“My mom’s four eleven.”
“Holy cow, your dad must be Paul Bunyan.”
His grunt tells me this conversation is closed. Then, a few minutes later, after I’ve forgotten and moved on: “I’m not that tall. The national average for men in the Netherlands is six feet. If I lived there, no one would even notice me.”
I stare.
He swings away.
“Could you teach me how to draw a pirate sh—” I begin to ask, but Wesley drops his brush in a fit of frustration, rising from his chair.
“I’m not any good at this.” He sounds so resigned. And sad.
“What?” Not any good at this? What in the hell is he talking about? “Are you kidding? You’re amazing at this!”
“No, I’m not,” he mutters under his breath, cleaning up after himself jerkily. I can tell now that staring bothers him, but it’s impossible not to.
“Wesley.” I stand up.
“I should be cleaning. I’m too busy for this, I shouldn’t be messing around.” He holds out a hand like a stop sign, as if to say,Don’t you dare move. Stay where you are.“You’ve got this,” he assures me, gravely serious. “You’re doing great.” He keeps his hand up—Don’t come any closer—all the way out of the room.
I gape at the doorway. Then the mural.
“Okaaaaaay.”
I keep going for about two minutes longer, but concentration’s a pipe dream. I’ve got to go see what’s up with Wesley.
I find him in the kitchen, standing at the sink rinsing out his paintbrushes. I can’t tell if he’s hanging his head because he’s upset or just tired, but he isn’t his usual rigid self tonight.
In this silent house, my footsteps are an uproar. Wesley glances my way, eyes shuttering. We’re hungry and exhausted, a dangerous mix. We’re sick of requesting constant approval over every renovation detail when it comes to our own home, which we are each being forced to share with a stranger. Or not a stranger, anymore, not really—but certainly not a friend. He makes his distaste for my company crystal clear by finding any excuse to exit a room right after I’ve entered it and responding to my attempts at conversation with apathetic monosyllables.
“You all right?” I ask. I can’t help it. I’m an incorrigible peacemaker.
“Fine.” He shuts the water off, even though his hands still have paint on them, and begins to leave. He’s an incorrigible room-leaver.
“Have you seen the new box of garbage bags?” I ask before he can perform one of his vanishing acts. “I need to bag up about a billion paper towels. Cleaning out vents is disgusting.”
Without turning fully around, I know he’s gone stone-faced. I can tell by the shape of his profile, the minuscule jut to his chin. I hate that I pay close enough attention to be able to tell. “New bags are at the cabin. On top of the fridge.”
“Why’d you put them all the way up there?”
I’m trying to lift the mood with a little light ribbing, but Wesley’s too distressed to realize it.
“The top of the fridge isn’tall the way up thereto me,” he replies tartly.
I don’t think I like his tone. “Not everyone’s as tall as you are.”He’s the ungrateful kind of tall. If I had that sort of height, I’d be a blessing upon the earth. I’d hang tire swings and save cats. Ask my neighbors if they needed their curtains taken down to be washed.
“Not my problem. You should have eaten more vegetables when you were a child.”
I glare at him, which he doesn’t see, because he’s refusing to look at me. After a short miracle of getting along, showing me kindness, he’s reverted back into the grouch he’s been from the start. When I get my hotel up and running, I’m putting families with small, loud children in the bedroom directly beneath his. There will be complimentary trumpets and kickballs.
“For someone as beautiful as you are, it’s a shame you’re such an insufferable ass,” I blurt out angrily.
Stillness rings. “I’m not that bad, you know,” I continue. “You are constantly turning your back on me, ignoring me when I’m around like I’m a punishment to talk to, and it makes me feel like shit. You make me feel even lonelier than I already was.”
I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe I said that out loud. But if I’m shocked, he isfloored.
His eyes are saucers. I’d give up the left wing of the hotel to know what’s running through his mind.
