“Same. Just not out loud.”
“That’s probably for the best. I bet some people think I’m crazy when I’m having a whole conversation with myself. But it helps me concentrate, especially if I’m doing a task.”
“Like paintin’.”
She nodded. “Like painting.” And to keep her mind from going back to her reaction—and his—when she reached out and stroked the soft ends of his hair.
She shouldn’t have done it. It was inappropriate and she wouldn’t want anyone touching her hair without asking first.
Not even after they asked, either.
The only one who she allowed to touch her hair were her girls, of course, and her hairdresser, Teddy from Manes on Main.
If a man reached out and touched her like that, he’d probably regret it.
While she’d apologized to Shawn, she still was embarrassed she did it.
Even so, when his breath had stilled, so had hers. When his heart thumped under her fingertips, so had hers.
The thrill that shot through her when she felt the soft ends, the urge to run her fingers through the complete length...
So very inappropriate.
She once again reminded herself of his age. And her own. She was tempted to ask him how old he was but, really, it wouldn’t matter.
It wasn’t just his age, but the fact he belonged to a biker gang. She had daughters, was a homeowner, and had a job at the elementary school. Even if he wasn’t too young for her, he was not the type of man she should be interested in.
But he was pretty to look at. No doubt.
No matter what, she needed to keep her interest limited to looking. Not touching, tasting, or whatever else about him was tempting her.
She shook herself mentally.
It had been a knee-jerk reaction when she made the offer to him about painting. There was no real need to paint the house right now, especially when funds were tight with Maddie in college and Josie on her way after graduation.
She sighed at how Shawn had made her weak like a hormonal teenager. If she started giggling and winding and unwinding her hair around her finger while batting her eyelashes at him, she was going to smack herself in the face.
His “Okay?” made her jump.
“Yes, thank you. I’m fine. I’m just thinking about the chili.” And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you...
“Smells good.”
So did he when he first walked through the door. Now she could smell nothing but fresh paint, so she had no idea how he smelled her chili.
“I didn’t make it too spicy...” She needed to go put herself in a time-out.
“Like spicy.”
His short answers once again caught her attention. If he could answer in one or two words, he did. If he didn’t have to answer at all, or a grunt sufficed, he took that route instead.
Maybe she was just used to being around a bunch of little chatterboxes all day at school. Her white noise.
The only time they were quiet—for the most part—was when she read to them during story-time. She loved watching their faces as she did so. Whether it was a scary part and they hid their faces behind their hands, or a funny part where they laughed loud and openly. She loved it all.
Reading to them out loud was her favorite thing to do right after helping a child pick out a book to read. Every time a child returned a book and begged for another one, her heart swelled. Their thirst for a good story, or even a non-fiction book on turtles or frogs or trains... Any interest in a book was encouraged.
She dealt with children of all reading levels. The ones who struggled and needed books with more pictures than words and the ones who were ahead of their age, who couldn’t inhale a book fast enough.
Whether a child read only a few words or pages and pages of them, it expanded their horizon. Every word read opened up their world a little more.
And that made Chelle very, very happy.
Books had been her world ever since she learned to read. She only wanted to share that joy, which was why she became a librarian. It certainly wasn’t for the pay.
With all the years she’d been a librarian and worked with children, she picked up on certain habits, mannerisms, responses, and speech patterns. While she wasn’t an expert on learning disabilities, she’d done plenty of research in the past when a student needed help due to one.
Before she dipped her roller in the tray again, she paused and turned to study Shawn as he stood on her step stool and carefully painted the corner at the ceiling. He was slow and methodical, trying to be neat with the edges since she was leaving the ceilings white.
So far he had a steady hand.
Since his back was turned toward her and he wasn’t paying attention, she let her gaze slide over him. A couple strands of his curly long hair had escaped the knot he’d wrangled it into. Luckily, those loose ends hadn’t gotten caught in the paint. Yet.
She was tempted to ask him if the tattoos on his muscular arms had any meaning, but she doubted he would answer.
His shoulders were broad, his back long, his threadbare T-shirt had pulled loose from the back of his jeans, probably from all the climbing up and down the step stool. His old jeans, now splattered with a few spots of Antique Rose, only hung onto his hips thanks to the leather belt cinched at his trim waist.
A worn leather wallet peeked from one back pocket and a metal chain snaked around his left hip where it was connected to a belt loop in the front. In the other back pocket, Chelle spotted the top of a cell phone.
His legs were long, slender and his jeans contoured the curves of his ass perfectly. His black leather biker boots disappeared under the ragged hems of his jeans.
His hair and his dark Spanish features—or whatever they were—had originally drew her, but his ass took a close second.
His voice was the icing on the very delicious slice of cake she was drooling over.
While all that certainly attracted her, it was not what made her curious about him.
No.
It had been his slow speech and the way he had difficulty figuring out which paint can to grab. His slow, carefully chosen words could mean he had a stutter he fought to overcome, but it didn’t make sense that he couldn’t read the clearly marked lids.
He couldn’t read the clearly marked lids.
A task that should’ve taken seconds had taken minutes. Even then, it hadn’t been done successfully. So, she doubted he had a speech problem, but more of a learning disability.
She chewed on her bottom lip.
Good lord, she should let it go and leave him be, but now she wanted to know. She needed to dig.
Why?
It wasn’t like her to be nosy.
It wasn’t like her to get into other people’s business.
She had taught her daughters not to be gossips or judgmental. And to treat everyone, no matter who, with the same kindness and compassion. Everyone was unique in their own way, just like Maddie and Josie were, and should be celebrated for those differences.
But some of those more important differences could be improved upon, especially if it affected someone’s quality of life. A lack of education was easy to change. A stutter not as easy, but possible to improve by working with a professional and using specific techniques.
However, she wasn’t sure what Shawn’s issue was.
Again, not your damn business, Chelle.
Whatever it was wouldn’t affect the job she hired him for. That should be all that mattered.