Page 39 of To Have and to Scold

We just have to get Willow Wood up and running in time and in the way the mayor wants it to be.

Dallas whistles. “That’s a lot of projects.”

“I have several good crews and I like being busy.” We’re finished with the bedroom walls, and as far as I can tell, they look great.

“Not a bad night’s work,” Dallas says, rubbing a hand along her forehead. “At this pace, we’ll complete the rest of the rooms by the weekend, right?”

“And then my crew can come in to paint the molding and doors. You’re sure we’re doing this again tomorrow?”

She gives me a look like,Duh.“I don’t see how else we’re going to be ready in time, Beck. And yeah, I’m not a professional but details are important to me, so I guess it’s better than no paint at all, right?”

“You painted better than I thought you would,” I admit.

She smirks, tells me “thanks,” and then leaves the room, the paint roller resting in the paint tray.

I rummage in my box of painting supplies and find the paint brush savers. “Hey.” I raise my voice so she can hear me. “Put the rollers in some paint savers. You don’t want to ruin them by letting the paint dry.” I hold the paint savers in the air.

She peeks around the corner and sticks out her bottom lip. “Oops. And just when you were praising my painting skills, I go and do an amateur thing like that.”

I like her bottom lip. I like her top lip, too. And the way the corners of her eyes crinkle on the edges, both when she’s smiling and when she’s scowling at me.

I have got to stop thinking things like that.

She puts her roller in a plastic saver, and I use one for mine, and then we’re in the hallway, where the light is shadowy. My guys haven’t finished installing the lighting in this hall yet, and part of me is glad for the softer effect.

She seems to be working hard to avoid my gaze, scraping her thumbnail along the skin of her hand, working on a splotch of paint. “So once the main floor is all done, what next?” she says. “What’s the upstairs like?”

Without thinking, I grab her hand to head to the staircase. Warmth spreads through my fingers and up my arm at thetouch. “I can’t believe you’ve never been up there. It’s high time for a tour.”

As we ascend, I remember that there isn’t yet any lighting that works on the second floor. I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and turn on the flashlight. By the time we’ve reached the top, I drop her hand. I don’t know what I was thinking grabbing her hand like that.

“Your guided tour will be a little dark. Sorry.” I toss the remark behind me.

She steps up to match my stride as we head down the hall, away from the stairs’ landing area. She clutches my elbow. It’s just my elbow, like if I were to help a little old lady across the street, right?

Wrong. Because my heart rate ticks up at her nearness and that peachy scent.

Being by Dallas’s side with her no-nonsense yet somehow equally quirky personality is something I’m drawn to. I shouldn’t be. But I am.

Best start talking about something else. “So in here, on this side of the house there are a couple more bedrooms and then this.” I’ve reached the end of the hall and have to put my phone back in my pocket to open the twin doors. “This section’s going to be really fun to remodel. The owner’s suite.”

The bare room is large, with stately windows letting in moonlight.

She takes in a breath. “Oh, wow. This is going to be really lovely. I bet itwaslovely before. That crown molding. And the carved fireplace. They outdid themselves with this one.” She rushes over to the fireplace, and I struggle to catch up with her with the light. “Oooh.” She rubs her hand along the top, sending a puff of dust into the air.

“The mayor wants to make this the honeymoon suite,” I say. “Eventually.”

She gasps again. “That was my thought, too. Good financial decision. And it would be so perfect.” She steps toward one of the back windows to see the vast expanse of inky black ocean beyond the row of dim streetlamps that line the walking path. “Can you imagine how romantic this would be?”

I step forward to stand at her shoulder and take in the scene below us. Before I can respond, she sighs.

“I mean. For people who like that yucky love stuff,” she adds, tossing me the side-eye.

“How are you a wedding planner if you hate love so much?”

“I don’t hate love,” she insists. “I like the idea of it. But in practice, not so much. I already told you. I’ve seen too much.”

The sound of the ocean waves usually calms me, but right now, it’s churning in my mind, and I can’t rest my thoughts.

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