He turned around and groaned. "Are you serious?"
“It happens.”
He grabbed a rag off the counter and went back up the ladder.
I watched him work while holding the ladder steady.
He was loading too much paint onto the brush and dragging it too slowly through the turns. "A smaller brush for the trim would help. That way you won’t get so much collecting at the edges."
He paused and looked down at the brush. "I need a different brush?"
"Just for the detail work.The wall looks good but you can save some time and headaches with an angled brush."
He did his best to wipe up the drips, but they would still be visible without sanding and a new coat. But I didn’t mention that as he climbed back down. He stood next to the ladder and looked over at me. "You know, you don't have to stay. I’m sure you were on your way somewhere."
"I was going to the farmers' market." At least, that was my excuse.
"Well, it was nice to see you." He turned his back to me and went still, like he was waiting for me to leave.
"I actually like painting. I’m happy to help."
His shoulders went up and down as if he were taking a deep breath, and then he turned around to face me again. "Thanks, but I’m fine. I've got a system going."
It wasn’t much of a system for success, but it wasn’t my place to say that. "Okay. If you’re sure…"
A beat passed, and then a drop of paint fell from the brush in his hand and landed directly on his shoe. We both looked down at it.
I couldn’t hold back a grin. "I take it that's not part of the system."
He just picked up the rag and crouched down to wipe his shoe. Of course, that only smeared it. He sat back on his heels, and I could see the energy he'd been exuding since I walked in fizzling out. “I’m not good at this stuff.”
"Is anyone else coming to help you with all this? Friends or family?"
He put the brush in the tray and crossed his arms over his chest as he took a step back. "Not really."
"Not really…or no?"
He looked outside through the open door behind me, avoiding eye contact. "People were really great right after Rand died, but they were mostly his friends. And after a few months of me ignoring offers for help and not getting back to people checking in on me, they just stopped bothering." His eyes flicked to mine for just a second before averting his gaze again. "I don't blame them, but I don’t really have anyone left."
Everything was starting to make sense. The early excitement around town for the new coffee shop and then the sudden silence about whether it would ever open. "How long has it been since you lost your partner?"
"Eight months." It was clear that he was trying. Just being here on a Saturday morning with music playing and a roller in his hand counted for something.
But he was also completely alone. Starting a business was hard under perfect conditions. Doing it completely alone and while trying to climb out of depression was near impossible. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ethan.” I put my arms around him and just held him against me.
He went stiff for a second like he’d forgotten how to embrace someone…or be embraced. Then his arms lifted and he held on to the back of my jacket with his forehead on my shoulder.
I didn't say anything for a moment, just giving him time to accept me as someone who cared. "You’re not alone anymore, Ethan. Let me help."
He stayed where he was for another few seconds, but when he finally pulled back, his eyes were wet and glassy. "Okay."
And that was it. I picked up the extra roller from the floor next to the tray and looked at the unpainted wall across the room. "You got another tray?"
He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist and almost smiled. "Storage room in the back."
"Let me grab one and see if there’s a smaller brush for the trim and we’ll get these knocked out by the end of the day."
5
