Chapter 17 #2
Now I am standing in a tidy, thirty-something square foot space in my favorite jean overalls with Blink 182 blasting through Knox’s state-of-the-art sound system.
I am in the zone with my electric sander in hand, humming along to the steady vibrations of stripping away something old to help it live up to its potential again.
I already had a buyer for the dresser I was currently working on.
After meeting Emma’s friend Wren on Saturday, she helped me set up a website and a dedicated Facebook page to post all my refurbished work.
Within minutes, I connected with a sweet old lady in town who wanted to fix up her old dresser to gift to her granddaughter, who was moving into her own place for the first time. I was more than happy to take the job.
After ten more minutes of sanding, I take a clean cloth and wipe off any excess sawdust before letting it dry. And then comes the fun part. Paint.
Grabbing a broom, I sweep up my small area. I’m thankful that the bristles don’t catch on any rogue nails or loose floorboards.
Once I finished organizing the front of the Hollow Hinge, I would work on the back room and turn it into a space I loved. But for now, Knox’s generosity would have to do.
My eyes dart to the spot where storage bins used to sit. Since my last visit, he cleaned out more of the space and even added some shelving on one wall. I hope he knew that this arrangement was temporary. Yet, nothing about us felt temporary right now.
Still, I couldn’t stop the dumb smile that popped up on my face like a bad infection.
And that is a perfect way to describe it.
Knox Cooke had infected me with his obnoxious grin and his annoying habit of knowing exactly what I needed without saying it out loud.
Maybe he should try the boyfriend thing for real because he would absolutely kill it.
I frown at that thought. He would make someone very happy someday—just not me. And that’s okay.
I groan at the sadness growing in the pit of my stomach and try to distract myself by opening a can of paint. Hopefully, the fumes will burn this feeling right out of my brain. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll try a lobotomy.
Right as I’m about to pour the paint into a tray, one of the doors swings open, startling me.
As my stomach drops, so does the paint can, splattering bright pink goop all over my body and even into my hair.
I squeeze my eyes closed, not even worried about the presence approaching me from behind.
I’m more worried about the mess I just created in a neat freak’s home.
“Are you okay?” a deep voice belonging to said neat freak says. Heavy footsteps follow, and I finally gain the courage to open my eyes.
Everything within a ten-foot radius is covered in Pepto Bismol pink. Including Knox, who decided to wear a white T-shirt today. Dread hardens in my gut like a vat of quick-dry cement.
“Whoa,” Knox says, firmly grabbing both of my shoulders. “Earth to Bambi.”
“Uh,” I squeak, trying to form a coherent sentence. “I—uh. I’m sorry everything is pink.”
Knox smiles and loosens his grip. He gently smooths both hands down my arms, which are also covered in paint. It’s safe to say we both look ridiculous, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he doesn’t look angry at all. He looks…amused.
“I’m just shocked to see you wearing a color that isn’t black,” he smirks, tapping the end of my nose and leaving behind a pink dot. “It’s cute.”
“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to my wardrobe,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Oh, I’ve been paying attention, Bambi,” he replies with a challenging grin.
“I know you always wear platform shoes so you can feel tall, and you never leave the house without some sort of jacket or flannel. Which is a crime, by the way, because you have the cutest tiny freckles on your shoulders, and those shouldn’t be covered up.
Oh, and I lied about you only wearing black.
Your nails are always some shade of green, which I decided is secretly your favorite color. ”
Was I being punked? My fake boyfriend is complimenting me while we sit here covered in pink paint.
“I think I’d prefer it if you yelled at me for getting paint all over your room. This nice guy shit is throwing me off,” I say, standing up to get the full picture of the mess I had to clean up. At least the dresser is supposed to be pink, so I didn’t completely ruin that.
“Why would I yell at you? I’m the one who scared you?”
“I’ve seen your place. Everything is spotless and organized. I figured this type of mess makes a guy like you spiral into absolute insanity.”
Knox’s eyebrows crease before they relax and a sly grin tugs at his mouth. He tilts his head and slowly bends down to grab one of the stray paint brushes.
“Knox, what are you doing?” I ask, stepping backward.
“Nothing,” he says calmly. He dips the brush into the paint can and slowly stands up with his eyes glued to mine.
“Don’t do it,” I warn, narrowing my eyes.
“Do what?” he asks, deepening his grin.
“I swear, if you—”
He flicks the brush before I can finish my threat, sending more bright pink splattering against my black overalls. My outfit was starting to look like something Avril Lavigne would wear.
I gasp. “You didn’t just do that.”
“Oh, but I think I did,” Knox replies smugly.
A retaliation plan forms in my mind, and I quickly bend down to pick up a paint roller that’s already coated in paint and swipe a thick streak across his chest. His mouth drops wide open and he lets out a boisterous laugh that echoes around the room.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Bambi.”
My eyes widen when I see the way he flips from casual laughter to determined espionage.
His eyes darken to a stormy grey-blue color and before I can run to safety, he lunges.
I squeal and try to escape him, but he’s faster and backs me up against the dresser.
My only weapon slips from my hand and crashes to the floor.
When I look up, his face is inches away from mine. He’s so close I can see small flecks of pink decorating his long lashes. My chest starts to rise and fall rapidly.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, gripping the edge of the dresser.
Knox’s face still has a determined look on it, but when his eyes dip to my mouth, I start to wonder what his end goal is.
“I’m not sure,” he says, his voice low and deep. “What I have in mind won’t be much of a punishment.”
I swallow hard, causing his eyes to flicker down to my lips again. Anticipation pounds low in my stomach, and warmth begins to grow there.
And then, he leans in. His nose brushes mine, and my heart slams against my ribs. We’ve kissed before, but that was unexpected. I didn’t have time to anticipate what might happen. I didn’t have time to think about whether I wanted it to happen.
Truthfully, I shouldn’t want it. I should shove him off me. It would make things easier down the line. But suddenly, I don’t have the strength to do what needs to be done.
But apparently Knox does because just when I think he’ll close that gap between us, he pulls away—a lump forms in my throat.
“I’ll help you clean this up,” he says, dropping his gaze to the floor.
Did I do something wrong?
But I don’t have time to run through the possibilities because one second I’m pressed up against a hard surface, and the next, a mop is shoved into my hand.
I guess I’m not the only one playing it safe. The thing is, I hate losing at my own game, and Knox had just beaten me to the punch.