Page 46 of Falling for Mr. Grump Next Door

“I guess.” Then I laugh. “You should think about raising sheep. Might turn out to be cheaper.”

Mae punches me lightly on the shoulder but laughs as well. “Maybe I will.”

My total is a little more than Mae’s, but I expected that. Good-quality art supplies aren’t cheap.

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” she says, after helping me unload all of my stuff into the back room of the farmhouse. This room has large French Doors that perfectly showcase the landscape outside. “And?” She asks, hands on her hips like she’s expecting something.

I look around. “What?”

“You’re supposed to say you can’t wait to see what I make.” She has a small frown on her face that I want to kiss away. But I don’t do that, because we’re friends. Just. Friends.

“Oh, right,” I say instead.

“I’m just kidding.” Mae brushes off my reaction with a wave of her hand. “I know you couldn’t care less.”

“Hey.” I catch her by the arm as she walks away. “That’s not fair. I think it’s cool you know how to do that and that you use your skills to make things for your daughter.”

“I can make you something too if you want?”

I want to say yes to that. The thought of us together in this room, silently working on our projects, together but apart, makes my heart race. And the thought of being wrapped up in a soft sweater that smells like Mae makes my blood run toward an area just south of my stomach.

I clear my throat. “You know, I’m probably good on that for now.”

She just giggles. “That’s what I thought. Anyway, happy painting!” With that, she turns on the heels of her cowgirl boots and walks out.

I’m left alone with a blank canvas, one of the most uncomfortable places to be. I have some of my old brushes here at the house. I uncover them and bend the soft bristles in my hands, prepping them for painting.

“Hello, old friends,” I murmur.

“Dad? Oh, no. You’ve officially gone crazy. I was worried that this day would come.”

I look over and see Dylan standing in the doorway to the room. I must have been focused if I hadn’t heard him stomping through the house.

“Hi to you too, Dyl,” I say. “Where were you?”

“In the barn.”

“Of course.” I shoot him a knowing grin.

He frowns at me. “What was that for?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“I wasn’t kidding before. I think it’s awesome you’re painting. I had no idea you’d take my advice so quickly.” He smiles at me, and I shoot him a grin back.

“Well, truth be told, you weren’t the only one pushing me back into it.”

“Really? Oh, wait. Let me guess, Mae?” There’s a bit of an edge in Dylan’s voice, but I don’t comment on it. I know he likes Mae. It’s me getting into a serious relationship with her that he doesn’t like. And that’s never going to happen.

“Yes,” I confirm. Just one friend pushing another friend to get back to their passion. One absolutely gorgeous friend with a smile that…

“Well, I don’t think it counts as getting back into the saddle unless you put the brush to the canvas,” Dylan says, saving me from my spiraling thoughts.

“I know, I know. I’ll do it. Just give me time.” I drop the paintbrushes into a glass filled with water.

“Well, good luck. I just came back in here to get something to drink.” Dylan disappears, and I begin to set up my paints. I take my time squeezing blobs of color onto the palette in a circular pattern.

This is the easy part. I tell myself. I’m just covering the canvas with a base layer of white. I’m still nervous, though.

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