Page 20 of The Summer House
Callie squinted her eyes at Olivia in doubt. She led the way downstairs, her long hair pulled up into a high ponytail, no make-up on purpose. She wasn’t going to do anything special just for Luke Sullivan. In fact, she wanted him to see how average folks got things done when they didn’t have a staff to do it for them.
Callie grabbed Olivia’s arm, stopping her as they entered the large living room. They hung back, Callie watching to see how Luke handled himself. Wyatt—still in his Spider-Man pajamas, his red curls in a tangle on top of his head—was going through his Matchbox car collection. Luke, holding one of the cars in his hand, was smiling and had squatted down to Wyatt’s level.
“I made a ramp outside yesterday,” Wyatt said. “It’s still there. Wanna see it? We could try it out.”
“Absolutely.”
“Wyatt, honey, Luke brought breakfast,” Olivia said as she and Callie came into the room. “Maybe you can show him after.”
Callie took Luke outside through the back door while Olivia got Wyatt the breakfast he’d brought. She stood, facing the view, her hands on her hips, wondering why he’d come today but not wanting to ask. It was early still, and the sun had just risen over the horizon—a glorious bright orange orb floating above the glistening sea as the waves crept ashore, the powdery sand soaking up their foam. The wind tickled her face with wisps of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. She pushed them behind her ear. Callie was glad that most of the work on the front of the house was nearly done. She wouldn’t mind working with this breeze at all.
Luke looked over at her and smiled before turning back toward the shore. “There’s nothing better than this, is there?” he asked.
“It is a great view,” she agreed. “We’re going to have porches that stretch across the back of the house here.” She pointed to the top of the cottage where the construction had begun. “Each level will have its own double doors that open on to it.”
“That sounds nice.” His shirt rippled in the wind, pressing against his body, revealing the shape of his chest, and erasing any doubt about whether or not he worked out. She noticed the round of his bicep as he lifted his arm to run his hand through his blowing hair.
Callie dragged her eyes away and focused on the house. “I’m going to paint the trim on the side of the house over there.” She pointed to a small section with a bay window allowing a view of Wyatt and Olivia in the kitchen. “I figured I could do that first before it gets too hot, then I’ve got a little bit of sanding and painting to do where I took wallpaper off in the living room. Since you’re here, I might as well put you to work.”
“Sounds good.” He had his game-face on, that air of challenge returning, but a flirty look in his eye. She ignored it. He was easy to like, and while he hadn’t listened when she’d told him not to come, she admired his perseverance. Maybe he really did want to get to know her better.
“Why don’t you go around front and get the ladders. They’re leaning on the house by the porch. I’ll pour the paint for the trim.”
Luke nodded and headed around the house. She tipped three gallon-sized cans of white exterior paint into a large bucket she’d bought at the home improvement store and grabbed two brushes from the nearby plastic carrier bag that still had supplies from her last shopping trip. Luke brought the first ladder over and set it against the house, disappearing around the corner again as he retrieved the second.
When he returned, he leaned the other ladder next to the first, side by side against the old “shakes” as they were called—the shingles that covered the house. Since they were made of cedar, the newer ones offered a spicy, wooden smell up close. Used for ages along the coast here, they were popular because they were naturally resistant to rot, and they could withstand storms as well as wind and sand abrasion. They always started out a light tan but as they aged, they turned the most gorgeous dark brown color, and the white paint on the trim acted as a defining outline, leaving the blue of the sea and sky to paint the landscape while the house sat quietly behind.
Callie climbed up the ladder, awkwardly holding the heavy bucket, her arms working overtime to steady herself with the weight of it. Luke had looked as though he was going to extend a hand to help, but she kept climbing until she’d nearly reached the top. She hooked the bucket on the ladder hook.No damsel in distress here, Luke Sullivan, she thought. Luke grabbed his brush and climbed up beside her, the bucket swinging between them.
With confidence in her actions, Callie dipped her brush into the bucket. “You want to get the brush full enough with paint that it can last you a few strokes, but not too much or it will drip on the siding and that’s difficult to get off.”
She scraped her brush gently on the side of the bucket and held it up to demonstrate as a couple of seagulls flew overhead, pulling Luke’s attention their way. She had to stifle a huff. Was he going to pay attention or not? He was supposedly there to help, and he needed to realize that life wasn’t all bikinis and yachts. If he didn’t focus, he could mess up the coat of paint.
“Leaning against a stilted house makes me feel like I’m swaying,” Luke said, applying paint to his brush as she watched anxiously. He observed her strokes for a moment politely before he started painting. Then, surprisingly, he painted a seamless coat onto the trim, and once he got going he was meticulous, the paint a perfect thickness on the old wood.
“You’re good at this,” she said, trying to hide her shock. He’d surprised her again.
He grinned but didn’t say anything.
As she painted quietly beside him, she wondered if she’d been so worried about him making assumptions about her that she’d failed to notice she was doing the same. Maybe it was because she was broken in some way, unable to give herself wholeheartedly to someone else, always worried about the intentions of others and closing up. Shehadopened up completely with Olivia and Gladys. But then again, she’d known them her whole life. She’d met her friend during the innocence of childhood, when every human being is naturally untainted by life, just before her father had left. In the back of Callie’s mind, she’d always wondered if she’d inherited her mother’s guardedness. It just felt a whole lot safer that way.
Her father’s leaving had blindsided both Callie and her mother. Callie’s mother wasn’t great after he left, becoming distant at times. She wondered now if she’d just been overwhelmed. Her mother had tried to make an effort, but by that time Callie was already in high school, and too hurt to accept her mother’s late response. Callie’s father passed away before she ever had a chance to find him and ask him why he’d left. So she was left to wonder.
She moved her arm back and forth, the brush gliding along the wet surface. “Have you ever painted before?” she asked.
Luke was quiet as he worked. Finally, not taking his eyes off the house, he said, “A little.” The hesitation in his response made her wonder if there was more behind those words than he was letting on. Already feeling pretty awful for having judged him, she didn’t press him on it.
“Have you always lived in Waves?” she asked.
He smiled at her, sending her heart pattering. The sun, now at its spot high in the sky, was hidden behind a cloud, offering some much-needed relief from the heat.
“I’ve lived here and at my house in Florida. I also have an apartment in New York, but I tend to stay around the coast.”
“Which is your favorite?” A breeze blew against her neck, cooling her briefly. She put more paint on her brush while steadying herself against the ladder.
“The Outer Banks is my favorite.” He reached his arm out to paint a spot further down the trim.
Callie continued to apply the next coat. “I loved coming here as kid—I waited all year for it.” She caught a runaway drip with her finger and wiped it on her shorts. “I came here every year with Olivia and her family. I spent so much time with them that I feel more like a Dixon than a Weaver,” she said.
