Ignite by Karen Erickson

the way his broad chest was emphasized in that black T-shirt . . .
    â€œSo the cabinets are solid, but that oak is just so dark, it looks pretty beat up from years of use. I want to paint them white.” He stared at the array of white samples with a helpless expression. “I thought it would be simple, you know? White is . . . white.”
    Hmm, she needed to step in and help him make a decision. She was good at this sort of thing. “Clearly that’s not the case.” She reached over and tapped her finger right in the dead center of about twenty white paint options. “I like this.”
    West glanced up. “Why’s that?”
    â€œI like the name. Café au Lait.” She shrugged when he turned to really look at her, his blue eyes meeting hers. “It’s not too bright, not too beige. It’s a perfect, subtle shade of warm white.”
    â€œI like the way you think. Done.” He tore the page out of the pamphlet, then proceeded to tear the actual paint sample itself from the page. “How about the kitchen walls?”
    And that became their process. She declared a color as her favorite for a particular room and West agreed, no questions asked. He’d make jokes, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He asked about people they went to school with, and she filled him in on whatever details she knew, which most of the time were a lot. He was a gracious host who kept asking her if she wanted something to drink until she finally agreed to have a bottled water. When he admitted he was hungry and she agreed, he called in a pizza order. They were waiting for it as he showed her the master bathroom, though she didn’t really need a tour of the place.
    She had lived here for years, after all.
    â€œThe tile has to go,” West said as he flicked on the bathroom light. It was an old rectangular fluorescent unit that hung above the mirror, the light it cast dull and unflattering. If she had her choice, most everything in this room would go. It was all outdated and awful.
    Harper stopped just behind him, her upper lip curling as she stared at the hideous brown tile that looked like it had come straight out of the seventies. “I totally agree. Shit brown isn’t what I would call a classic color.”
    His gaze met hers in the bathroom mirror, his expression mildly incredulous. “Excuse me, but did Harper Hill just say the word shit ?”
    â€œStop.” She waved a hand. She’d had a bit of a reputation when she was younger as someone who never, ever cursed. Like ever. She’d been such a good girl back in her teenage years and so proud of it too.
    Now she wished she would’ve gone a little wilder. At least once, just to prove that she could.
    â€œSeriously. You don’t say bad words, Harper. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you say the word shit and I’ve known you a long time.” His face was serious, but she saw the way his eyes sparkled. He was totally teasing her.
    â€œWell, it’s been years since we’ve spent any time together. I’ve changed a lot, you know,” she pointed out.
    His gaze did a slow sweep of her body, lingering on all the spots that made her tingle in anticipation. “I can see that,” he drawled.
    In the mirror, her cheeks were pink. Some things never changed—like how she blushed at the drop of a hat. “I curse all the time,” she mumbled.
    â€œFor real?” He sounded like he didn’t believe her.
    â€œAbsolutely. Shit is my favorite word.” She lifted her chin, trying to look dignified, but really, she was being an idiot.
    This was what she’d been reduced to while in West’s presence. She insisted that she loved to say bad words and that shit was her favorite.
    Could she be any dumber?
    â€œ Shit is a good word, I have to agree.” He moved closer to her, his long fingers trailing along the edge of the ugly countertop. She remembered exactly