Page 49 of Her Pretty Words

She pushes the cart, despite me offering to do so a dozen times. We go down each and every aisle, but I notice that she skips right past the section of picture frames.

“I’d like to look here.” I gesture to the frames.

Her eyes light up and she’s eager to follow me. She looks at the simplistic ones, but I brush past her. One that looks as if it were meant for a child’s bedroom catches my attention. The four sides are made of wood and are painted different colors. Purple, blue, crème, and pink. I place it in the cart, feeling Macy’s curious gaze.

She is the jauntiest person standing in the checkout line. She smiles at each item she picked out as it moves along the conveyor belt. My eyes widen at the new set of pots and pans I hadn’t realized she put in the cart.What the hell do I need new ones for?The cashier scans a simple white vase, an artificial plant, and the strawberry scented candle Macy picked out with an adorable grin. The worker struggles to find the barcode on my new ginormous rug. Macy points to it, and I catch sight of her yellow nail polish.

She helps me load everything into the trunk of my car, and she’s extra careful with the fragile items, like my new lamp. I turn to her. “Are you okay with making one more stop?” I ask.

She shrugs and then nods her head.If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Macy is starting to enjoy my company. I grin.

“What?” she asks, eyeing the expression on my face.

I suppress it enough to appear nonchalant. “Oh nothing.”

“I still don’t like you,” she supplies. Her eyebrows raise.It’s a lie.

I grin even wider. “Keep telling yourself that, Mace,” I say as I slide into the driver’s seat, a wide grin on my face.

Macy shoots me a curious look when we walk through the automatic doors of a home improvement store. I lead her to the section filled with hundreds of paint colors. She turns to mewith a smirk. “And here I thought we were taking baby steps but you’re ready to enter the big leagues.”

I glance at her painted fingernails. “Is yellow your favorite color?”

She shakes her head. “It’s a close second, but I like a certain shade of orange that looks like the sunset.”

A memory blurs my vision. Macy’s eyes glittering in the setting sun, edges of her hair glowing from the sky. Her kissing me beneath the lifeguard tower.

I think orange is my favorite color too.

I saunter to the section of orange, overlooking the neon shades, and glancing at a row of pastels. I find one called “Sunset Orange” and pick it up. Macy’s eyes widen and she doesn’t try to conceal her surprise. “You’re painting your walls my favorite color?”

“No,” I say. “I’m paintingawallmyfavorite color.”

By the time we are back at my house, I’m starving. “Want to go grab a bite to eat?”

She reels back as if she’s been insulted and then gestures to the countless bags of décor. “We haven’t even started yet.”

I raise my brows at her when my stomach rumbles loudly. I dig around my fridge, gathering everything I need to make an egg sandwich. Macy claims she isn’t hungry, but I make an extra one anyway. Once I set it down in front of her, she eats it rather quickly.

After she washes her hands, she plays music on her phone and sets the volume on high. She pulls out a stack of books from one of the bags. I told her at the store that I was never going to read them, but she claimed they were for decoration and that no one ever reads them. After arranging them on my coffee table, along with a vase of greenery, she steps back to appreciate her work.

“Looks good,” I say before digging through the bags to find my picture frame. “Be right back.” Macy doesn’t even look up, and I doubt she heard me since I’m of little interest to her at the moment. I chuckle when she starts lip syncing to the music, and then I disappear down the hallway and tuck myself in my bedroom to put away the frame.

Once I’m back in the living room, she eyes me with an expectant look on her face. “Are you going to sit around all day or actually help?”

I hold up my hands in surrender. Feisty thing she is. With everyone else, she’s an unlit match. Being around me ignites something within her, and there’s something thrilling about being the exception to her niceties.

I bring the bag of throw pillows to my small couch and place them where I think they look good, but then Macy clicks her tongue with the shake of her head and then rearranges them. It looks ten times better, and I question how anything gets done correctly if not for a woman’s touch.

She hands me a small wooden shelf, then points to a spot on my wall. “Hang this.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once I do so, I grab the three copies of Minerva Day books scattered throughout my house and display them on my new shelf.

I help her unroll the huge rug, lifting the corners of my coffee table to slide it beneath. Once all the bags are empty, I take in my house. There’s not a corner that she hasn’t touched. I realize how bare it truly was. I can’t help but compare the space to myself. My life was colorless until Macy stepped into it. I’ve been numb to the world around me, but she taught me how good it can feel tofeel. And God, Macy makes me feel everything.

I take her face in my hands and kiss her forehead. “It looks great, Mace. Thank you.”

---