Thomas Kinkade - The Inn at Angel Island

Down in the kitchen, Peter and Will had already eaten breakfast and looked ready to start their workday.

“Daniel wants us to help his man with the exterior house painting today,” Peter said. “He’s concerned about falling behind schedule.”

Liza thought Daniel was probably concerned about having Peter and Will up in the tiny attic again, breathing down his neck as he hurried to fix the roof. But his diplomatic solution seemed to solve two problems at once.

“I’ll come outside and paint, too,” Liza offered. “It’s a perfect day. We can get a lot done.”

“My thought exactly.” Peter took one last sip of his coffee and left the mug in the sink. He seemed in a better mood today.

Liza quickly downed some yogurt and a mug of coffee, then took out her BlackBerry. She had woken up certain that she wanted to stay on the island a week more, or even longer. Now she needed to tell Eve she wasn’t coming back on Monday.

But when she called the office, she got bounced to Eve’s voice mail. Though she would have preferred to tell Eve directly, she decided to leave a message. “Hi, Eve, it’s Liza. We’ve had some set-backs here. A branch went through the roof during a storm, and we need to make a lot of repairs. Everything is taking longer than I expected, actually. So I do need to take some more time here. A week at least. Possibly more. You can call me if you’d like, or I’ll try you again on Monday.”

Liza ended the call and put her phone away. She had been anxious about asking for more time. But after the call she felt relieved, certain that it was the right decision.

She stepped through the back door and was greeted by the warm sunshine. The day was clear and very mild. Spring had arrived. She could actually smell it in the sweet air and damp, earthy scent of the garden. Even the sunlight seemed brighter and stronger.

She found Peter and Will at the side of the house, choosing from a selection of paints and brushes spread out on a canvas. A man from Daniel’s crew had started to spray a coat of paint on the building with a special machine.

“Let’s put you to work,” Peter greeted her cheerfully, talking above the noise.

“We need to follow with the brushes, Dad. Before it dries.” Will, holding a thick brush and a bucket of ivory paint, walked toward the clapboard.

“Hold your horses. Just wait until I show you,” Peter said firmly.

“Daniel showed me the other day,” Will insisted. “It’s not exactly brain surgery.”

Peter reached out and took Will’s brush away. “I asked you to wait. Now just calm down.”

Will scowled and stomped off into the house, slamming the door behind him.

“That went well,” Liza observed. Her brother arched an eyebrow at her. “We’re not restoring the Sistine Chapel, Peter. Let him paint with you.”

“I want him to paint. But there’s a right way to do this, Liza. You don’t want the house to look like a big mess when we show it, do you?”

“Of course not,” she replied. Though she thought Will had been painting pretty well so far. Maybe even better than Peter, who was so painfully slow and meticulous, he could have been doing brain surgery.

“I was working on the porch before the rainstorm. I’ll just keep going on it,” Liza told her brother. She was happy to have that territory staked out for herself. She didn’t need to be back here, in the middle of Peter and Will all day.

With a paint can in one hand and brushes and a tray in the other, she marched off toward the front of the house.

If you ran an inn, this is what you would be doing most of the time, she reminded herself, painting and repairing. You couldn’t call Daniel for every little thing.

Though she’d definitely want to.

Liza set her equipment on the porch, climbed halfway up the ladder, and started to paint the window trim in the bright sea green her aunt and uncle had used. She had always loved this color; it seemed so much a part of the island and the inn.

As she worked, her thoughts drifted. Eve might not like it, but Liza was glad she had asked for more time off. It hurt all over again to think about how she had been pushed aside. So much had been going on the past few days, she had been distracted. Now it all came rushing back. She felt so awful about the situation that she hadn’t checked her e-mails or messages in two days. That was saying something.

Maybe once more time had passed, she would see things differently. But right now there didn’t seem anything left for her at the agency. It was hard to imagine returning to her job. In two more weeks. Or ever…

“Whoa there, lady… You don’t need to paint the windows. I don’t think the customer would like that.”

Liza turned suddenly at the sound of Daniel’s voice-and smacked him on the side of the head with her paint tray.

“Daniel! For goodness’ sake… I’m so sorry…” She hustled down the ladder, sloshing green paint off the tray in all directions, drips falling on both of them. He stepped back, then sat down on the top of the porch steps, holding the side of his head with his hand.

“It’s all right. I have a hard head, but you are dangerous. Don’t even look at the electric saw.”

He was right. She was dangerous with a paintbrush. Around him anyway. She took a step closer and tried not to laugh.

“Let me see your head. Take your hand away. Is there a bump?”

When he wouldn’t cooperate, she reached out and moved his hand with her own. His hand was wide and calloused, covered with sawdust and now some paint. Which was also on his face and in his hair.

“I’m so sorry. Let me wipe that off your head at least.”

Before he could answer, she grabbed a clean wet rag she had stashed in her back pocket and gently wiped the smear of paint from his skin and hair. He sat very still, tilting his head toward her.

It felt odd touching him so personally, despite the fact that he had kissed her. This was different somehow. She felt as if she were taking care of him.

“I see something, a little red spot where the tray nicked you.” She reached out with her fingertips and felt a small bump on his forehead near his hairline. Her fingers yearned to touch his thick dark hair again, but she quickly drew her hand back.

He stared up at her, and she forgot what she wanted to say.

“I’ll go inside… and get some ice,” she finally managed.

“That’s okay. I’ll be fine. Sit down. Take a break. Talk to me a little.”

He reached out and took hold of her wrist, tugging her down to sit on the step next to him.

Liza sat and stared straight ahead. He was very close, though they weren’t quite touching.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked again. “Head injuries can be tricky. You don’t have a headache or anything?”

He laughed. “It was a paint tray, Liza, not a bowling ball.” He turned to look at her. “I guess I would have to wear some protective headgear, though, if we ever go bowling.”

Was he thinking of asking her out on a date? She hated bowling. But she would put up with the hardship if necessary.

“How’s the roof coming along?” She half dreaded hearing his answer, knowing fast progress meant less time to work on Peter.

“The hole is nearly patched. We still have to do the shingles. Fran can bring lookers around, I guess.”

“All right. I’ll tell her that if she calls.”

He studied her with a curious expression. “You don’t want to call her?”

Liza shrugged. “I’m busy now. Maybe later.”

“Your brother would call her in a heartbeat,” Daniel pointed out.

“Yes, he probably would.”

“Have you talked to him at all about your doubts?”

She looked away, wondering if she should confide in him.