“She’s lied to me before.” Another mile passed before he spoke. “I don’t think she did it, but I don’t know. Ten years ago, no way she’d do something like this, or lie to me. Now? I don’t know.”
She used the reflection on the windshield from the setting sun to study him covertly. Carved from granite would indicate rigidity, immovability, a hardness meant to be admired or appreciated, but the skin and muscles of Lucas’s face were too taut for that. Instead, they looked like they’d been schooled into immobility. That was the difference. He still felt the pain and sorrow he saw on a near daily basis, but he’d taught himself to show no emotion. Maybe the renovation project would give him the break he needed, a chance to work on something tangible, with visible progress, to combat the ugliness in the world with a bit of beauty.
They pulled into the home-improvement superstore’s parking lot. He eased his long legs out of the truck immediately, but she rummaged through her purse to make sure she had her tablet, only to find him at her door. He opened it, then offered his hand to help her out.
She blinked, then set her hand in his. “Thank you,” she said, and slid to the ground. Her hand stayed in his for a very brief moment, rough and warm and shockingly possessive, providing the right amount of support to help her keep her balance as she got out of the big truck. There was nothing tentative about this man. He knew exactly who he was, where he belonged, what he was about.
She knew none of those things about herself, but maybe some of his purpose would rub off on her in the next few weeks. Literally. Tonight, after dinner.
He stayed close as they crossed the parking lot, whether out of a totally unexpected chivalry or training, she didn’t know. But a delicate, potent trill of desire shivered through her as his big body moved beside her, his hand at the small of her back, his shoulders blocking the last vestiges of the setting sun.
They walked through the sliding doors. He steered her down the main aisle, through the lighting fixtures, and back to the cabinets department. She pulled out her tablet and woke it up, then logged into the store’s free Wi-Fi.
“I went out to Brookhaven and looked at the two kitchens Marissa renovated out there. She did a nice job of keeping the house’s original ambiance while integrating all the modern conveniences. Then I browsed through Pinterest and other sites, getting a feel for what’s possible.”
He bent over her shoulder, studying the pictures as she swiped through them. “No one’s trying to modernize the 1970s,” he noted.
“Not yet, anyway. Do you want a retro feel, one that plays off the house’s original kitchen, or do you want something new and modern? You could remove the cabinets, but I’d keep them because they’ve got those gorgeous beadboard doors and I’d refinish them, or even paint them. Cream would be perfect. That would make the room feel so much bigger and brighter, regardless of what color you painted the walls. Updating the hardware would add visual interest, and save some money. I’d pick something in a bright brass or gold, because that room gets so much gorgeous light. I’d do a jade paint, or even a sage. A soft green would flow beautifully into the living room. Tiling the backsplash from the cabinets to the counters would make it much easier to clean. If we went with a more muted paint, we could choose a complementary tile color and insert bright accent pieces . . .”
Her voice trailed off because he hadn’t said a word. The silence stretching between them allowed for a flush to climb into her cheeks. This wasn’t her house. As much as she loved the house, with its polished walnut floors and clever little shelves, it was Lucas’s house, not hers. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I was just thinking out loud.”
“That’s why I invited you along,” he said. “Left to my own devices, I’d paint it white, put in white appliances, and go with basic oak cabinets.”
“That would look all right, too,” she said.
He quirked an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth. “You blush when you lie, too.”
“I told you I blush all the time,” she retorted.
“And now I believe you.”
“I’m no design expert, but white will wash all the warmth out of the room,” she said. “That said, it’s probably the most generic solution, if you want to keep renting the house.”
“No possibility of offending a prospective tenant,” he said.
“But no character,” she finished.
He gestured vaguely at the picture on her phone. “Do what you think best suits the house. I’m going to look at PVC.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the actual plumbing.