“No, it’s fine. It’s something I need to do anyway. I’ll come over when I’m done checking in with the guests in the other houses.”
Her throat bobbed, and she jerked her head in the smallest nod. “Okay. Sure. Fine.”
“All right, then. I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah.” She tucked another bit of hair behind her ear, smiled hesitantly, and turned in the direction of the house. “See you later.”
I watched her go until she disappeared up the back deck and into the house, leaving me alone on my own deck… to deal with a grumpy nine-year-old.
***
I pulled up behind Elle’s tiny little car and put my truck in park. I heard the music the second I stepped out, and I shuddered at the volume. A quick check of the beach showed that nobody was nearby, thankfully.
There was every chance I’d get a complaint. Some of the people who stayed in the houses brought their elderly relatives with them, and they did like a good moan.
I knocked on the door even though I knew it would be useless. There was no way she could hear me over the sound of her music, so I tried the handle and fist-pumped when the door clicked open.
There was a God.
He didn’t really listen to me most of the time, but that was what I got for asking for an easy ride with a daughter.
It was all on me, really.
I pulled the door shut behind me and stopped. The song clicked over to Sucker by The Jonas Brothers, and with it, came Elle’s singing.
It was the worst singing I’d heard in a long time, but that didn’t stop me having to fight a smile—and a laugh. I also hated that I knew that song, but that was what I got for letting Ari control the music.
I walked through the clean living room toward the utility room. The door was open, and once again, I stopped.
The room was no bigger than ten feet wide, but there was Elle, dancing in the middle of it. The countertops were covered with clear dust sheets, and on one sat a speaker with her phone right next to it. The speaker was the source of the booming music, and I covered my mouth with my hand as I watched her.
She jumped into the middle of the room, dipped her brush into the paint tin, and shook her hips to the beat of the music. The beat carried her to the wall where she moved her entire body in time to it. Her shoulders bobbed up and down one at a time, her hips jerked side to side, and she stopped occasionally to use the paintbrush as a microphone.
It was hilarious.
She had no idea I was here.
I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the door frame. She was completely and utterly oblivious to my presence, something that didn’t change as the song changed to one by Little Mix.
I really had to stop letting my nine-year-old control Spotify.
Elle was covered in paint. I wasn’t surprised given that she was dancing more than she was painting, but she had it everywhere other than on the walls.
Thank God she’d covered all the cabinets.
They were brand new.
She threw her hands in the air, sending paint splattering everywhere.
Including on me.
“Shit!” The word escaped me before I could stop it, and I threw up my hands to stop it slamming in my face.
“Oh, my God!” She covered her mouth with her hands, but one of those hands still held the paintbrush. More paint flicked with her movement, and she screamed, dropping the brush on the floor.
More paint.
“I’m so sorry!” She grabbed a towel and rushed to me, lifting it to wipe my face. “I had no idea you were there.”
“I should hope not. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from hearing you sing.”
Her cheeks flushed bright red, but she reached up and wiped paint from my hair. “I didn’t—I forgot the time,” she stammered. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry.” I took the towel from her and wiped my face with a clean part, then handed it right back. “You need this more than me. Trust me. You look like you got in a fight with an art store.”
She looked down at herself, at the smears and splatters on her legs and clothes. “Right. I’m okay. It’s just paint.”
“You have a big… right here.” I motioned to my own cheek, running my fingertip from my right temple down my face and onto my neck.
She patted her cheek and looked at her palm. “That’s why you don’t paint and dance.”
“Not that it stopped you, judging by those dad moves.”
She blushed again. “You watched me?”
“It was a little hard not to. It’s like those trainwrecks where you know it’s all going to go to shit, but you can’t stop watching.”
“Reality TV, essentially.”
“Yes. Pretty much. How are you doing in here?”
She looked around the room and bit down on her lower lip. “Well, there’s room for improvement.”
Laughing, I traced the path her gaze had just taken. It was the most mismatched painting I’d ever seen, but at least she’d tried.
“All right. I have a few hours. It won’t take long with both of us painting. Do you want to roll and I’ll edge?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you just said to me. Is that some kind of freaky sex thing?”
I picked up the paint roller and held it up. “A paint roller. To put the paint on the walls.”
She laughed into her hand. “Right. Sorry. Of course. That was inappropriate.” She took the roller and handed me the paintbrush she’d been using.
I fought back a smile and dipped the brush in the paint.
Bloody hell. Why was I smiling? I didn’t like this woman, nor did I have any intention of changing my stance on her.
But it was hard to hate someone who danced and sung as badly as she did while wearing booty shorts. Especially when those shorts showed off long, lightly tanned legs that had the muscle tone of one of those weird people who liked running.
I turned my back to her and got to painting. Why had I agreed to come and help her? I never should have let her talk me into letting her paint the room, even if she was doing it out of a little guilt. At that point, there really was no way I couldn’t not help.
I’d look like an absolute arsehole if I just left her to it.
I was torn. While I had no intention of being her friend—I couldn’t wait for her to leave, actually—I had the unique chance to get to know the person my daughter idolized.
I had no idea why she idolized her.
As far as I knew, all she did was curl her hair and give interior design tips.
Actually, I could use the latter.
“So, explain to me why nine-year-old girls think you’re God’s gift to the internet.”
Elle snorted, then coughed so hard she had to bang her chest with her fist. “Well, it’s not for my elegance or grace, that’s for sure.”
I smirked, glancing over my shoulder at her.
“I don’t know, if I’m honest. I started vlogging when I was in college as a way to fill time, and later it was a way to earn some money while I studied.”
“College?”
“Yes. Is it that surprising that I have a degree?”
“Well, you curl your hair on the internet. I didn’t know you needed a degree for that.”