“Mm-hmm,” she hummed as she took a sip of her coffee.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He hated asking her because he absolutely wanted to spend the day with her, but she didn’t need to work the weekends. As the secretary to Seacoast Construction, her job was Monday through Friday. She was in charge of booking jobs, making sure the bills were paid, writing paychecks, and helping the company with their branding. Painting houses was not a job requirement.
Brooklyn nodded. “I need the extra money.”
“For what?” He shouldn’t pry, but he wanted to know.
“I’m trying to save for nursing school.”
“Does Austin know?” It had been years since he’d heard her talk about nursing; he thought she had given up on her dream of becoming a nurse because she rarely mentioned it. He tried to recall the last time she brought it up, and it must’ve been shortly before they graduated high school, when everyone talked about going off to college.
She dropped her head and sighed. Bowie left it at that and pulled out of the driveway. On the way to the jobsite, he kept the radio on and only turned it up when the weather report came on, knowing full well it would grab Brooklyn’s attention. Everyone in town watched the weather, but it was the fishermen’s wives and significant others who were really in tune with it. Most of them could tell by the clouds or the quick shift in air pressure what the day was going to be like. He left his question alone, not prodding her for an answer. He knew his friend well enough to know he was never leaving Cape Harbor. The only problem was, Brooklyn had yet to realize it.
Bowie pulled up to the jobsite and shut his truck off. He opened his mouth to say something, but Brooklyn had already slipped outside, leaving him no choice but to follow. He unlocked the door to the house and turned on as many work lights as he could. Inside, he handed Brooklyn the gray coveralls. “They’re not fashionable, but they’ll save your clothes from paint splatter.” She thanked him and stepped inside the work clothes. He never minded wearing them but loathed seeing them cover her perfectly toned body. He would much rather work alongside of her in her shorts and tank top. After she was fully covered in the most hideous outfit known to man, Brooklyn began to braid her long dark hair. An act that turned Bowie on. He swallowed hard and fiddled with some tool in order to distract himself from staring. Only, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her for long. They were alone, and it was getting harder and harder for him to keep denying his feelings for her.
“Do you want to eat or get started?”
“We can start,” she said.
Perfect, he thought. Bowie loaded the navy-colored paint into the cup, secured the nozzle, and handed it to Brooklyn.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
He chuckled. “You’re going to paint the wall. It’ll be simple. I’ll show you.” It was like he had a light bulb moment. Over the years, he’d always looked for excuses to touch her, to caress her skin, to press his thigh to hers—all harmless flirting was what he told himself when it was pure torture for him. He didn’t need an excuse now. It was his professional duty to show her how to operate the paint gun.
Bowie directed her to the largest wall and with his hands on her hips, which was completely unnecessary, he stood behind her. His heart thumped loudly, and he feared she would feel it tapping against her back when he leaned in. She tilted her head toward him and, if he wasn’t mistaken, stepped back so they were pressed tightly together.
No, he definitely wasn’t mistaken. There wasn’t space between their bodies, and he was going to relish the moment as long as possible.
“Why didn’t you go to college and become an architect?”
Her words hit a sore spot deep within his chest. That had been his dream, to design skyscrapers in cities, but he couldn’t leave Brooklyn behind. He was in love with her, and as long as she stayed in Cape Harbor, he would too. He knew his feelings would come back to bite him someday, that he would regret giving up his dream because of a woman who belonged to another man, but to him, it was worth it. He’d rather live on the sidelines in her life than not see her every day.
“Dad needed help.” The lie fell easily, although it was partly true. His father could always use the help, but Bowie stayed because of Brooklyn. He’d tell her . . . someday. “Why didn’t you go to college?” he countered. “I remember your first day of school, you sat at the table and told everyone you’re going to be a nurse.”