The Guest Book by Marybeth Whalen

Author:Marybeth Whalen [Whalen, Marybeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-310-33475-0
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2012-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

sixteen

As she showered and dried her hair the next morning, she struggled to shake the image of Nate’s face so close to hers on the porch, the way he’d seemed genuinely bereft at the thought of ending their night. She couldn’t quite decide if his mix of charm and chivalry was part of his job or just part of him. Could he really be what he seemed or was there bad stuff she just hadn’t discovered yet? Her cynical side told her there had to be.

She donned cut-off denim shorts and a tank top that could stand to get paint on it. At some point after Wyatt had asked Macy to help paint, Brenda had committed her to it, springing it on her at breakfast earlier this morning.

At the last minute, Macy rubbed some pink-tinted lip gloss onto her lips. She took one last look in the mirror. She didn’t look like she was trying too hard, which was her goal. With his looks and smug demeanor, she could tell Wyatt was used to girls throwing themselves at him with some regularity. That would not be her, Macy decided, no matter what he looked like.

She crossed the yard to Buzz’s house with a sense of purpose. She was doing a good thing for Buzz, who had been so sweet to her family. Painting Buzz’s house for him was the least she could do in return. Besides, her mom had basically insisted she go.

Something inside her asked, Does the fact that Wyatt looks the way he does have anything to do with your burst of altruism? There was a voice inside her that would forever sound just like her mother, even when Brenda was nowhere around. Macy silenced the voice with a knock on Buzz’s front door. She saw Wyatt’s truck parked in the drive and ignored the little thrill that surged through her. Wyatt pulled open the door and leaned lazily against it as he sized her up.

Macy decided right then and there that he looked like Matthew McConaughey, minus the blue eyes. The bad thing was, she’d always had a thing for Matthew McConaughey and saw all his movies, even the stupid ones that flopped at the box office. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and shrugged, holding up her hands with a smile.

“I’m here to paint!” she said in a sing-song voice.

Wyatt smirked at her. “So I see.” He held the door open so she could walk through, and she wondered why they’d never met as kids. She thought of him being inside Time in a Bottle when she wasn’t there, of Buzz dragging him out when he snuck in. She wondered how many times that had happened and if there was more to the story.

She decided that eventually she would ask him if house painting was the only kind of painting he did. But then she immediately chided herself for even going down that path. It wasn’t likely that Wyatt was her mystery artist.

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