Page 36 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

COLT

T he smell of paint hits me before I even step inside. It’s a familiar scent of something becoming new again.

Stormy’s in the living room, bent over the tray, reloading her roller with a light yellow that reminds me of her.

She’s barefoot, wearing soft gray shorts and a black tank top that clings to her curves.

Her hair’s up, but barely. Messy strands fall against her cheek, and every time she pushes one behind her ear, I lose my thoughts.

The color is turning out better than I expected. I’m glad she chose it because I might have kept every wall white. She’s quick, efficient, and focused. While she works, she hums the melody of the song London wrote for us. She turns and catches me staring.

“Focus, cowboy,” she says, stretching up on her tiptoes, painting as high as she can up the wall.

“I am. On you.”

She glances back at me, one brow raised. “You have a dog to adopt, remember?”

“Yes, ma’am. But I gotta enjoy the view while I can.”

I move forward, grabbing my roller and dipping it in her tray. With a long swipe, I stroke up the wall where she can’t reach. I have six inches on her, so she takes the bottom, and I take the top.

“You flatter me,” she says, stepping closer.

“It’s the truth, darlin’.”

“So”—she lingers for a second—“how do you like this color so far?”

“It’s perfect. Happy. Sunny. ”

She grins. “I love yellow. Reminds me of the countryside. Summer. Sunshine. Happy thoughts. These walls deserve that.”

“You do too,” I tell her. “I was almost scared you’d choose millennial gray.”

“Is that your way of calling me old? Aren’t you a millennial?” Her brows lift.

I scoff. “No. I’m Gen Z, baby.”

“Fuck,” she whispers and laughs.

I set the paint roller against the wall and pull her into my arms.

“Does this make me a cougar?” she asks.

“Does it make me your cub?” I quickly snap back.

“Shut the hell up,” she tells me, and I lean in and kiss her as I laugh against her mouth. “You should be glad I like you.”

“Glad? Nah. I’m fuckin’ thrilled,” I say, picking up my roller so we can finish painting the color on the walls.

The midday sun creeps in through the windows, and the only sound is the soft glide of paint and the occasional creak of the ladder.

“We won’t finish before I leave, will we?” she asks after a while.

I pause, roller hovering halfway up the wall. “Probably not.”

She nods like she already knew but needed to hear it out loud.

“But it’s getting there. It’s much closer than it was when I was working alone.”

She keeps rolling. “That’s true. Progress is progress.”

“Yes, it is.”

We keep working, side by side, the walls around us slowly turning from bare to complete, like everything else between us.

I finish the wall and lower my roller, wiping the back of my arm across my forehead. Stormy’s across the room, cleaning up, her tank top clinging to her back, shoulders flushed from the heat.

“Come on. I want to show you something,” I tell her.

She follows me through the house, barefoot and curious, a light bounce in her step despite the hours we’ve been working.

I take her hand, leading her to the stairwell off the main entrance of the house.

It’s unfinished, and it still needs a handrail, but the steps are solid even if they creak.

At the top, the temperature shifts slightly, and the light changes too.

There’s no door or drywall, just framed outlines and exposed beams. The floors are still in their original worn state, and all that stands is its potential.

“Careful,” I say, steadying her as we step onto the landing. “It’s rough.”

She looks around slowly, taking it all in. “I didn’t expect it to be this big.”

I gesture to the right. “That’ll be the main bathroom for the largest bedroom. Back there …” I motion toward the deeper end of the hall. “A game room or an office. A Jack and Jill bathroom goes here. And these two rooms … one day, they’ll be my kids’ rooms.”

I pause at the last door, my hand braced on the frame.

Stormy doesn’t say anything, but she shifts beside me.

“I drew the layout before I purchased the place,” I admit. “Had it in my head that if I started on the remodel, the right person would show up.”

She walks slowly to the nearest doorway and leans against it. Still, she smiles like she can see it.

“Have you ever imagined them?” she asks. “Your kids?”

I nod. “Not their faces or anything. The noises of kids. Little feet running down the hall. Laughter bouncing off the walls.” I exhale slowly. “It’s quiet here. Always has been. But I never meant for it to stay that way.”

She doesn’t turn around and stares into the framed rooms with thoughtful eyes.

“I’ve never let myself picture it,” she says softly. “Not really. A house. A life. The noise.”

“You should,” I say, smiling. “Kinsley calls it manifesting.”

I don’t say anything else. I let her stand in the space that will one day be something I only imagined, just like her.

Stormy steps deeper into one of the unfinished rooms. Her fingers graze the edge of a stud where the drywall hasn’t been installed yet, tracing the grain of the wood.

I lean against the doorframe and watch her.

“This one. I always figured it’d be a nursery first,” I explain.

She turns slightly, not speaking, but her hand pauses against the beam.

“Crib near the window,” I add, quieter now. “Rocking chair in the corner. Maybe a bookshelf and a nice lamp.”

Stormy swallows. “You have it all planned out?”

“Only in my mind.” I run a hand along the back of my neck. “Didn’t know who I was building it for. But I knew I wanted to be ready when she showed up.”

“Colt,” she says, almost like a warning.

“I’m not saying this is a pitch,” I explain. “I won’t ask you to stay. I want you to know—this house, this life—I built it to be shared with someone like you. Whether it’s now or five years from now … I’ll wait for you.”

She crosses the room to me, barefoot on the plywood, moving slowly until she’s standing right in front of me. Her gaze searches mine. “I don’t want you to stop your life because of me.”

“Stop my life? You jump-started it.”

She leans forward and presses her forehead to my chest. I wrap my arms around her and hold her there, breathing in the scent of paint, sun-warmed skin, and something that feels dangerously close to hope.

We don’t speak for a while.

“I hope your dreams come true,” she finally says.

“They will.”

We head back downstairs, the air much cooler on the first floor. Stormy’s quiet beside me, not withdrawn, just deep in thought. When she gets like this, I like to leave her along to work through her thoughts.

“I think we were cleaning up,” she says, voice casual, but not light.

I nod, grabbing the roller I left leaning against the wall. “Perfect. Looks incredible in here. Thank you.”

I slide my lips across hers, and she grabs my T-shirt, holding me tight.

We’ve barely pulled apart when the knock comes on the front door.

It’s quick two pounds, then a turning of a knob. I make my way to the hallway, wondering who has the fucking balls to let themselves into my house. Whoever it is doesn’t believe in asking for permission.

The door creaks open, and a familiar voice calls out, “Please tell me you’re decent.”

I step into the hallway, and Remi’s standing in the entryway, her hair in a low bun, sunglasses on her head. She’s holding a gallon of lemonade.

Stormy follows me into the entryway, her cheeks a little pink, arms speckled with yellow paint.

Remi takes one glance at the two of us and smirks like she already knows more than she should.

“Wow,” she says. “I didn’t expect HGTV and foreplay, but I love a good renovation love story.”

Stormy lets out a surprised laugh.

I rub the back of my neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Remi hands me the lemonade. “This place is coming together.”

“We’re trying,” I say.

Remi walks through every room on the bottom floor, and I follow her.

“Wow. I’m shocked you were able to turn this dump into a mansion.”

“Still a long way to go,” I breathe out.

My sister grins at Stormy. “You’ve inspired him.”

“Maybe a little,” Stormy says, brushing her hands on her shorts.

Remi grins. “Mama told me to bring you that lemonade, and I’d like to invite you to dinner on Friday. Cash and I are grilling. It’s nothing big. Burgers and beer, and I invited Fenix. I’m worried about her.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why?”

“I dunno. Ever since the rodeo has been in town, she’s been standoffish.”

My Spidey-Senses go off again, and I instantly think of Jace. I glance at Stormy, who lifts one brow like she already knows what’s on my mind.

“We’ll be there,” I say, wanting to know what’s going on with Fenix.

“Good. Don’t tell anyone else, please. I don’t want it to be a big deal,” Remi nearly begs.

When all our siblings are there, it’s a lot of work.

“Okay,” I say with a nod.

“Well, I’ll let y’all get back to whatever domestic moment I interrupted. Gotta go to the B & B for my shift,” Remi tells us, giving us hugs, then leaves.

Stormy glances at me. “Do you think Fenix is acting like this because Jace is here?”

My jaw locks tight, and I breathe out, “My gut says yes.”

She swallows hard. “What will you do?”

“Fuck him up.”

With a shake of her head, she moves close. “You can’t do that. Maybe you should talk to Fenix. Ask her?”

“I have,” I explain. “She deflects and denies. No way she’d ever admit it to me. Maybe you should talk to her?”

Stormy studies me. “I’ll try.”

After we finish cleaning up our mess, I step outside onto the back porch, watching the horses graze in the pasture.

The sky starts to shift, and it’s beginning to get darker sooner, the way it does in the late summer. I lower myself onto the bench, speckled with dry paint.

I rub the back of my neck, my muscles still tight from manual labor, but that’s not what has me wound up. It’s everything else.

Remi’s visit shouldn’t have affected me like it did, but I know Fenix is hurting.

The screen door creaks, then clicks shut behind me. I don’t turn around, but I hear her footsteps. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks across the porch and lowers herself beside me with two cups in her hand. It’s the lemonade Remi brought.

I take a big sip, and my eyes go wide as I gulp it down. “You spiked it.”

She giggles. “Oh, guess I should’ve warned you first. I poured vodka in it because why the hell not?”

Stormy leans back on the bench, her thigh rests against mine as she takes a big gulp.

“Fenix isn’t like my other sisters,” I say after a beat, eyes still locked on the horses in the distance. “She keeps things to herself, and she doesn’t have many friends other than London and Vera, but they don’t know either. London would tell me.”

Stormy tilts her head thoughtfully. “Maybe she needs more time.”

I glance over at her, taking in the paint streak on her jaw, the way her hair is starting to slip loose from its knot. “Maybe you’re right.”

She laughs under her breath. “I know how it feels to walk around, pretending everything’s fine while drowning. It’s easier not to talk about it. She’s lucky to have you.”

I take her hand, my thumb brushing across her knuckles. “So are you.”

Her eyes lift to mine. “Oh, I’m aware. I don’t take you for granted.”

The breeze picks up, rustling the tall grass in waves. Somewhere off to the east, an engine rumbles in the distance.

Then Stormy shifts. “Colt …”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything.” She turns and presses a soft kiss to my jaw. “For letting me in so easily.”

I tip my head, meeting her lips fully this time. “You’re welcome. I’m lucky to be a part of your world.”

Her eyes soften, and I stare out at the pasture, at the soft light casting long shadows, and I swear, for a moment, I can hear the future echoing back to us.

Little feet. Laughter. A life loud enough to fill every inch of this house we’ve made into a home.

The weight of the day slips off my shoulders.

We sit there until the sky turns purple, then fades to night.

And even then, I don’t want to move.

“Hungry?” she asks.

“Could eat a horse,” I tell her, and her brows furrow.

“Wait, you eat horses?”

Laughter rolls from me. “It’s an expression. It means I’m starving. Come on. Let me make you dinner, and then I want you for dessert.”

“Love the sound of that,” she says, standing and pulling me to my feet.

When she looks at me with adoration in her eyes, I think maybe we’re doing something right. Maybe love doesn’t have to be perfect. Maybe it’s supposed to be a little messy with unknowns.