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And hell if he wouldn’t sound really sexy being all alpha and possessive. Goosebumps graze my skin under the hot water in my bath.
Pull yourself together, Andie.
* * *
“So, I was thinking,” I say the next morning to a bleary-eyed, messy-haired Noah. “What do you think of helping me spruce this place up a bit?”
I study his face from my seat next to him at our small table next to the kitchen. His features are the perfect mixture of Mom and Dad’s, whereas I look like a clone of my mother. He has our Dad’s thick, dark hair and eyebrows, but our Mom’s warm brown eyes and full mouth. I don’t think he realizes how handsome he is, I wonder if all the girls in his class have crushes on him.
His eyebrows raise as he chews his mouthful of sugary cereal—Saturday mornings are the only time I’ll allow it—then they furrow slightly, like he’s deep in thought. Noah swallows. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”
“Really?” That was too easy. “Of course, I don’t want to change too much. And I want all the photos of Mom and Dad to stay up.”
He nods, surprisingly calm about this. “I think it would be… nice.” Noah looks at his cereal like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “The house has seemed really sad, you know, without them. Maybe changing things up would help.” He scoops another bite of cereal into his mouth.
His honesty makes my eyes burn with tears. I choke them back, not wanting to ruin the moment.
I clear the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I feel that way too.” I pause, biting my bottom lip while I think. “I thought about moving my stuff to the master and turning my old room down here into a gym.”
His eyes widen and a small smile plays on his lips. “Really? That would be awesome. I’d like to strengthen my legs.” He pauses. “But I think I should get the master bedroom.”
“Nice try.” I reach over and muss his hair. “Do you have any decorating ideas?”
He smooths his hair back down, stands, and walks over to the kitchen sink. He’s thoughtful as he rinses out his now-empty cereal bowl. His back is to me, but I hear him say, “Could we paint?”
“Yeah! Which room?”
He turns and glances around the open kitchen, living area we’re in. It’s currently painted a light green color. “This room.”
I nod. “Green was Mom’s favorite color.”
“I know. It makes me kind of sad.”
Again, I hold back tears. After losing a loved one, every small change seems bigger somehow, like the world is just moving on without them, even though your heart isn’t.
“What color are you thinking?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion again.
“How about D.C. Eagles red?” He says it with such a straight face, it takes me ten whole seconds to realize he’s joking, and I burst out laughing.
“You had me there for a second.”
Noah smirks.
Standing up, I set my hands on my hips and survey the room. “How about a pale blush color?”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “I have no clue what that means.”
“Grab your coat, we’re going paint shopping.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re at one of those giant stores that smells like lumber, perusing the paint swatches. We decide on a happy yellow color and spend a small fortune on paint supplies. This could be a complete disaster, seeing as neither of us have ever painted before.
But the last nine months have been the two of us against the world, both of us learning how to do life without our parents. Balancing the hardship of moving forward with bittersweet remembering. Painting is no different than anything else we’ve conquered, and it's probably the easiest new thing we’ve attempted together.
If it ends up terrible and we hate the color, or we splatter it everywhere…
We can fix it. We can learn from it, we can conquer it.
CHAPTER 12
