This Little House of Mine by Susan May Warren

Author:Susan May Warren [Warren, Susan May]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-06-10T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

“Stop. Don’t move.” Ellen’s voice betrayed amusement, and Paul knew he’d done it again. Glued wallpaper to his arm or pants or maybe this time his hair. He stood on the stepladder, the wallpaper curling down over his head, wondering for the thirty-sixth time in the last hour just why he’d been finagled into this mess.

Then she laughed. . .and he knew. Recruiting. Oh, how he liked that word. He had to admit, Ellen had the patience of a saint. He had given her plenty of reasons to run for the hills over the past few weeks. Just three weeks ago he’d dumped paint into her golden hair. Then they’d spent last weekend painting the bedroom a death green that she’d called sage. Then, just yesterday, he’d had the brilliant idea to cook a chicken. . .oh yes, dazzle her with his culinary skills.

He was still trying to air the smoke fumes out of the house.

And this morning, he’d managed to work his tongue into a knot, displaying his total ignorance. “A swag . . . as in. . .?” Her sweet as candy laughter blamed his embarrassment. The closest thing he’d had to a swag window treatment in his entire life were the tea towels his mother had hung over their tiny windows in their hut in Papua New Guinea. And they hadn’t done a thing to keep out the mosquitoes, the peering eyes, or the rats.

“Why do I need a swag?” Then again, if Elegant Ellen said he needed a swag or a swatch or a valance or—what did she say . . . cafe curtains?— then who was he to argue? He had about as much decorating savvy as a raccoon. Besides, it wasn’t in the least painful to surrender to those blue-green eyes swallowing him like an arctic wave. In fact, he was starting to relish it. The delight was something he was pretty sure God was okay with. Paul had spent plenty of off-decorating hours on his knees, trying not to asphyxiate from the paint fumes, begging God to spare his heart or deliver his dreams.

And here Ellen was, wallpapering his family room on a blue-skied Saturday.

The wind sent leaves dancing in front of the window as if beckoning them to join in. For the first time in years, he felt like a red-blooded American male, enjoying the friendship of a blonde with laughter that was honey to his soul. And the fact that he hadn’t hidden his calling, but spun her stories she devoured with rapt attention, only made their friendship sweeter.

Recruiting, indeed.

“I thought you said this was a cinch.” His triceps began to burn as he held the sticky wallpaper above his head.

She giggled. “It is . . . by myself. I have a system.” She peeled the wallpaper off his socks. His skin felt gummy through the cotton. “But you wanted to help, so. . .” She shrugged, but he saw mischief in her eyes.

He gave her a mock glare.

“Line the wallpaper along the ceiling, and we’ll work from the top down.

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