Page 59 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
Whatever. This flipping reporter could call all she wanted because I wasn’t giving in.
Plugging my phone back in, I went to my closet for a sweater to pull over my tank top and sleep shorts. Then I went to the kitchen, flicking on lights as I went to make a pot of coffee. With a steaming mug in hand, I stood in the living room and assessed my loft.
Sleepless nights meant remodeling, but with my motel projects done, I could finally start on my own home. The ideas I’d been sketching and dreaming about for years were going to come to life.
And Coby’s room was up first.
Mom and Dad had requested a grandson sleepover after Mom’s Wednesday-night dinner so Coby was at their house tonight. It had been two weeks since Beau and Sabrina’s wedding and now that the craziness was over, they wanted some quality time with Coby. Pickle was there too so he could start his puppy training with Dad first thing in the morning.
With the loft to myself and some hustle, I could have
Coby’s room tarped and the ceiling painted before I needed to get to work. Then tomorrow, I could juggle my schedule a bit to paint the walls while he was at daycare.
He was going to be so excited. I couldn’t wait to see Coby’s face when he came home to blue walls, and just thinking about his smile gave me one.
Coby’s room was going to have an antique car theme. Because Dad loved antique cars, he’d turned Coby on to them too. My son wanted nothing more than to be like his gramps and the two of them had been collecting old license plates lately. I’d been stashing them in my closet to hang on the walls as decorations. Those, along with the bunk bed Beau was going to build Coby, would make this place my son’s little sanctuary. He’d have steps in lieu of a ladder to his bed and a play space underneath the bed with shelves for his books and toys.
It was going to be awesome, and the prospect of diving in gave me a second wind. Who needed sleep? Not this girl. She was going to paint.
Slugging back more coffee, I set down my cup and went downstairs to my office for supplies. Since Hunter was staying in the housekeeper’s room, my office had now become my renovation supply closet.
With drop cloths, rollers and ceiling paint in hand, I carted it all upstairs. Then I came back down for my ladder. Coby’s bed and dresser got pushed to the middle of the room. His toy baskets and beanbag chair got tossed on top of the pile. Then I covered the heap in plastic.
I went back to the kitchen and swallowed a few big gulps of my cold coffee before propping open the outside door and opening all the windows. Stripping off my sweater, I went back to Coby’s room and filled my paint tray. I set the ladder up as close to the middle of the room as I could manage and climbed up. Balancing the paint tray in one hand and my coated roller in the other, I let the back and forth motion soothe my stresses away.
Painting had become my favorite coping mechanism.
I’d thrown myself so completely into fixing up this building it had allowed me to bury my troubles. How was I going to deal with the flashes, strange dreams and sleepless nights when my renovation projects were done? Once the loft was remodeled, I’d be out of wall space to recolor.
I needed to find a new distraction.
Maybe I’d take up reading. All my friends were avid readers—Sabrina was even an author—but I’d never had a passion for the pastime. The idea was appealing though. I could escape Everett by disappearing into a book.
I’d be willing to give it a shot, but thankfully right now, I still had my painting.
I coated my roller again and stepped up another rung on the ladder so I could stretch and hit the space above Coby’s tarped bed. I was extended to the near-tipping point when a deep voice filled the room.
“What are you doing?” Hunter boomed.
“Ahh!” I screamed as my muscles jerked violently. The sudden movement caused my ladder to rock onto two legs and tip to the side, sending me flailing backward with my paint tray and roller still in hand. But before I could crash onto the floor, Hunter caught me at the waist.
He also caught my paint.
My tray flew up, tilting in slow motion as it turned over and coated us both in sticky white.
“Fuck,” Hunter cursed as he steadied me.
My heart still racing, I spun around and pointed the roller toward his face, sending paint splatters everywhere. “You scared me! Again! What are you even doing here?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m up here making sure you’re okay. I heard a bunch of noise from my room. Remember? The one right down there?” He pointed to the floor. “Then I came up here and found your door wide open. What the hell? Anyone could have come in here. You keep that shit locked at night, Maisy. I don’t give a fuck if you’re painting. The door stays closed!”
“Oh, no you don’t! You don’t get to be mad at me. This is all on you.” I used my roller to wildly showcase the disaster that was our mess. “Quit. Scaring. Me!”
We glared at each other while our chests puffed up and down. Slowly, the scowl on Hunter’s handsome face turned up into a grin. The white of his teeth matched the paint all over his chest. I was still glaring up at him when he looked down at his ruined shirt, shook his head, then roared with laughter.
Hunter’s unfettered laugh in his smooth tenor voice sent tingles rippling across my skin. His Adam’s apple was more pronounced when he laughed. And sexy. Damn sexy. I was just as obsessed with getting my tongue on that bump as ever.
I couldn’t hold my glare with his gorgeous smile so close. Giggles bubbled in my chest, and within seconds, I was laughing hysterically too. The sound of our combined laughter filled my loft, echoing off the walls in Coby’s tiny room.
