Hope on the Rocks by Annabeth Albert

Fourteen

Quinn

“Here goes nothing,” I said as I dipped my roller into the paint. I hoped I’d chosen well and that I wasn’t in over my head.

“It’s paint, Quinn.” Adam’s voice was matter of fact. I needed to get over myself before he lost his patience. He’d shown up shortly after lunchtime with a couple of buckets of painting supplies. Prep work had been done with his typical laidback efficiency, and it was obvious he didn’t share my ever-present perfectionism. “If you hate it, we just paint over it on your next day off.”

“True. And I’m off tomorrow, actually. There was a weird scheduling snafu, so I’m now working Tuesday through Saturday this week. The upcoming holiday means we’re busier than usual but also short-staffed.”

“See? Tomorrow will give you time to see if you like it. I’d give it a few days to grow on you though.” He laughed as he loaded his own roller with paint. “Sucks on all the long hours. But now I won’t feel bad if I keep you up late.”

“Don’t feel bad ever.” We’d had several long late-night phone conversations in the days since our paint-shopping date, and I’d loved every one of them, sexy and mundane both. “I like it when you keep me up. Much more fun reason than being sleepless because of my insomnia.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a reason.” He gave me a fast, hard kiss before swatting my ass with his left hand. “Now get to painting.”

“Yes, Daddy.” My skin heated even though we were in the privacy of my bedroom. Being shameless and flirty—the way I’ve always dreamed of being with someone—was getting easier though. Whether it was on the phone or in person, Adam found excellent ways to coax my fantasies out into the open. Letting go of my inner critic and letting myself have this with him felt so good.

I rolled the first stripe of paint on the wall closest to the door. We’d draped drop cloths over the furniture and carpet, but I was still careful to not drip.

“Oh, wow.” After painting a good-sized rectangle, I stepped back to examine the wall. “That’s dark.”

“Keep going.” Adam had done about four times as much on the wall near the bed. “Change is good for the soul and all that.”

“Except for when it sucks.” I hadn’t thought nearly as much about the Luke situation lately, but I also wasn’t quite to a place of embracing the positives of big life changes.

“Even when it sucks.” He shrugged before he refilled his roller. “Like, I’m still missing Ramona and Teddy, but seeing her Alaska pictures reminds me how much I like being outdoors. Need to make getting outside more of a priority. And it’s probably for the best that we’re all having our own summer adventures.”

He ended with a pointed look in my direction that made me smile. I did like this adventure of having a Daddy, even if it made my insides all flippy. The more I let go of trying to analyze things, the happier I was.

“Glad I can be a small distraction.”

“You’re definitely my favorite item on the to-do list, that’s for sure.” He paused to rub the back of his neck. His eyes were way more world-weary than usual, even his hair looked a little droopy.

“List getting long again?” I worried about him, the way he worked himself so hard at both ends of the day.

“Yeah. Work’s finally picking up, which is great, but closing shift went late last night. Then this morning, Mom had a tight turnaround between rentals, so I went over to help her before I went into the tavern for the brunch rush.”

“You should have told me. You could have napped instead of giving up your Sunday afternoon for painting. You should rest.”

“Doc. You’re off duty. Enough about me resting.” Returning to his painting, he moved faster as if trying to prove he wasn’t exhausted.

“Okay, okay.” I wasn’t going to argue with him about giving up his Sunday, but I resolved to do more than my share and ensure he got some downtime later.

“Now, how is it that you’ve never painted before?” he asked, a clear bid to change the subject.

“There was never a chance, I guess,” I said, answering his question. “I grew up in the same house for eighteen years, same furniture, same room arrangements. Mom never wanted to change anything.”

“She can’t ever meet my mom.” Adam laughed fondly like there was any chance of that happening, but I liked living in a fantasy world where there might be occasions for future meetings. “That woman can’t leave a room alone. Always changing and tweaking stuff even in her private space at the B&B.”

“My mom didn’t even like rotating out seasonal decorations.” The divorce had forced some amount of change on her, adding a layer of bitterness to her already frosty exterior. I envied Adam and his mom’s bond, and hearing his stories about her always made me like him that much more, the way he put family first without resentment.

“Too bad. Changing things up can be fun if you let it.” Adam said this with the same air as when he’d told me a few weeks ago to have a rebound fling or ten.

“Yeah, but so can picking one thing, sticking with it.” I smacked the roller against the paint tray harder than I needed to. Why I suddenly cared about being more than the flavor of the summer for him was something I didn’t want to examine too closely. “Until I purchased this condo, I’d only lived in dorms and cheap apartments, places where I wasn’t allowed to paint.”

“It’s nice to add some of your own personality to where you live, right? And this place has good resale value if you ever feel like moving on.”

“Yeah.” I tried to quash the image of doing more DIY projects with Adam that sprung up uninvited. He deserved a place of his own, not hopping from rental to rental for his mom. A place with character and history and someone to share it with. He was such a good Daddy. He’d make someone an excellent partner, and it was getting harder and harder to stop myself from volunteering.

Coming over to refill his roller, he patted me on the shoulder. “Think you’ll stick around here? Long-term, I mean? I realize your family and roots are up near Portland.”

His tone was guarded, making it hard to figure out whether he was hoping I’d put down roots or being pragmatic. I liked the idea of him wanting me to stay, though, or at least, caring enough to ask. I leaned into his touch, soaking up his nearness.

“I’m okay with just an occasional visit back to Portland. I like being on the coast. My walks wouldn’t be so interesting back home. It’s rather boring and flat.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He kissed my temple before returning to painting. “You were going to show me your treasures today. Let’s finish this coat of paint, and then I want to see what you’ve found.”

“You really want to see my beach junk?”

“It’s not junk if you’re keeping it.”

“I really need to start writing down your wisdom. Maybe frame your sayings as memes,” I joked, but his words had found a vulnerable spot in my carefully constructed armor. That he valued the things I found important made me feel cared for, a deeper level to the Daddy dynamic. He easily met my sexual needs, but the way he created a safe place for my emotions was as unexpected as it was welcome.

“Bet I could charge ten bucks a pop at one of the tourist shops.” Adam laughed, but it had a tired edge.

I sped up the paint application. Showing him my beach finds would be a good excuse to get him sitting down and resting with a drink. After we wrapped the paint rollers in plastic, I settled Adam into the comfy chair in my home office and pulled down the trays of my finds that I stored on the shelving unit.

“See? Now this is pretty.” He held up the piece of smooth blue glass I’d found the day he’d first come to dinner. That felt so long ago now, way more than a couple of weeks. He ran a finger over a weathered piece of metal that had likely started life as a belt buckle. The way he gave more than a cursory glance to each item made my shoulders lift and chest expand.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“I like your treasures. Some of this would fetch a pretty penny at one of the antique places. It’s not junk.”

“Yeah.” A prickle raced up my spine. I might not survive being this understood.

“Come here.” He pulled me into his lap, then winced. I immediately tried to shift, but he held me tight. “Stay.”

I obeyed because his lap was fast becoming one of my all-time favorite spots, but I studied his face carefully. His skin tone was pale. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Me? Yeah. I’m fine.” He kissed my temple, but I wasn’t so sure I believed him.