The house was shaping up so nicely under Trent’s talented hands that she was growing optimistic about how nice it could look eventually. It would take time and money, but she had no other plans.
Her move to Honoria had been impulsive, and she hadn’t really intended to settle here permanently, but now she was beginning to think she just might. Despite the gossip, this was a nice place to live. With the exception of a few ordinary break-ins and domestic altercations, there was little crime. The house was hers, free and clear, and the money she was earning cleaning and giving piano lessons could be put to good use.
She was considering eventually opening a studio to give music lessons full time; there certainly seemed to be a demand for that in this area. Cleaning wasn’t such a bad way to make a living, but she had to admit she preferred music, and loved working with children. The other spare bedroom would make a good studio; it had big windows and opened directly off the living room. Of course, it would take a while to earn enough to buy a piano. She thought wistfully of the beautiful instrument she’d left behind when she’d moved out of her parents’ house. Maybe she could rent one until she could afford to buy, she mused.
Tilting her head consideringly, she looked from the paint cans to the dingy walls of the spare bedroom. Painting didn’t really look so hard. Everything she needed was right here in front of her. Trent had so many other things to do—painting the outside of the house was going to be a major undertaking—maybe she could help him out a little and give herself something to do at the same time.
She changed into an old, faded yellow T-shirt and a pair of almost indecently short denim cutoffs that she usually wore for working in the yard. Pulling her hair into a messy ponytail, she slipped her bare feet into canvas sneakers and moved back into the bedroom. She carefully covered the hardwood floor with the clear plastic Trent had provided, and lay an open how-to book she’d recently bought in the center of it. And then she set to work.
IT TOOK SO LONG for Annie to answer the door Sunday afternoon, Trent might have thought she wasn’t home had her car not been parked in the driveway. He was beginning to wonder what was keeping her, when the door finally opened.
He felt an involuntary grin spread across his face. And then laughter spilled out of him, coming from someplace deep inside, a place he’d almost forgotten was there.
She looked ridiculous. And utterly, totally adorable.
Generous splotches of paint decorated her face and hair. He recognized the color—it was called peaches and cream. He knew that because he had purchased it only a few days before. He’d intended it for her walls, not her face and clothes.
And speaking of her clothes…
His gaze traveled downward, taking in her tight-fitting, paint-splattered T-shirt and shorts that were just this side of heart-attack length. For someone so lacking in inches, she certainly wasn’t lacking in curves. Or legs. Luscious legs—even smeared with paint.
Her hands fisted at her hips, where his attention had lingered. “Don’t laugh at me. I’ve been painting.”
“So I see. Um—did you leave any paint for the walls?”
Her lips twitched as she glanced down at herself. “I did splop a bit, didn’t I?”
“Yes. I would say you splopped.” Dragging his gaze away from her legs, he glanced beyond her. “Um…”
“It doesn’t look bad,” she said, sounding defensive again. “I was very careful, and I followed the directions in the instruction book.”
“Hey, it’s your house. Paint your heart out.”
She smiled again. “Come see what I’ve done. And feel free to make all the snide remarks you want.”
Did she really think he’d do that? he thought as he followed her to the spare room where he’d left the painting supplies.
She stepped into the room and turned to him a bit defiantly. “Well?”
She’d definitely been working in there a while, he thought, taking in the evidence of paint pan and rollers, several different-size brushes, a few paint-smeared rags and the ladder standing against one wall. Seeing the ladder, he frowned at the thought of her working in here alone.
Despite the clutter, she’d made a good start on the job. Three of the four walls had been scrupulously covered with a first coat of peaches-and-cream paint, a marked contrast to the one dull grayish wall waiting for her attention. Some paint was splattered on the plastic drop cloths, but she’d been very careful. The open instruction book in the center of the floor amused him. He could picture her painting a few strokes, running to check the directions then painting a little more.
“It looks good,” he conceded, aware that she was still waiting for his reaction.
She beamed as if he’d just compared her work to Van Gogh’s. “You really think it looks good?”
“I said so, didn’t I? What made you decide to start the job yourself? I thought Sunday was your day to get so
me rest.”
“I get bored if I’m not doing anything,” she admitted. “And I found painting very relaxing.”
He moved a little closer to her on the pretext of examining the job more closely. “It’s going to take another coat.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve decided to paint the trim a pale cream color. What do you think?”
“Whatever you like.”