint and roll out any excess that may bubble up on the wall creating drippings that will change the texture as it dries. I softly stride the roller up the opposite wall. “You’ll get streaks if you do it like that. You’re using too much paint. ”
He snorts. “Since when are you the boss of painting? I thought you said you always outsourced this in your projects.”
“I’m a professional designer, Jase,” I shoot back, flashing him a quick grin over my shoulder.
“It’s not my responsibility to take on the painting portion of a project, but that doesn’t mean I’m not an expert on what the job should look like.
Anyone could walk in here and tell you that is not the way to paint,” I say, pointing out the mess he’s made.
Every brushstroke of my roller is smooth, every move precise to make the paint look flawless as it blends.
He runs a hand through his hair, streaking his blonde tresses with blue highlights as he watches me, amusement clear in his expression.
“What?” I ask, my brows furrowed as I tilt my head to look at him. I’m feeling uncomfortable under his meticulous gaze, and with admiration in his eyes.
“The paint choices are perfect. The cool-toned light blues and cream colors blend perfectly with the light oak furniture I purchased. Not to mention, they are an exquisite complement to the slightly darker floors.”
I’m momentarily stunned until I see the smirk that creeps along his lips. He’s fucking teasing me. I roll my eyes again, annoyed that he’s being so playful with me. “Wow, look at you speaking like a designer.” It’s meant sarcastically, but that's not the way Jase takes it.
“What can I say? I’ve learned a thing or two.” His smile is infectious, and as much as I want to seem annoyed that he’s joined me in this, I can’t help feeling drawn by his pull.
The way he so casually walked in here to help me instead of being upset I was taking over the room in his home. How effortlessly gorgeous he looks in his distressed jeans and light gray henley he loves to wear. Jase is a charmer, his personality so infectious and it’s getting so hard to ignore.
My expression hardens when I realize how much is still unknown about our relationship, and my hand instinctively brushes across my belly for comfort. I dip the roller back into the tray and try to busy myself with painting.
He sets down his roller, which is now a dripping mess. “Alright, let me try again,” he says, holding out his hand for my roller.
I pass it to him, but our fingers brushing and lingering a second too long forces me to look up at him. I find his eyes are low, lips parting just slightly as if my nearness affects him as much as it affects me.
“You’ve got paint on your cheek,” he mutters under his breath, and I reach up to wipe it clean, but he catches my wrist gently. “Here. Let me.”
Soft, warm fingers slowly brush over my skin, smearing it away. My breath hitches, and for a heartbeat neither of us moves. If it was possible, I’d say neither of us breathes, too afraid to move and break the moment that lingers between us.
The tension is palpable, the draw so polarized I can feel it in my bones. An electrifying sensation draws me in with the force of his magnetic pull. Jase’s allure is no secret, but the way my body responds and reacts to his touch is frightening in how easily I became comfortable around him again.
He doesn’t pull away and instead swipes his thumb along my parted lips. “Got some paint here too.”
I’m frozen, unable to move or do anything but stare at the spark in his eyes as he awaits my reaction. I shake my head, the dizzying awareness of our proximity nearly clouding my vision. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, not allowing my gaze to leave him. His grip on me tightens, his fingers softly caressing my cheek. “But you like it.”
Though just as I am about to pull away, his arm snakes around my waist and he pulls me into him, his lips crashing against mine.
His kiss is harder than expected, months of tension breaking all at once as his tongue pushes into my mouth.
My hands instinctively clutch his shirt, tugging him closer, although my mind is begging me to push him away.
My body seems to act of its own will. Like it’s been waiting and wanting for so long.
With his arms around me, he walks us toward the painted wall, pressing me against it as his lips leave my lips and travel down my chin.
He kisses along my neck, teasing me as his hands grip my ass and press me into the rock-hard bulge in his pants.
I’m desperate to feel him everywhere, arching into him as I pull his face back up to me, deepening the kiss.
For a moment, I forget about the wet paint on the wall behind me, the gravity of where we stand, painting the nursery for our baby. All I see and feel is Jase, and my body misses the way he touched me like he knew every part but was desperate to learn more.
When I finally pull back, his forehead rests against mine, both of us utterly breathless.
“Why?” I ask, curious to know more about what this all means to him.