Page 63 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

He shrugged, adding more paint to his roller in the pan. “I suppose roses are nice.”

“Ohh, we could do miniature roses. Those are adorable. What color?”

“I guess … I like soft colors. What about you?”

“I like any color.”

“What’s your favorite?” he asked.

“Well, I love lavender, but then violet too. We should have a flower garden then we can pick fresh flowers and put them all over in the house. And herbs. I love herbs.”

“You’ve a green thumb?”

She gave a laugh. “No. But I would love to develop one.”

“We could get a book. My thumbs are certainly not green.”

“I’m much better at killing plants than growing them,” Rosie admitted. “But how hard can it be, right?”

She climbed down the ladder and stood back. “I do love this color. Makes me think we’re at the ocean.”

“Yes,” he said.

She glanced his way at hearing the curiosity in his tone. “What?”

“I was just thinking we should go to the beach soon.”

She watched his delicious back muscles through his white, fitted t-shirt as he rolled paint on the wall. Her eyes lingered at the show of skin at his waist when he raised his arms. His butt was so cute in his jeans. He really was too damn gorgeous for his own good.

Her eyes jerked to his when he turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Thought I felt you staring,” he chuckled.

She laughed a little loud, her cheeks warming. “Busted. I wonder what you’d look like painting in the nude.”

He gave a light chuckle with a hint of naughty. “I wonder,” he said. “But don’t you dare stop now, I can’t handle a half-painted room. That’ll drive me nuts.”

She busted out laughing and hurried back to her ladder, moving it to the last doorway. “Well I can’t be driving you nuts, now can I?”

“I would prefer not.”

“Speaking of your … things,” she said, climbing up the ladder. “I will be needing a list.”

“A list?” he laughed a little.

“So I can be aware.”

“Of how crazy I am,” he said, definitely not on board with that.

“No, so I can help you. Know what to steer clear of. How to—“

“Cater to my sickness?” he wondered, loading more paint on his roller.

She paused, considering. “Well … or help you however you need. You tell me.”

“I’m well aware that all my things as you say, are not normal. And I don’t really care to be led by them my entire life, and I especially can’t see me letting them rule your life, too.”

“Right,” she said, happy that he was so strong. “That’s really amazing.” She dipped her brush in her paint container.

“What is?”

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