Page 83 of When We Were Young

“You didn’t have to do this. It looks wonderful, but I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad.” He picks up the brush from the floor and wipes the spot with a throw rag. “I like the color you picked in here.”

“Georgie gets the credit. She helped. I’m not great with matching and making things look pretty, but she’s excellent at all that stuff.”

“Yeah, she basically decorated the whole inside of Heath’s house for him, and it’s a big-ass house.” His forehead furrows, and he frowns. “Where’s Simon?”

I put my hands on my hips and tilt my head, fighting a grin. “Where do you think he is at two in the morning? He’s asleep.”

“Oh yeah. That makes sense. That’s good. Is the door locked?”

I can’t help it now, and I smile at his concern.

“Yes, the door is locked, but I don’t want to leave him up there by himself too long.”

“Yeah. You should go back to bed, too, and I’ll finish up here.”

“No. You have to stop.”

“Almost done, Lizzie. Literally, like ten more minutes. That includes cleanup.”

I bite my lower lip.

“How about I help with the cleanup, and then, I know it’s the middle of the night, but you could come upstairs for a few minutes and have a couple of the cookies I made yesterday as a thank you.”

The smile I get in return is panty-melting. Not because it’s sexy or suave, but because it’s genuine, and he has such an attractive smile as it is. Which then makes it sexy. I can see how women fall prey to his wiles. It’s that damn smile.

“Do you want me to brew coffee?”

“No, not this late. Well, wait. Do you have any decaf?”

“I do have some of those pods for my coffee maker upstairs that are decaf, I think.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Sure. I’ll get that ready. How do you want yours?”

“Lots of cream, if you have it.”

“Okay. Got it.”

I pick up a few things and put them in the trash while he resumes working on the trim.

I smile as his singing starts up again when he turns back to painting.

A few minutes later, I’m upstairs with a cup of decaf coffee brewed for each of us when there’s a light knock on the door.

Rather than yell “come in,” since my boy is asleep, I head over to the door and open it.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi back,” he answers.

“Coffee is over there on the table by the couch. I put a plate of cookies out, too.”

It strikes me that this is the first time he’s been in my space since the day everyone helped me paint the rooms a while back. It’s mildly awkward, but not too bad.

“Thanks.” He strolls over to the couch and sits. “You realize all we need to do in there now is put the floor down, then it’ll be ready for the install of the stove and island? You can pick your tables and chairs to have them ready for delivery.”