“Practice makes perfect,” she said lightly, earning another dark stare, making her crack up again.
They worked together to apply the wax, and Grant made her feel like a pro, telling her how great she was doing and complimenting her choices on where to add extra wax. When they were done, he said, “Now we’ll paint over it.”
“Over the wax?”
“Yeah. We paint the entire base. The paint won’t adhere to the wax. After it dries, we’ll use steel wool and sandpaper to remove the wax so the bottom coat will show through, and then we’ll rough up any areas where we want to add more of a distressed look.”
“Wow, this isn’t very difficult after all. I’m glad you asked me to do this with you.”
“You’ve been working on scraping away my wax for three months. It’s about time I do something for you.” He leaned in for a kiss and handed her a paintbrush.
She watched him painting the back of the cabinet, his brows furrowed in concentration, every stroke carefully executed, and she wondered if he knew how much his appreciation meant to her. Everyone had warned her that she was wasting her time showing up at his place and trying to get him to join their fun. But once again that little voice in her head had been right. She wrapped that happiness up inside her and helped him finish painting.
“Looks great,” he said after they were done. “Let me just clean these brushes and we’ll get started on our next project while the paint dries.”
“Our next project?” Excitement bubbled up inside her. She pushed herself up to sit on the counter beside the sink as he washed the brushes.
“Unless you have someplace else to be? Or you’re tired of working?”
“Are you kidding? I could do these types of projects all day. What did you have in mind?”
“A little something like this.” He set the brushes on a towel, dried his hands, and pulled out his phone. He poked around on it, then handed it to her.
Her heart skipped. He’d taken a picture of her favorite window seat that she’d cut out of a magazine and hung on her inspiration wall. The window seat had a bookshelf beneath with five separate sections, and it had a back on one side of the top that angled down, so she could prop pillows and lean against it. On the side of the window seat, she’d taped a picture of a wooden cup holder. “Grant…?”
He moved between her legs and put his arms around her. “You had so many pictures on the corkboard, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure this was the piece of furniture you would want to make. But I figured those gold sparkling stars you drew all around it meant it was special.”
“It’s the most special. It’s the reason my dining room is empty. I wanted to find the right window seat before choosing anything else. I can’t believe you want to spend your time building this with me.”
“You said you’d find each piece when the time was right. Sometimes you have to make the right time.”
“No, Mr. Silver. You’ve got that wrong.” She put her arms around him. “Sometimes you have to wait for the right person, and then every moment is the right time for something.”
THEY SPENT THE next several hours building the window seat. They made sandwiches for lunch and worked straight through until the window seat was done, complete with cup holder and diagonal backing, which Jules had cheered about, and then they finished the island. Grant had thought he’d do the more difficult work, but Jules had flitted down to her Jeep and returned with a change of clothes to wear to Seaport, a sleek leather tool belt, and a purple toolbox filled with purple-handled tools. Apparently his sexy little pixie was always prepared, and she was a hell of a carpenter. Jules helped every step of the way, from measuring and sawing to eyeing the level, using the plug cutter, and sanding the plugs.
He stole a glance at Jules as he put away the rest of the tools. She was kneeling beside the island in that faded Happy End sweatshirt, which now had smears of paint on it. Her shoulders rocked to the tune of “17” as she sanded a spot on the island, adding her final touches to the work they’d done. “Mm-mm-mm,” she hummed. “Let’s lie down, I’ll kiss you now. Mm-mm-mm. Dreamed of you and me. Mm-mm-mm. One day…”
He’d heard her sing a million times, but today he paid attention to the words she came up with. They weren’t random. She sang mostly about love, but he’d noticed an even bigger theme. She turned sad lyrics into happy ones and mournful lines into hopeful threads, putting pieces of herself into every line she sang.
“There.” She popped to her feet, planting her hands on her hips. Her purple-handled hammer hung from her tool belt. Her eyes darted to the window seat, which they’d already painted white, then back to the island, and a radiant smile appeared. “Look at what we did. We make a really good team.”
He chuckled, then drew her into his arms and kissed her. “We sure do.” They were going to buy peach paint on their way to Seaport to give the window seat a distressed finish.
“I think I’m going to use three of the sections under the window seat for books and put wicker baskets from my shop in the other two. Would you paint something on the baskets for me?”
“Sure. Like what?”
She shrugged. “We’ll figure that out. Something beachy.”
“Sounds good. I forgot to tell you that Brant said it would be great if you wanted to help with the flotilla decoration, and now that I know you’re quite a carpenter, we’ll really put you to work.”
“I can’t wait.” She gave him a quick kiss and went to grab her bag. “I need to change before we go to Seaport. Can I use your bathroom?”
Shit. He’d had all day to prepare for her to see his bathroom, and still her question made his insides freeze up. “Yeah, but there’s something you should know.”
“I have brothers. I don’t care if you leave the seat up.”
He leaned against the back of the couch and crossed his arms. “If only it were that simple. Remember how I said I have to use crutches at night?”
“Yeah.”
“This is a little embarrassing, but that’s not the only physical aide I have. I can’t shower with my prosthesis on. You’ll see handrails and a chair in the shower.”
“Oh. That’s not embarrassing.”
“Yes, it is. I know it’s necessary, but trust me, telling my girlfriend I need a shower chair is a blow to my ego.”
“I can see why you might feel that way. You’re a big, strong man who’s used to a certain lifestyle. But it’s all in how you look at it.” She walked toward him, dragging her fingers along the back of the couch, and stopped when their faces were only inches apart. “I’m not experienced in all things shower related, but it would seem to me that at some point in the future, that chair could come in handy if we wanted to get frisky in the shower.”
He ached to be whole again, to hold her in all their naked glory, and make love to her whenever and wherever they wanted. All the wishing in the world wouldn’t make him whole again, but the extraordinary woman in his arms sure made him feel that way.
He pulled her into his arms, his embarrassment obliterated. “Are you sure you’ve never had sex before?”