Page 90 of Where We Call Home

Theo was dressed in worn overalls and a snug T-shirt, her bare feet tapping softly against the hardwood floor as she surveyed the room. She looked ready, eager to get started. I was dressed in my backward cap and an old pair of mesh shorts that I didn’t care about getting dirty.

The first thing we needed to do was paint, which was the most exciting part for me.

I poured the milk-brown paint we’d picked out into two flat trays, watching the creamy color swirl before it settled. Placing a roller in each tray, I turned to Theo with a grin.

We’d woken up early, shared a quiet breakfast, and I savored a strong cup of coffee before we dove into the project

Since our conversation the other day, nothing had really changed—but somehow, everything had. The glances we exchanged lingered, the touches felt more intentional, and the unspoken energy between us shifted into something that felt undeniably deeper. The words I’d neglected to say out right were clearly understood.

“Alright, Honey, grab that roller and get to work,” I instructed, grabbing a small brush to start on the trim. Theo wasn’t tall or agile enough to cover more than what was directly in front of her.

Instead of insisting she sit this out, I wanted her to feel helpful. She could paint the middle of the walls, and I’d take care of the rest.

“Sir, yes, sir.” She gave a mock salute. As Theo picked up her roller, flashing me an excited smile, it hit me that this was more than just a room we were painting. It was the beginning of something beautifully new.

“One pass at a time. We don’t want it to look spotty,” I reminded her. Theo nodded, her pigtails swaying with the movement.

Before I could finish trimming a whole wall, Theo was done. When I tell you she probably covered a three-foot radius, I was being generous. Each wall had a stripe right across the middle.

“Okay, now what?” she asked, swaying her body back and forth. I was lying on the ground, paintbrush in hand, trying not to get paint where it didn’t belong. My attention couldn’t be swayed because I refused to tape before I started the project. Call it masculine stubbornness.

When I didn’t answer her right away, she took a step closer to me, and I could feel her looming above, staring. That made my hand start to shake.

“I said, now what,” she repeated herself.

Letting out a laugh, I rolled on my back and stared at her. “I’ve got to keep trimming the walls before we can use the extended roller and paint the rest.”

“What can I do?”

“Let me finish this wall, and then you can paint more.”

Theo stepped away, the paint roller dangling from her hand. I resumed my job, focusing completely on the wall, needing it to be perfect.

The sound of crinkling plastic broke my concentration. Theo was pacing back and forth across the drop cloth, her bare feet shifting it noisily with each step. She looked restless, clearly bored out of her mind.

A cold hand touched my cheek, causing me to jolt the brush against the wall. Glancing over, I saw Theo, brown-handed, smirking at me.

“Did you just put a handprint of paint on my face?” I asked, my tone laced with disbelief.

Theo nodded, biting her bottom lip to stifle a grin.

“Are you reallythatbored?”

“I don’t like sitting here doing nothing, so I let the intrusive thought win,” she quipped, shrugging innocently.

“Clearly,” I replied dryly.

Theo stepped closer, her other hand tucked suspiciously behind her back.

“What are you doing?” I asked, raising my hands defensively, already bracing for whatever mischief she had planned.

“Having some fun,” she said, inching toward me with a grin that screamed trouble.

“Theo,” I warned, slowly standing and gripping my paintbrush like it was some kind of weapon. Not that it would stop her.

Her grin only widened as she crept closer, her eyes glinting.

Glancing to my right, I quickly bent down and put my hand in the paint, too. I gave her a testing glance, and she didn’t back away. I approached her, my pace matching hers as we danced like two fighters in the ring.

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