“Well, it sounds like you two have old business to attend to.” Jordan smiled apologetically at her. “I don’t want to get in the middle of it.”
“Thanks, buddy. Really appreciate that. Because you’re right, we need to deal with this privately.” Brandon’s tone was dismissive and Jordan started to leave.
“No way!” Dillon held her brush inches from Brandon’s face. “There’s nothing I need to deal with as far as you’re concerned. I just want to paint my trailer. If you guys don’t want to help me—fine.” She turned abruptly, hoping to stop Jordan from going.
“Hey, careful, Dilly!” Brandon exclaimed.
Dillon turned back to see that she’d accidentally knocked the shoulder of Brandon’s sky-blue shirt with a swath of white paint. “Oops.” She smiled sheepishly. “I really didn’t mean to do that. Sorry.”
“Oh, no?” Brandon swiped his brush right across the bustline of her T-shirt. “I didn’t mean to do that either.” He laughed like this was hilarious fun, holding his brush like a weapon, challenging her to a duel.
Dillon stared down at her favorite T-shirt, trying to control her temper and feeling uncomfortably close to tears. Not because of the ruined shirt, but because of what was feeling like a ruined day. Why had he come? Why wouldn’t he leave?
“Hey, that wasn’t necessary, Brandon.” Jordan’s tone was gentle but firm, reminding her of how he spoke to his nieces at times.
“She started it,” Brandon responded—like a juvenile.
“Hers was accidental.” Jordan looked at Dillon. “Right?”
“Yes.” Then, seeing the satisfied smirk on Brandon’s face, she lost it. “But this isn’t.” Now she wiped her brush right across his smug face. She knew it was a stupid move, and that Jordan would probably think she was childish, but she no longer cared. Prepared to call it quits and abandon her hopes of painting her trailer today, she was caught totally off guard by Jordan’s uncontrolled laughter.
Feeling somewhat relieved, she turned to him, holding up her hands in a helpless gesture. “I know that was wrong and I should be—” Her words were stopped by a swat from behind. She whipped around to see that Brandon had swiped his loaded paintbrush right across the seat of her shorts. Her favorite shorts! “Brandon Kranze!” She glared at him. “You are no gentleman!”
“Just tit for tat.” In one hand, he wielded his paintbrush like a weapon while using the other hand to wipe his paint-smeared face with a rag. “Care to go at it?”
She held her brush defensively, resisting the temptation to let him have it full force. “No, no. I think that’s enough.” She watched in amusement as his paint-smeared face only grew worse with his wiping. “You look like a mime!” She couldn’t help but giggle at his pasty white face.
“Maybe you’d like to become a mime too.” He dipped his brush into the paint and aiming it at her face, approached with a menacing expression.
“No,” she yelled. “Leave me—”
“Back off, Brandon.” Jordan grabbed his paintbrush and stepped between them. And just like that, it turned into a full-blown paint fight—like they were ten-year-olds. Although there was some laughter and joking as paint splattered and splashed, there was also some underlying seriousness. At least with Brandon. By the time they quit, all three of them were covered in white paint. And Dillon was angry.
“Look at this mess,” she told Brandon.
“Hey, don’t blame me.” He looked down at his ruined pants and shirt. “I took the worst of it.”
Dillon turned to Jordan, instantly filling with guilt and shame. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I can’t believe how childish we were.”
“It’s okay.” He grinned. “To be honest, I kind of enjoyed it. Good thing this paint’s water soluble.” He pointed to the nearby pump and water trough. “Maybe we should go clean up some.”
As they attempted to wash off the paint, Jordan tried to smooth things over. “I guess that was some kind of paint therapy.” He removed his T-shirt, rinsing it in the trough. “Maybe not as effective as real couple’s therapy, but probably more fun, eh?”
Dillon nodded, trying not to stare at his firm torso as he wrung out his shirt.
“See what happens when you don’t take care of old business,” Brandon said to Dillon. Then, as if to compete with Jordan, he unbuttoned and removed his dress shirt, washing it in the trough as well. But Brandon’s physique didn’t compare with Jordan’s. And not wanting to get caught gaping, Dillon excused herself to the house, where she planned to take a good, long shower.
“What on earth happened to you?” Margot demanded when Dillon came in through the kitchen.
“Don’t ask. I’m going to take a shower, but I didn’t bring any dry clothes. Can I borrow a bathrobe or sweats or something?”
“Sure. Go use the second-floor bath and I’ll find something.” Margot laughed as she followed her up the stairs. “You’re a mess, girlfriend. What did the other guy look like?”
“They both look a lot like me.”
“So was it fun?”
“Not particularly.” Dillon went into the bathroom. “I wish Brandon would take a hint and make himself scarce.”
“But I thought you were in love with him and brokenhearted. And now it looks like he’s in love with you, Dilly.”
“That was then. This is now.” Dillon closed the door and peeled off her clothes, putting them in the bathroom sink to soak, hoping she might be able to rescue them later. As she got into the shower, she wondered. Did she really want Brandon to leave her alone? Or did a small part of her enjoy this sudden and unexpected attention? Sure, he was aggravating. But was she aggravated about today . . . or still holding a grudge about the way he’d treated her before? She might’ve claimed she’d forgiven him, but maybe she hadn’t . . . completely.
As she shampooed her hair, her thoughts migrated to Jordan. The more she knew him, the more she liked him. And he hadn’t seemed like the eternal bachelor this morning. In fact, things had been going so well that she really believed they were stepping into a new sort of relationship. Something beyond “just friends.” She didn’t think she’d imagined it. But then Brandon had appeared and literally messed up everything.
What would’ve happened if Brandon hadn’t made his unexpected appearance? Where would she and Jordan be right now? Happily painting together like mature adults, conversing, getting more acquainted . . . maybe something more . . . She blew out a sigh as she rinsed her hair. There was no denying she liked Jordan a lot. Apparently most of the single women in town did as well. But unless she’d imagined it, the attraction was mutual.
As Dillon reached for a towel, she remembered that only a few weeks ago, she’d felt similar sentiments for Brandon. And when he hurt her—and never called—she’d been brokenhearted and disappointed and hopeless. But then she’d come home . . . and recovered so quickly. So maybe her heartache hadn’t really been about Brandon at all. Maybe it had simply been about her—and her whole messed-up life.