A Chance for Sunny Skies (30 page)

"What?" Paint?

He gently touches my face, swiping over a spot on my forehead, along one cheek, and then (to my utter horror) sweeps above my top lip. Under the weight of his fingertips, the dried paint crackles and pulls at the tiny hairs on my face. Of course, now I can freaking feel it. My head wobbles and I feel much too hot. I've been walking around with a righteous paint mustache? That's why everyone's been staring. Not because I'm overwhelming them with my effortless good looks.

Ugh. My shoulders slump forward and my head droops.

"Hey." Hot suit guy reaches his hand forward again and lets it land on my shoulder. "If it makes any difference, I think the color goes very nicely with your skin. What is that? Peacock blue?" He shoots me another perfect smile.

I'm about to have a full on pity party when Mama's voice comes into my head with another one of her famous sayings.
Poutin's no more useful than a jack rabbit wearing boots, Punkin'.

I pull back my shoulders, take a deep breath, and resolve not to put any bunnies in boots today.

"Sapphire, actually." I smile nice and big at him. Then I reach for a napkin, spit on it, and start rubbing off the damn paint while I balance the coffee in my other hand.

I look up just in time to see hot suit guy clench his jaw slightly in a mini-cringe.

I pause and lean forward. "Sorry, are you grossed out by spit?" I push the now-a lovely-shade-of-blue napkin toward him.

"No," he says defensively, pushing my hand back. "I'm just not used to pretty girls spitting around me, I guess."

I let out a laugh and shrug no-big-deal shoulders. "I'm a dentist, so spit's kinda part of the job description. Plus I grew up with three older brothers." I squint as I continue to rub the paint off. "Spit's kinda a part of big brothers, too."

"Painter by day, dentist by night, little sister in between?" He cocks his head to the side and then points to a remaining spot of paint.

"That plus all my welding and dancing, I just never have time to do anything fun." I shake my head and try to look serious, but fail miserably at keeping a straight face through my Flash Dance reference.

"Well, I'd hate to get in the way of that important work. By all means." He steps aside and ushers me toward the door.

I laugh, shake my head, and look him in those stone blue eyes.

"I'm Jules." I hold out my hand because I'm a business owner now (and shaking hands just feels like what business owners do).

"Andrew," he says, clasping a solid hand around mine.

"Thanks for the heads up, by the way." I motion to my face. "I was having a shit day and it was super helpful that someone could point out how low I'd really sunk."

Andrew says he's always glad to help and when I turn to walk away, he stops me, setting a gentle hand on my arm.

"Care to tell me your problems? Despite my slight aversion to spit, I'm actually quite good at cleaning up shit. It's kinda what I do."

I lift my chin and look at him sideways (oh, how I love punny flirting).

"Challenge accepted, Andrew." I motion to the two-top I had been sitting at earlier and he sits down after me. Hey, it's not like I said, "Sure, I'll date you." What harm can come from getting to know someone local?

Because you already know what's wrong, I'll skip the part where I fill him in on my drama. The part I'm not gonna skip? Yeah, that would be how cute and serious his listening faces are as he leans forward, almost looking like he's going to jump out of his seat at any moment to fix everything. He
is
wearing a suit at ten in the morning, on a Saturday, after all; he must be one of those take-charge types.

When I get to the part about Em walking out on me because I brought up not having enough time to hire a good secretary (it's possible I get a tad whiney here), his face changes. Cute, listening, I'm-gonna-save-you face is gone and replaced with a narrow-eyed thinking face.

I pause. Shit. Why the hell am I telling a cute stranger all of my intimate problems? Ugh. I totally over-shared, too, and now he's probably planning how to get away. I really don't want to get a reputation for being the local over-sharing girl. That would definitely not be good for business. Plus, I'm supposed to have it together, know what I'm doing and all that. I paste on a smile.

"But, it's not really that bad, I'm sure if we --"

"I think I can help you."

My head juts back and my forehead wrinkles deepen. "Wha...?"

He looks up at the ceiling for a second, like he's trying to remember something. Then he starts nodding, the corners of his lips lifting into a smile. "Yeah, I know someone who would be perfect for you."

I wrinkle my nose. "And she'd be ready to interview like Monday?"

He waves his hand at me. "Yeah, this is what I do. I help people, you know, find work, prepare for interviews, that kind of thing."

My hands find their way to my face again (no freaking wonder I had so much paint on me) and I support my head as I try to figure out if this is really happening. Andrew watches me and I can't help noticing how one of his eyes squints more than the other when he smiles.

"Do you have a business card yet?" he asks.

I blink. "Oh, yeah. Course!" I reach into my wallet and pull out one of the cards I received in the mail just last week (of which I have been carrying seventeen with me at all times).

He takes it from me, looks at it while bending it from side to side.

"Great!" he says. "I will be sure to pass this along." Squinty eye smile.

A happy bubble starts in my stomach and floats up into my chest. I shake my head, laugh, and silently thank Mama for her great advice, yet again.

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About the Author

Eryn Scott lives in the Pacific Northwest with her high-school-sweetheart husband. She enjoys hiking, coloring (yep), listening to dub-step, and blankets. This is her first adult novel.  Learn more about her and her books on her website,
www.erynwrites.com
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