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Authors: Christina Tetreault
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and taped most of the trim.”
She followed him up the stairs. A few unopened boxes, some with the word Toys written on them, had been left in the hallway.
“Ignore the mess. I made Grace wait to unpack her stuff until I painted.” He pointed to the boxes as he pushed open a door. “As long as she has the doll house downstairs and Mr. Whiskers she’s happy.”
She assumed Mr. Whiskers was some kind of stuffed toy since she saw no evidence of a live pet anywhere.
“Everything I got at the store last night is in here.”
Jessie’s gaze swept around the room. Like the living room, it was much larger than she’d expected. “This is almost as big as the room I had growing up.”
Blackthorne Farm had been in her family since the late 1800s when one of her ancestors had purchased the land and turned it into a dairy farm. A man with a large family, he’d constructed a four-thousand-square-foot house, and while the house might lack several bathrooms or an attached garage, it made up for those things in the size of its bedrooms. In fact, several of her friends growing up had been jealous of how large her bedroom had been.
“It’s hard to tell by the street, but this house is bigger than it looks.”
Comments about the size of the room out of the way, Jessie latched onto the only other topic she had. “If you want to hand me a roll of tape, I’ll finish taping around the electrical outlets.”
Mack grabbed a roll and tossed it to her. “While you do that, I’ll get these cans open.”
In no time, they fell into a comfortable silence as they worked with Mack handling the top part of the divided wall and Jessie using the various sponges on the bottom half.
“I don’t blame Grace for not liking this color,” Jessie said. “It looks like pea soup.” So far she’d forced herself to stay focused on her work. With him so close, though, she couldn’t help but look over at him now.
He took a step back and eyed the wall. “It reminds me of the green slime along the marsh behind the elementary school.”
Jessie looked at the color again. “That, too.” She set the sponge into the paint tray and watched as Mack got within a few inches of the ceiling. “Don’t worry about getting close to the ceiling. I’ll go around with the edger once we finish everything else.”
“I appreciate your help today. If Grace had wanted something plain, this wouldn’t have been bad, but if I did the part your working on, it wouldn’t have come out well.”
“I used to paint my room almost twice a year. My grandparents didn’t mind and I don’t think my dad ever noticed.” Jessie went back to work. The longer she stared at Mack, the harder her heart beat. “One time I even painted each wall a different color with different patterns. My dad noticed that, but he let me leave it.” At the time, she’d assumed her dad knew she’d get sick of the multiple colors and paint over it.
“How is your dad? Does he still drive trucks?”
“He’s still driving just not long-distance anymore. Last year he took a job with Heartland, so he only does deliveries in New England,” she said referring to the New England-based grocery chain.
Once again out of conversation material, Jessie became silent and focused on her work. Painting the walls with a roller or sponge was the easy part. It was all the trim work that would take time.
“It must be nice having him around more.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Although they’d started at the same time, he’d covered more ground than her. Then again, he did have the easier task. “It is. We usually get together once a week or so for dinner. Sometimes we meet at Masterson’s or the Jade Orient. Other times he comes to my place. Honestly, I think he misses the long-distance drives.”
She watched Mack pour more paint into his tray. “Change can be difficult. Why’d he give it up?”
Rather than return to her own work, she watched the way the muscles in Mack’s arm flexed as
She followed him up the stairs. A few unopened boxes, some with the word Toys written on them, had been left in the hallway.
“Ignore the mess. I made Grace wait to unpack her stuff until I painted.” He pointed to the boxes as he pushed open a door. “As long as she has the doll house downstairs and Mr. Whiskers she’s happy.”
She assumed Mr. Whiskers was some kind of stuffed toy since she saw no evidence of a live pet anywhere.
“Everything I got at the store last night is in here.”
Jessie’s gaze swept around the room. Like the living room, it was much larger than she’d expected. “This is almost as big as the room I had growing up.”
Blackthorne Farm had been in her family since the late 1800s when one of her ancestors had purchased the land and turned it into a dairy farm. A man with a large family, he’d constructed a four-thousand-square-foot house, and while the house might lack several bathrooms or an attached garage, it made up for those things in the size of its bedrooms. In fact, several of her friends growing up had been jealous of how large her bedroom had been.
“It’s hard to tell by the street, but this house is bigger than it looks.”
Comments about the size of the room out of the way, Jessie latched onto the only other topic she had. “If you want to hand me a roll of tape, I’ll finish taping around the electrical outlets.”
Mack grabbed a roll and tossed it to her. “While you do that, I’ll get these cans open.”
In no time, they fell into a comfortable silence as they worked with Mack handling the top part of the divided wall and Jessie using the various sponges on the bottom half.
“I don’t blame Grace for not liking this color,” Jessie said. “It looks like pea soup.” So far she’d forced herself to stay focused on her work. With him so close, though, she couldn’t help but look over at him now.
He took a step back and eyed the wall. “It reminds me of the green slime along the marsh behind the elementary school.”
Jessie looked at the color again. “That, too.” She set the sponge into the paint tray and watched as Mack got within a few inches of the ceiling. “Don’t worry about getting close to the ceiling. I’ll go around with the edger once we finish everything else.”
“I appreciate your help today. If Grace had wanted something plain, this wouldn’t have been bad, but if I did the part your working on, it wouldn’t have come out well.”
“I used to paint my room almost twice a year. My grandparents didn’t mind and I don’t think my dad ever noticed.” Jessie went back to work. The longer she stared at Mack, the harder her heart beat. “One time I even painted each wall a different color with different patterns. My dad noticed that, but he let me leave it.” At the time, she’d assumed her dad knew she’d get sick of the multiple colors and paint over it.
“How is your dad? Does he still drive trucks?”
“He’s still driving just not long-distance anymore. Last year he took a job with Heartland, so he only does deliveries in New England,” she said referring to the New England-based grocery chain.
Once again out of conversation material, Jessie became silent and focused on her work. Painting the walls with a roller or sponge was the easy part. It was all the trim work that would take time.
“It must be nice having him around more.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Although they’d started at the same time, he’d covered more ground than her. Then again, he did have the easier task. “It is. We usually get together once a week or so for dinner. Sometimes we meet at Masterson’s or the Jade Orient. Other times he comes to my place. Honestly, I think he misses the long-distance drives.”
She watched Mack pour more paint into his tray. “Change can be difficult. Why’d he give it up?”
Rather than return to her own work, she watched the way the muscles in Mack’s arm flexed as
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