“Door’s open,” April called absently over her shoulder, wondering why her mom bothered to knock. She’d spent the morning getting the apartment ready for their day of painting, and now that it was pushing two in the afternoon, she was surprised her mom had only just returned. Well, surprised—yet not. If she’d learned anything about her mom in the few days since she’d returned to Cascade Falls, it was that love turned her into a social butterfly. So, really, she could have easily wound up chatting with the employees working at the paint store, all the while forgetting that she’d left April to the heavy lifting alone.
Now that she was moving into James’s palatial estate, its size towering over just about every other home in town, her mom wanted to repaint the apartment for potential buyers. She’d gone a little over-the-top with new decorations and knickknacks to make an already charming downtown apartment look even better, and April knew, new paint job or not, the place would sell within days of being on the market.
Had she not been feeling guilty for abandoning her rather drunk mom at the resort with Van and James, April wouldn’t have volunteered to move all the furniture in the apartment to the middle of the rooms and drape them. She would have encouraged her mom to hire professionals for the day—all this physical labor was murder on her back.
“April?”
She dropped the roller she’d been struggling to attach to its pole, as Van’s voice sounded throughout the apartment. Setting her painting gear aside, she hurried out of the huge living room with its beautiful bay window overlooking Main Street and staggered to a halt when she saw him standing by the front door.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying not to sound too frantic. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since they’d parted ways at the lakeside resort, and honestly, she’d been a little embarrassed at how they’d ended things. Drudging up the past had been his game, not hers, and yet she fell right into it and ended up bickering with him like a teenager.
Her eyes wandered down his muscular arms to the cans of paint he was holding, and she felt her stomach knot.
“Dad and I ran into your mom while we were out this morning,” he told her, taking a few steps into the foyer. “Somehow I was offered up as a volunteer to paint her living room while they go grab afternoon drinks.”
Her hands fell to her hips, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh really?”
His story sounded painfully familiar to her own. Lips pursed, she studied him quickly, taking in his grungy old leather boots, dark jeans, and non-descript black t-shirt. He was like a storm cloud ready to pummel her day. Still, all those muscles had to be good for something, and she wasn’t about to turn away good help.
“I’ve got a few hours before my bar shift starts,” he told her, peering into the living room through the nearby doorway. “I was going to offer to move the furniture, but you seem to have taken care of that already.”
“You can help paint,” she said stiffly, as she took two of the cans from him. He then ducked into the hallway again and brought in three more cans, and she suddenly felt bad that he had to lug all of that up to her mom’s apartment in an elevator-less building.
No. Don’t feel bad for him. He is a womanizing jerk with a rich daddy…who works at a bar and drives a motorcycle. Van doesn’t need my sympathy.
They got to work shortly after, and April did her best to keep the conversation strictly focused around painting. Eggshell blue. Brush size pros and cons. Rollers. Paint trays. Whatever she could do to not bring up their parting spat at the resort, she did it. Though as they worked, a part of her wished she wasn’t wearing a massive baggy t-shirt over her rolled-up leggings. Occasionally, she caught him eyeing her, and she wished she’d looked like less of a boho arts student. After all, even in jeans and a t-shirt, Van radiated raw manly appeal—April would have liked to at least have been on the same playing field.
They were almost finished with the bulk of the living room when he asked her about college. April stiffened, worried he’d bring up the night before college, but he never did.
“I just did some online stuff after high school,” he admitted, as he fixed some of the tape they’d used to protect the crown molding. “School wasn’t really for me, but I sometimes wish I’d done the whole college thing.”
Yeah, he probably does if he works at a bar. She bit back the comment. I work in retail, for goodness sake, so who am I to be on a high horse?
Hesitantly, she gave him the bare bones of her experience, leaving out the array of mediocre sex partners and the few very traumatizing breakdowns she’d had about grades and job prospects. He listened intently, never interrupting, never teasing, and by the time she was finished, there was a noticeable shift in the air between them.
Comfort. Ease. The repetitive motion of dragging a paint brush up and down, the breeze wafting in from the propped open windows, the radio humming softly in the background… It all created a rather relaxed state of mind as they worked. She hadn’t even noticed the time pass, but they’d been working together for almost two hours without a single fight or snide comment. Progress.
“So,” Van started, as she touched up a corner that was looking a little sloppy, “any cute college boys tickle your fancy?”
She laughed, stepping back to study her work. “Tickle my fancy? Is that a thing people say still?”
“Ah, avoidance,” Van mused serenely, nodding. “The first line of defense—”
“College boys are none of your business anyway,” she insisted, as she pointed her brush at him. Unfortunately, the force behind the point sent some paint flying, splattering across his t-shirt and jeans. April stepped back, horrified.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
Before she could get her full apology out, Van dipped his brush in the nearby paint can and flicked some eggshell blue paint at her.
“Tit for tat, April O’Hara,” he said rather seriously, as she looked down at herself, her jaw hanging open. April gripped her brush tightly, a rush of adrenaline pumping through her.
“You got way more on me than I did on you!” And with that, she reached out and dragged her paintbrush across his stomach, which, even beneath his shirt, she could tell was toned and firm. Van looked down at the mark she made, lips set in a thin line, and April smirked when their eyes met. “Now we’re even.”
“Proportionally, I think I have more paint on me than you,” he told her, and April shrieked and danced out of the way when he tried to get her with his brush.
And before either of them realized, their demure day of painting had turned into a full-blown paint fight. Thank goodness she’d covered all the important things with sheets earlier in the day, because neither of them held back as they flung paint at each other, laughing. Van caught her while she was trying to creep out of the kitchen at one point, an arm encircling her waist and his paintbrush running from her collarbone to her hip. She giggled and squirmed out of his grasp, managing to get his neck with her brush in turn.
The whole thing came to a crashing halt when someone cleared their voice in the foyer. James Palmer brought April back to reality in about 2.5 seconds, and the pure childish glee she’d been feeling quickly evaporated. Panting, she moved away from Van and tucked some of her fallen hair behind her ears, the rest of it up in a sloppy bun.
“Your mother and I ran into some friends at lunch,” he said, and Van exhaled deeply. “She sent me to check on your progress…” The older man’s eyes wandered the hall before landing squarely on April, who was covered in paint. “Swimmingly, I see.”
April struggled to find the right words, but it was Van to speak up first.
“Shit!” He pressed his hand to her lower back, capturing her attention. “I have to work in a half hour, and it’ll take me twice as long to get cleaned up. Sorry.”
“It’s… fine,” she said stiffly, stilling when he leaned in for a hug—or a kiss? Whatever it was, it made her breath catch in her throat.
Van did neither, however, and instead bopped her on the nose with his paintbrush. Scowling, April watched him go, leaving her to deal with his dad all on her own. She held up a hand as soon as the door shut, excusing herself to get cleaned up. However, she wasn’t in the bathroom for more than a minute before James appeared in the doorway, leaning on the frame and watching her in the mirror.
“You and my son seem to be on better terms today,” he noted, as she rinsed her hands in the sink. April nodded, a little surprised herself. “I would be careful with him.”
April looked up sharply, frowning, then told him, “I’m not unaware of his reputation. He’s had it since high school.”
“Oh, I don’t mean his reputation.” James stepped into the bathroom, not stopping until he was directly behind her, so close that she could almost feel him. April stiffened, stunned. “I mean I don’t want the two of you getting too close. The way he looks at you… The way you look at him. It stops today. Is that understood?”
“But we—”
“If it does not,” he continued, and her blood ran cold as he reached up and brushed her loose hair behind her shoulders, “there will be consequences. Severe consequences… for both you and your mom. Particularly if you tell someone of this little… chat. Am I clear?”
All she could do was nod, her mouth dry, and the smile he gave her in the mirror made her nauseous.
“Good.” Then, as an added bonus, he patted her behind before stepping away. April blinked at her reflection, stunned. “I’ll be sure to tell your mother you’ve made… some progress on the apartment. I believe she expects it to be mostly finished when she returns this evening.”
With that, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Once she was alone, April let out a shaky breath and sunk to the floor, her mind racing with all that had happened in just a few short hours.