“You do if you’re seriously considering buying that sprayer.”

“I was just looking.” Her mouth moved into a pout as she poked a finger at the machine. “Besides, what do you know about it?”

“Enough to know if I say too much more about it, you’ll buy it just to spite me.”

“That’s tempting, but I’ll resist,” she shot back.

He reached down, cupped a hand under her elbow to lift her to her feet. “Seems like you’ve had enough to deal with for one day. Heard you quit your job.”

There was sympathy in his eyes. Not the smug and sticky kind, but a quiet understanding that soothed. “What, does Sandi report to you too?”

“Sorry, that name’s not on my list.” He gave her arm a careless little rub, an old gesture that both of them remembered as soon as he did it. And both of them took a half-step back. “Word travels, Stretch. You know how it is in the Valley.”

“Yeah, I know how it is. I’m surprised you remember.”

“I remember a lot of things. One of them is how much you loved working there.”

“I don’t want you to be nice to me.” She turned away to stare hard at the paint sprayer. “It’s screwing up my mood.”

Because he knew she would work through it better if she was angry or occupied, he nodded. “Okay. Why don’t I help you take advantage of your friend-of-the-owner discount? It’s always fun to scalp Brad. Then you can verbally abuse me. That always cheers you up.”

“Yeah, it does.” She frowned a little, bumped the sprayer with the toe of her shoe. “This thing doesn’t look so tough.”

“Let me show you some of your other options.”

“Why aren’t you back at Flynn’s hacking out a stale plot with cardboard characters?”

“There, see, you’re feeling better already.”

“Have to admit.”

“What we have here is an automatic paint roller system,” he began, steering her toward the machine Brad had recommended to him. “It’s small, user-friendly, and efficient.”

“How do you know?”

“Because when Brad told me to show you this one he used those specific adjectives. Personally, I’ve only painted a room the old-fashioned way, and that’s been . . .” He trailed off. “A long time ago.”

She remembered. He’d painted his mother’s bedroom when she was in the hospital the first time. Dana had helped him, cutting around the trim, keeping his spirits up. They’d painted the walls a soft, warm blue so that the room would be fresh and peaceful.

And less than three months later she was dead.

“She loved it,” Dana said gently. “She loved that you did that for her.”

“Yeah.” As the memory was painful on too many levels, he flipped the topic back. “Well, Brad’s got a list here of handy products and tools to make your home improvement project more enjoyable.”

“Okay, let’s clean him out.”

She had to admit that it added to the fun and interest of the expedition to have him along. And it was easy, a little too easy, to remember why they’d once been friends, once been lovers.

They had a way of slipping into a rhythm, of understanding short-speak and expressions that came from a lifetime of knowing each other every bit as much as from the two years of physical intimacy they’d shared.

“This is the color?” Jordan rubbed his chin as he studied her list. “Island? What kind of color is Island?”

“Greeny blue. Sort of.” She handed over the paint chip. “See? What’s wrong with it?”

“I didn’t say anything was wrong with it. It’s just not something that makes me think bookstore.”

“It’s not just a bookstore, it’s . . . Damn it.” She held the sample up, she held it down. She crossed her eyes and still couldn’t envision it on the walls of her space. “Malory picked it out. I was going to go with this off-white, and she and Zoe jumped all over me.”

“White always works.”

She hissed out a breath. “See, they said I was thinking like a man. Men won’t pick color. They’re scared of color.”

“We are not.”

“What color’s your living room in New York?”

He shot her a bland look. “That’s entirely beside the point.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know why, but I don’t think so. I’m going with this sort of greeny blue. It’s just paint. It’s not a lifetime commitment. And she said I should think Bryce Canyon and Spaghetti for accents.”

“Brown and yellow? Honey, that’s got to be ugly.”

“No, the canyon deal’s sort of deep rose. A kind of pinky, browny red—”

“Pinky, browny red,” he repeated, grinning. “Very descriptive.”

“Shut up. And the other’s sort of cream.” She fanned out the samples Zoe and Malory had marked. “Hell, I don’t know. I think I’m a little scared of color myself.”

“You’re sure as hell not a man.”

“Thank God for that. Mal’s going with this deal called Honeycomb. Zoe’s is called Begonia, which I don’t get because begonias are pink or white, and this is more like purple.”

She pressed her fingers just over her right eye. “I think all this color’s making my head hurt. Anyway, Zoe’s already figured the square footage and the gallons per. Where’s my list?”

He handed it back to her. “Brad was wondering why Zoe didn’t come with you.”

“Hmm? Oh, she had to get home to Simon.” She studied the list, began to calculate, then glanced up. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why was he wondering?”

“Why do you think?” He looked over her shoulder at the list, surprised when she turned it over and he saw that it continued on the back of the sheet.

“Jesus, you’re going to need a flatbed. Then Brad took a trip back to high school and asked me to ask you if Zoe had said anything about him.”

“No, she didn’t, but I’d be happy to pass her a note for him in study hall tomorrow.”

“I’ll let him know.”

They loaded up the paint, the supplies, the equipment. Dana blessed Brad at checkout when even with the discount the total made her gulp. But it wasn’t until she was outside that she realized the real dilemma.