Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1) (15 page)

After swallowing hard, he bit his lip and said, “I think the stingy stuff helps clean cuts and stuff.”

Hope pushed out her lower lip. “But it hurts.”

“Yeah. It sure does.”

There was an argument stuck between Hope’s brain and her mouth, but she held it in and pressed her lips to Wyatt’s forehead.

“Kissing it better.”

The tiny punch in his heart was unexpected.

He patted her head as he stood, left an arm on her shoulder as they both faced Melanie.

“I thought you might need food.”

“Food never sucks, Mel.” Luke was the first one across the room. “My stomach finally feels like it can eat.”

“Considering last night’s indulgence, I’m surprised.”

Luke wiped his hands on his jeans and pulled up an operable chair to a sturdy table.

Melanie had brought several sandwiches, potato salad, and a full container of cut up summer fruits. Considering the slim delights in his refrigerator, Wyatt was happy to fill his stomach with someone else’s idea of lunch. He made a mental note to buy some groceries on his way home from Eugene.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Melanie asked him as the others gathered around the table to dish out a portion of food.

“Like I’ve been in a bar fight.”

“So you’ve been in them before?” she asked.

He shrugged, knew there was a fine line for a woman when it came to fighting. “I’ve blocked a punch or two before. A couple in high school, usually over a girl.”

“Humph.” She regarded him from the corner of her eye before walking behind the bar.

“Not bad, Mel,” Luke told her from across the room.

“You better offer a deeper compliment than that if you ever wanna free meal off me again,” she told him.

“You women are never satisfied.” Luke waved his sandwich as he spoke.

“Says the man who is going to be very hungry if he doesn’t start shoveling out the sugar!” Melanie teased.

Luke started to hum and licked his lips. “Oh, Mel-Bel, this is the best damn sandwich I have had all summer. My mom needs to take notes.”

Melanie rolled her eyes as she walked around the bar with several cups filled with ice on a tray. “Your compliments suck.”

Luke winked and bit off half his sandwich with one bite.

“I like your sandwiches, Mommy.” Hope was in the process of removing the crust from hers and nibbling on the inside.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

Wyatt was about to add his thanks when Hope added, “But Aunt Zoe’s cookies are waaaay better than yours.”

The mention of Zoe’s name had a couple of heads turning toward Luke. The man was brushing crumbs off his shirt while speaking with a full mouth. “She has a point, Mel-Bel.”

“Yes, yes I know. Good thing sugar is bad for you or I might have to bake more and make you eat my mess.”

“No need to eat bad sugar when there is good sugar out there,” Josie said, and Matt agreed.

Wyatt enjoyed the friendly banter from the sidelines until the conversation found a break. He walked up beside Melanie and placed a hand on the side of her neck and kissed her surprised lips. “It was delicious.”

Her cheeks turned pink when he stepped away. “It was just a sandwich.”

Then, to tease, he added quietly, “I wasn’t talking about the food.”

Her jaw dropped.

Wyatt waved his soda in the air and walked away. “I have my list. If you think of anything else we need, call or text. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

He felt Melanie’s eyes follow him out the door.

“Mommy, Uncle Wyatt just kissed you!”

“He’s not your uncle, honey.”

“Ewehhhh.”

The smile he’d managed since he’d met the woman accompanied him all the way into Eugene.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The drive from R&B’s to Miss Gina’s inn only took about ten minutes. The constant questions and comments coming from her daughter kept the drive lively.

“Why did Wyatt kiss you?” The first question played inside Melanie’s head for a good minute before answering.

“I think he likes me.”

“Likes you like, like you like you? Like a boyfriend?”

Boyfriend felt a little deep considering their early stages of getting to know each other, but for her daughter’s sake, it was probably best to keep it simple.

“Yeah, kinda like a boyfriend.”

“So you have a boyfriend.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m . . . yeah . . . I guess you can say that.” She might need to explain that to Wyatt before the seven-year-old inquisition happened to him.

“My friend Kimmie told me that sometimes boyfriends turn into daddies. Is Wyatt going to be my daddy?”

“Oh, honey, let’s not go there. Wyatt and I hardly know each other. Being a dad takes a long time to figure out.”

“Hmmm.” Hope stared out the window, her fingers tapped on the edge of the door in thought. “I think Uncle Wyatt could be a good dad.”

Melanie wondered if Wyatt had any clue as to what his simple kiss had started.

She pulled into the driveway of the inn, noticed a rental car that hadn’t been there when she’d left.
Nathan?

She felt her pulse jump, hoped he wasn’t the one behind the car. Her head scrambled for an excuse to keep Hope from following her inside. “Sweetie, take the leftovers to the kitchen for me.”

Hope shrugged and pushed out of the car.

When Hope stepped in place beside her, Melanie clarified what she wanted. “Around back, honey.”

“But I can go through the front.”

“The fruit container is dripping. I don’t want to mess up the floor.” It was a complete lie, but Hope took it and walked around the back.

Melanie squeezed her hands into fists and released them before stepping inside.

Her breath released in a happy rush. “Mr. Lewis.”

The man who had stayed one night on the evening of Zane’s craziness stood at the front desk with Miss Gina.

“Hello again.” Mr. Lewis was ten years her senior and had recently started some kind of business that brought him through River Bend.

Melanie’s relief that Nathan wasn’t behind the rental car kept a smile on her face as she approached the desk.

“That was a quick trip,” she said to him.

“I have another one next week.”

Miss Gina handed him his room key. “Might need to get a punch card or something.”

“My boss takes care of it,” Mr. Lewis told them. “He doesn’t complain about the price.”

“Then maybe we should charge you double,” Miss Gina suggested.

Mr. Lewis laughed and tapped the counter before reaching for his bag.

“Should I show you your room?” Melanie asked.

“No, I remember where it is.”

The sound of feet running through the hall accompanied Hope’s happy voice. “Oh, hi, Mr. Lewis.”

“Hello, beautiful.” Mr. Lewis placed a hand on Hope’s shoulder and left it there. “You’re not running through the house, are you?”

Hope snapped her lips shut and looked between the three of them. “Uhm . . .”

“I didn’t think so,” he said.

Hope had the three of them laughing when she offered an animated smile full of teeth and mischief before walking slowly out the front door.

“Guest reception is at five, Mr. Lewis.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Nice man,” Melanie said after he made it halfway up the stairs.

Miss Gina offered a shrug without words.

“You don’t think so?”

“Nice enough, I guess. Wyatt is more your speed.”

Melanie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Good. Now, how is Josie’s place?”

“A mess. According to Luke, he and Wyatt are going to be up all night painting the place.”

“How does a bar fight involve new paint?”

Melanie shook her head. “It doesn’t. But patching a wall isn’t Wyatt’s style without a complete upgrade . . . at least according to Luke.”

Miss Gina looked around the reception area. “Maybe we need to start a fight here.”

Mel nudged Miss Gina aside and stepped around her. “You’re bad.”

“Sounds like a big job for just two men.”

“It is. I was wondering if you’d mind keeping an ear out for Hope tonight so I can lend a hand.”

“Of course, love. Hope is easy. And if painting results in an overnight stay, that’s fine, too.”

Melanie’s jaw dropped for the second time that day. “Miss Gina!”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“You’re suggesting.”

They kept the conversation going as they entered the kitchen. “You’re young, honey. You should be knockin’ boots with someone while you can find them.”

She laughed. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve knocked anything with anyone?”

Miss Gina pulled her special lemonade from the refrigerator before turning over two glasses that were drying on a towel by the sink. “That’s a damn shame. When I was your age I didn’t go a week without sex.”

“Those were the sixties.”

Miss Gina stopped pouring and stared longingly out the back window. “Indeed they were. Best time ever.”

Melanie accepted the lemonade and leaned against the counter. “Why is it there isn’t a Mr. Gina around?”

A visible shiver actually ran down Miss Gina’s body. “Good God no. Commitment? I never could go that route.”

“I’m sure there had to be someone, somewhere who made you consider it . . .”

A play of emotions danced over her face as if she were rewinding the tape of her life and watching it a second time. “Nope. Not really. When I was your age, the men were everywhere. The last thing I wanted was to pick just one.”

“What about later?”

“Later happened in my thirties. I had a few men pass through town once I started the inn, but they weren’t the sticking type, and I wasn’t one to ask to change their minds. I understand a free spirit.”

“Yet you’ve had the inn for decades and almost never leave town.”

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to.”

That’s where Melanie found herself stuck. “Then why didn’t you? Why not find someone to help with the inn and tap into that free spirit of yours?”

Miss Gina sent her a devil of a smile. “That’s a really good idea. Maybe I should pack my bags and go to Europe for the rest of the summer.”

Melanie choked on her drink, started coughing until tears welled behind her eyes. “W-wait . . .” She looked around the kitchen as if it were an unfamiliar space. “I didn’t mean . . . I don’t know.”

Miss Gina replaced the devil with innocence and chuckled. “Relax, sweetie. You’re not ready to take over quite yet. But by the fall, things should settle into place.”

Trepidation and pride in Miss Gina’s words left warmth in Melanie’s heart. The fact that the woman she’d felt closer to than her own mother was confident enough to leave her baby for Melanie to run did something more than a paycheck could.

“Maybe by fall,” Melanie found herself saying.

“It’s paint!” If Melanie had a romantic thought in her brain about how the night was going to go . . . it was all but gone after an hour under Wyatt’s direction.
Direction
being the completely wrong word for how he ordered everyone around.

Everyone consisted of Jo, Luke, Mel, and Josie.

“It’s really hard to screw up paint,” Luke added to Melanie’s previous words.

“You tell that to Josie in the morning after it’s dry and half of it looks like five-year-olds tossed this on the wall.” Wyatt stood with a roller in one hand, his other pointing at the wall that looked less than perfect.

“I think five-year-olds might have done it the last time.” Josie tipped back a beer that was free for everyone to drink during the all-night paint party.

“Well it’s not being done by five-year-olds this time.” Wyatt placed his roller on the wall with conviction. “Make sure you cover every inch. And Jo,” he said with a shake of his free hand. “If you’re not going to use the tape around the molding, don’t slop it on. Be more careful.”

Jo saluted him with a wet paintbrush, which brought laughter from the others in the room.

Josie placed the digital jukebox on free play and had a few tunes pumping into the room while they worked.

“I swear this bar wasn’t this big when we walked in,” Luke said less than ten minutes later.

“Just keep moving,” Wyatt said from the corner of his mouth.

Jo leaned close to Melanie. “He’s a paint Nazi.”

“I heard that!” Wyatt said over the music.

Melanie laughed. “You know what this reminds me of?”

Paint dripped from the end of Jo’s brush and ended up on her shirt. “No, what?”

Melanie reached out to try and remove some of the mess Jo was making. “Why I don’t do home improvement projects.”

“Amen,” Luke said.

“It’s just paint.” Wyatt moved faster than all of them combined. He was clearly on a mission and focused on his work.

Luke reloaded his roller and stepped back up to reach the top third of the wall. “Says the man whose own home is in a constant state of unfinished projects.”

Melanie stopped smearing the paint over Jo’s clothing and focused on Wyatt. “What’s this?”

“Nothing.”

Luke laughed.

“No, wait . . . what is Luke talking about?”

“It’s nothing.” Only Wyatt glared at Luke.

“Wyatt has a hard time completing his own projects within any reasonable time frame,” Jo told her.

“But this is what you do.”

“I’m busy. And since it doesn’t affect anyone but me, I can take my time.”

“Nothing like living on milk crates and walking on plastic to make you feel at home.”

“Screw you, Luke.” Apparently Wyatt didn’t like his imperfection vocalized for everyone to hear.

“Grrr,” Luke teased.

“Living the cliché, eh, Wyatt?” Josie asked.

“Every cliché holds truth or it wouldn’t have made it to cliché status.”

“Paint Nazi and philosopher. You’re a man of many talents.” Jo paused and tilted back her beer.

“Are we going to talk or get this shit finished?”

“Someone is sensitive,” Luke said.

“Just keep painting.”

The hour rounded on two before they lowered the last brush and surveyed their work.

“Wow.”

“It’s awesome.” Josie wore a huge grin.

“I can’t believe how big this place feels now,” Luke said.

“The last time it was painted was before we banned smoking in here. I guess I should have painted sooner.” The fresh paint, even in a soft beige color, lightened up the room.

“It’s a bar, Josie. No one really cared.”

“We’ll see about that when people come in tomorrow night.” Josie did a full turn and took in the room. “The floors could use an upgrade.”

Wyatt groaned.

“If you don’t want the job, I can find someone else.”

“Bite your tongue.” Wyatt drew in a full breath and met Melanie’s eyes. “See why my house never gets done?”

“Well I’m shot. C’mon, Jo . . . you can give me a ride home,” Luke offered.

“The brushes need to be cleaned,” Wyatt said.

“And you can clean them. My head is killing me.”

“And I have to work in the morning,” Jo said.

Melanie stayed back while the others prepared to leave. “I’ll help.”

“There is a faucet out back,” Josie told them. “I’ll turn a light on.”

After Jo and Luke drove off, Josie stayed inside and cleaned up.

A few bugs buzzed around them as they started pulling paint from the brushes. “Don’t they make these in a disposable variety?”

“The cheap ones. I don’t like them.”

“A perfectionist.”

“I’m nowhere close to perfect,” he said.

Water-coated paint ran from her hand to the ground, where it splattered on her bare legs. Wearing an old pair of shorts to paint in had been a great idea considering how much of the stuff she managed to accumulate on her skin.

“Imperfect house . . . I heard.”

He grumbled.

“Why did Luke talking about your house bother you so much?”

He ran his hands through the brush with more vigor. “I don’t know.”

She knelt closer to the ground to keep the splatter to a minimum. “Yes you do. Out with it.”

“You’re bossy.”

“Says the paint Nazi.”

“Humph!”

“So why?”

Wyatt was quiet for a minute. “Letting a woman discover my faults isn’t the best way to impress her.”

The comfortable warmth that Wyatt always managed to put in her belly snuck inside again.

“A woman?”

He glanced at her. “You.”

She knew that, but enjoyed the unease vocalizing it gave him. He’d been so confident since they met; it was nice to know he was knocked back a little with her presence.

“You think I’d be less interested if I learned your house isn’t a castle?”

He shrugged.

“Oh, my God, you do.”

He stayed quiet.

“Wyatt?”

“Yeah, I . . .” He ran the back of his hand along the side of his face before leveling his gaze on her.

Melanie stood slowly and brushed her thumb along the smudge of paint he’d left on his forehead. “I’m already impressed. Your house isn’t going to change that.”