“Hearing you say asshole in your accent was just funny.”
“Asshole,” I say, laying on the southern accent and Elijah grins at me.
The tension between us seems to dissipate after that.
“So, do we have a deal?” he asks, calmer this time.
“What exactly do I get out of it?” I ask, looking around the bakery and mentally making a to-do list of what needs to be done.
“I’ll help you paint,” he says, looking around as well.
“Can you paint? I want this place to look perfect. No streaky walls or uneven patches.”
“Yeah, I can paint. It’s not exactly rocket science,” he says with a roll of his eyes.
“Alright. Is that it? That’s only one thing and I have to meet your parents, have dinner with them, and go to a wedding where your entire family will be.”
“You’re making it sound bad. It’s not going to be that bad.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say with a snort, crossing my arms over my chest as I give Elijah a skeptical look.
“You have to help me paint, help me set up the tables and chairs that I ordered, and then help me install the new lights. They should be here next week.”
“That’s too much,” Elijah grumbles and I give him a sweet smile.
“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
He grumbles again, looking over to the boxes of tables and chair parts and then around the space again.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask, closing the distance between us and stretching out my hand toward him.
Elijah studies me for a minute, looking around once more at the walls and the boxes of furniture, before he lets out a sigh.
“Deal,” he says, shaking my hand.