“I miss her.”
When they’d finished, they were both speckled with paint.
“The hose is here,” she said. “If you want to wash up.” She noticed Luke’s shirt, after he’d carried the paint bucket over to rinse it, and pursed in her lips, trying not to show concern.
“What?” He dropped the brush with a plop into the nearly empty bucket and turned on the water.
Callie ran her hands under the stream and lathered with the old bar of soap she’d left on top of the hose reel since they’d started painting the exterior last week. It had just been easier to leave it outside.
“Look at your shirt,” she said. It was covered in sticky, white paint.
He looked down.
“Couldn’t you feel that? It’s soaked all the way through!” Callie unwound the hose a little more to get the entirety of her arms wet, the cool water refreshing in the intense heat. “For such a neat painter, I’d expect you to be a little cleaner at the end,” she teased. She felt the zing of nervous energy, taking a chance by joking with him. “I barely have any on me.” Which was good since she hadn’t done laundry and this was the last clean outfit.
With a devious gleam in his eye, Luke held out his arms, confusing her. “Thank you for letting me help today. It was fun.” He started walking toward her.
“What are you doing?” she said, backing up and putting the spraying hose in between them.
“I just thought I’d give you a hug…” His face was alight with mischief.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, jabbing the hose in his direction. “I’ll spray you!” She put her thumb over the end of the hose, forcing the water out in a hard stream in his direction. He ducked it, darting to the side, quick on his feet. She slung the stream toward him, but he was too fast and she missed, his arms still outstretched an enormous smile on his face.
“Come here,” he taunted her.
She backed up again, nearly stumbling over some loose patio tiles.
Luke put down his arms, that grin still present. “Okay,” he said in surrender. “I won’t get paint on you. But I had to try! May I have the hose to wash up?”
With a dubious look, she handed him the hose, still leaning back, her arm outstretched as far as it would go. “The water feels wonderful in this heat,” she said.
“It does feel good,” he said, putting his thumb on the end like she had and shooting a geyser into the air above them, the water falling down on them like a rainstorm.
Callie squealed and jumped out of the way, only getting the spray on half her body. “You’ve got me all wet!” she giggled, unable to be annoyed.
“You’re not all wet,” he said. “This would be all wet.” He sprayed her again.
“Oh, you are in so much trouble now,” she said, completely forgetting she’d just met him and pawing for the hose, but he held it above her, out of reach, drenching them both, the water puddling at their feet in milky, paint-filled pools. Callie jumped for it, missing and stumbling on the uneven pavers again. Luke caught her with his free hand and scooped her up, pulling her close. She felt the thin, wet fabric of their shirts between them, the way his muscle contracted in his bicep as he caught her, the lightness of his fingers at her waist.
She pulled back and her shirt was soggy with water and paint.
“Got ya,” he said, his eyes lingering on her longer than usual. Then he broke out in the most gorgeous smile, sending her stomach into somersaults.
Nine
“I’ve been waiting for you two to finish… You’re soaking wet!” Olivia said with a grin from the upstairs window, loud music sailing toward them. Her red curls dangled above them, the ringlets naturally perfect since the humidity hadn’t set in yet. Usually, by noon, Olivia had it pinned up in wild, unmanageable strands. She was looking at Callie in that way they had when they could tell what the other was thinking. “Could you come inside? I need your help with something.”
Callie and Luke went up the steps to the porch. Luke reached around her and opened the old screened door, the hinges creaking out their age, the screen punched out at the bottom. When they got to the family room, he stopped. The room itself was nearly perfect structurally—it had a vaulted ceiling with paddle fans and a large window that stretched up part of the back wall, allowing a panoramic view of the sea. The only change she and Olivia wanted to make in this room was to extend the windows and add French doors that opened onto the new porches, and they’d wanted to remove the old built-in shelves that were against the wall, separating it from the kitchen.
In the center of the hardwood floor, Wyatt was building an enormous contraption with gears and other pieces in all the primary colors. He dropped a marble into the top, testing the pathway he was making.
Luke bent over him to view it. “What are you building?” he asked.
“It’s a double pathway shoot. Watch this,” Wyatt said, placing another marble on top. As it rolled, he shifted a lever, changing the direction of the marble.
“That’s cool,” Luke said with a smile that reached his eyes. “May I build something?”
Wyatt’s eyes grew round with excitement. “Sure!”
Luke reached into the box and rummaged around, his gaze darting between the box and the track. He unsnapped a few pieces, redirected the original pathway and put in some gears. “Let’s see if this works. How many marbles do you have?”
“Four.” Wyatt handed them to him.
Luke dropped them onto the track, one after another, the shiny spheres rolling like wildfire until they hit the gears, shooting out in four different directions, all coming out at the end at the same time.
“Whoa!” Wyatt said, impressed. He tipped his head to take a closer look at the new part Luke had put together.
“I have to go help your mom, okay?” Luke said as he stood. He ruffled Wyatt’s hair and followed Callie.
When he smiled at her, she had to take in a breath to steady herself. His ease with children made him even more attractive. She cleared her throat. “He hasn’t met any other kids here yet,” Callie said in a hushed voice as they left the room. “He’ll meet people once school starts, but I hate that he’s alone most of this summer.”
Luke looked thoughtful. Then, as they climbed the stairs, he said, “My nephew is turning eight. He’s having a birthday party at my house. Why don’t you all come?”
“I was only voicing my concern. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“On a bunch of eight-year-olds? I doubt you’d be imposing,” he said when they’d reached the top of the steps.