Undone (A Country Roads Novel) (14 page)

Paige didn’t have time to spare either. She’d spent all of Tuesday going through the pictures she’d taken and finding the best ones for the tribute. She edited them for hours, highlighting some colors and fading others, while changing some pictures to black and white. She stayed late that night to finish because the next day she had to do her first tribute.

On Wednesday, Paige spent the day going through the pictures of a man named Talbert Ingrid and creating the tribute for his funeral on Thursday. He’d been eighty-four when he’d died, and his wife, RuthAnne, sat in Paige’s office for hours talking about her husband and going through the pictures one by one. It was obvious that the couple had loved each other dearly, and it broke Paige’s heart.

She was going to have to get a tougher skin if she was going to survive this job. Otherwise, she was going to be depressed all the time. But even though it was sad, it was amazing to see Talbert’s journey through life. RuthAnne came back before they’d closed to see what Paige had done, and even though she’d stayed fairly composed that morning, she’d lost it when she saw the final product. But even through her tears, RuthAnne was incredibly grateful for what Paige had done for her husband.

*  *  *

Brendan hadn’t seen Paige for about forty-eight hours. It was too long. Twenty-four hours had been bad. It was now unbearable. He’d gone home as soon as he’d gotten off work to take a shower and put on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Now, interestingly enough, he was driving over to her parents’ house. He might have
wanted
to see her the day before, but he
had
to see her now. The few conversations they’d had over the phone weren’t nearly enough.

He pulled in behind her orange Jeep and practically ran up the stairs to ring the doorbell.

“Brendan,” Trevor said, opening the door. “Come in, come in,” he said, moving aside.

“I came by to talk to Paige. Is she busy?” Brendan asked as Trevor shut the door.

“She’s out in the back painting,” Trevor said, leading Brendan through a hallway and into the kitchen. Paige’s mom was sitting at the kitchen table chopping vegetables and listening to the news on a small T.V. in the corner.

“Denise,” Trevor said as they walked into the room. “You remember Brendan King, that nice young man who’s been helping Paige out?” There was something about the way he said
nice young man
that clued Brendan in on the fact that the Morrison’s might not be naïve to what was going on between Paige and Brendan.

“Brendan,” Denise said, standing up and wiping her hands on her apron. “Of course I remember you,” she said, pulling him into a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m doing good. I just stopped by to talk to Paige, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, of course it is.” Her eyes lit up before she turned and walked over to the fridge. “Would you like some lemonade?” she asked. “It’s freshly squeezed.”

“I’d love some,” he said as she poured two glasses.

“Be a dear and bring some out to Paige. When she gets in her zone she tends to forget about things like drinking and eating,” she said, opening the French doors and practically shoving him outside.

Brendan looked around the stunning backyard as he followed the sound of music to a small shed off to the side. When he stepped into the open door, the sight that greeted him almost made him loose his mind.

Paige was wearing a long white button-up shirt that was covered in paint. It reached down to the middle of her thighs where she wasn’t wearing anything else. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her hair was thrown up into that messy bun thing that she did, and her feet were completely bare. She was dancing to the blaring music, her hips moving to the beat and her head bobbing. She reached over and dipped her paintbrush into a jar of red paint that was on the table next to her.

Brendan stepped into the shed and put the glasses down on the counter. He turned to lean against the counter and take in the show. It was fascinating watching Paige paint, the way she controlled each stroke. She went to dip her brush into the jar again but stepped back and shook her head. She turned slightly and jumped when she saw Brendan.

“You scared me,” she said, reaching up to the stereo and turning down the volume.

“Sorry. You’re very entertaining to watch.”

“How long have you been watching me?” she asked, a horrified expression on her face.

“Long enough. Are you wearing anything under that?” he asked, gesturing to her paint-covered shirt.

“Of course I am,” she said shocked. “Do you think I’d walk around my parents’ house in just my underwear?”

“Paige, it doesn’t the matter the circumstances, a man can dream,” he said, grabbing his lemonade from the table and taking a sip. “Your mom gave me that to bring out to you,” he said, gesturing toward the other glass. “Right before she pushed me out the back door.”

“She did not,” Paige said, grabbing her own glass.

“Oh, she did. She seemed a little anxious for me to come out here and talk to you.”

“Yeah, well,” she said and brought the glass to her lips so that she didn’t have to finish her sentence.

“What’s that of?” he asked, walking up to the painting. “Is that the funeral home?”

“Yeah,” she said, coming up next to him. “There’s this program where you scan a painting and you can mix the images with a photograph. I’m going to do something for the Web site mixing this painting with a picture I took.”

“I’d like to see the final product. This is pretty incredible,” he said, pointing to her painting. Her detailing was impeccable. She’d captured the moss hanging on the oaks with skilled perfection. He’d suspected she was good, but he hadn’t been prepared for just how talented she actually was. “I’d like to see some of your other stuff sometime.”

“Really?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I just am.”

“Brendan King,” a loud voice shouted from over the fence next to them. “What are you doing over there with that girl? Is she trying to get you involved in her Wednesday night orgies?”

It was very unfortunate that Brendan had decided to take a sip of his lemonade at that moment because he inhaled it and stared choking.

“Wednesday night orgies?” he asked when he could breathe again.

“I might have told Mrs. Forns that that’s what takes place here sometimes,” she said, putting her glass down on the counter.

“She’s trouble, Brendan,” Mrs. Forns called out. “I suggest you stay away from her.”

“Not going to happen,” he called back as he put his glass down and grabbed Paige’s arms, pulling her into him. “And I suggest you mind your own business.”

Mrs. Forns made an exasperated sound before a door slammed shut.

“I’m covered in paint,” Paige whispered as Brendan lowered his face to hers.

“I don’t care,” he said right before he kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders while he gripped her hips and worked his hands down to her thighs. He trailed them under the hem of her shirt and felt material just a little bit farther up.

“I told you I was wearing shorts,” she said against his mouth.

“Yes, but I had to investigate. It was necessary.”

“Hmm,” she hummed against his mouth before she opened hers.

She tasted like the lemonade that they’d been drinking. At the rate they were going, he wasn’t going to be able to look at citrus the same way.

“So tell me about these orgies,” he said, bringing his hands back to her hips.

“It was just something I said to piss her off,” she said breathless.

“Oh.” He laughed. “So it was just you being your usual charming self?” he asked, putting his mouth against her jaw.

“Pretty much.” She sucked in a shallow breath as he pressed his open mouth against her skin.

“So there’s no truth to them?”

She shook her head and let it roll back as he continued his journey down her neck and to her collarbone. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Good, ’cause I would’ve gotten territorial,” he said, bringing his mouth back to hers.

Paige moved her hands up and grabbed onto the front of Brendan’s shirt. She pulled her mouth back from his and looked him in the eyes.

“Is this you staking a claim?” she asked like it was a joke. But she couldn’t hide the vulnerability in her soft gray eyes.

He reached up, tracing the shell of her ear with his fingers. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. She had a green smear of paint along her freckled cheek. A few short strands of her soft brown hair were too short to pull back into her bun and they curled around her temples. Her full lips were slightly parted, her breath washing out of her mouth as her chest fell and rose.

Paige Morrison was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. And here she was in his arms, asking him what he wanted.

“Paige.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“I want to be with you. I want to date you, and touch you, and kiss you. And I want to be the only one who gets to do those things,” he said, bringing his hand back down to her chin. “Do you want that? Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Can I take you to dinner on Friday?”

“Yes,” she said and nodded.

“Seven?”

“Yes.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes,” she said and the smile that spread across her face was so contagious that he couldn’t help but mirror it.

*  *  *

Brendan stayed for dinner. He sat next to Paige, eating chicken stir-fry and laughing at the stories her dad told him about being a high school history teacher. And he listened to her mom talk about being a nurse practitioner for thirty-five years. They continued to talk for a good amount of time after dinner; all the while, Brendan rested his arm on the back of Paige’s chair and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger.

After dinner, Brendan asked Paige if he could see some of her work.

She showed him a painting of a field of pink and yellow tulips, one of two swans floating in the middle of a pond, one of a forest with a stream running under a bridge, another of a woman dancing in a red dress in the middle of a crowd of black-and-white people, and one of a field of pine trees covered in snow.

There were some from when she’d gone crazy with a peacock color scheme. Using the colors of submerged purple flowers over green rocks, making the petals look like the eyes in the feathers. Another was of a brilliant blue sky over a field of violets, the flowers stretching up to the skies and swaying in the breeze like feathers. And then some of the paintings were of actual peacocks.

She had a book filled with her photography. There were multiple pictures of sunsets, parks, and birds in flight. Close-ups of different flowers in bloom, and others of vast fields. There was one of people running through a giant puddle on what Paige remembered to be a particularly cold and rainy day in Philadelphia.

She also had quite a few other creations. She’d found two old windowpanes at an antique store. On one, she’d stained the wood a dark brown and painted the glass with varying shades of oranges, yellows, and reds, making it look like there were autumn leaves embedded in the glass. The other window was bright blue and green, with daisies printed on the glass. There were pieces of aluminum siding that she’d painted the words
love
,
hope
,
peace
, and
dream
. Each piece was only one word but she’d repeated it in dozens of different colors, sizes, and print, all of them overlapping but still clearly visible.

“You’re really talented,” he said, looking up at her with a gleam in his eyes.

His words affected her more than they should have. She really didn’t want to examine the overwhelming pleasure that his approval brought her. He wanted to know where she got her inspirations from, how long it took her to finish a painting, which one was her favorite. He asked her question after question and she could tell that the interest in his eyes was genuine.

Dylan had never really been interested in Paige’s work. For the most part, he’d just look at it and say, “Well, that’s nice,” before he returned to whatever he was doing. He never asked questions, and whenever she tried to talk something out with him, he would give her a few perfunctory responses before he would change the subject. He hadn’t cared about her work. He hadn’t cared about her.

Brendan was different from Dylan in so many ways. The more she learned about Brendan, the more she liked him, and the more she wanted to learn about him. She was surprised at how much she’d opened up to him in such a short period of time, and it was still more than just a little bit scary for her.

When Paige walked Brendan out to his truck that night, he pushed her up against the door and kissed her until she forgot her own name.

“I want to see you tomorrow,” he told her.

“When?”