A Rainbow in Paradise by Susan Aylworth

her studying him and she never
turned away without coloring.
    To make matters worse, she could think of
nothing to say to the man beyond "Thanks for helping" and "Please
pass the paint." She wondered why she was always so tongue-tied in
his presence. Maybe she was just trying to avoid asking him what he
had wanted to talk to her about, or maybe, as she'd suspected since
the wedding, they really didn't have much more in common than the
adrenaline rush that darted like lightning whenever they stood in
the same room.
    She shook her head. It doesn't matter ,
she told herself, coming to the realization she'd been working on
for the last couple of hours. I t doesn't matter why he's here or
what he has to say. For now, it's enough that he's here, working
beside you, letting you watch him. Stop fussing about the future,
Eden. Just relax and enjoy him. It was such good advice, she
decided to take it.
    * * * * *
    "I think that's it," Logan said. He put down
his paint pad and stretched his stiff muscles, not noticing the
breathless reaction he drew from the woman beside him.
    Eden's mouth went dry and she swallowed hard
before she spoke. "I think you're right," she answered huskily.
With Logan's help, they'd finished the whole job, including the
woodwork, in record time. "I can't thank you enough for
coming."
    "My pleasure," he answered, surprised to
realize it was. "Let me help you clean up in here and put the paint
away," he offered, "then maybe we can talk over dinner."
    "Sure, that'll be fine."
    They started by putting the paint away,
carefully capping each can, and then Logan went to a backyard
faucet to wash clean all the pads, rollers, and brushes so they'd
be ready to use again when Eden needed them. Meanwhile she gathered
up paint-covered newspapers, stuffing them into trash bags. Before
long they stood in a clean, freshly painted living room, admiring
their handiwork.
    "It looks great, Logan. Thanks again for all
your help."
    "You're welcome again," he answered easily,
standing near enough to catch her scent. Even mixed with the odor
of paint, she still smelled delicious.
    "Listen," she said, "about dinner. I don't
have much in the house, but if you don't mind taking potluck, I
think I can throw together a simple pasta dish and a green
salad."
    "I don't want you to feel you have to cook
for me," he began. "You've worked hard all day. Let me take you out
for something."
    "That would hardly be fair, since lunch was
your treat. Let me whip up something here. I insist."
    He hadn't come here to argue with the lady.
"In that case, pasta sounds great," he answered, "but I'm pretty
dirty to sit down to a dinner. Do you have a place where I can
clean up?"
    She thought of the clogged bathroom drain.
"I'm having some plumbing work done on the main bath," she
answered. "If you don't mind using the shower off the bedroom?"
    "No, that's fine," Logan answered, so she
showed him down the hall to the room where she was sleeping, glad
she'd made her bed and tidied up that morning. "The shower's right
in here and clean towels are over there."
    "No problem," he answered, but the doorway
was so narrow that their bodies touched as they brushed past each
other. The brief contact left Eden nearly gasping.
    Towel in hand, she fled from the
bathroom—face flaming—and grabbed a clean cotton shirt from her
closet on her way out and shut the bedroom door tightly behind her.
She did a cursory job of washing up at the kitchen sink and changed
into the clean shirt. Then went about the business of starting
water to boil, cutting up a salad, and regaining her waning
composure. By the time Logan came out—crisply clean, smelling
deliciously of fresh soap and healthy man—she had warmed some
bottled spaghetti sauce, jazzed it up with a few things from her
cupboards, and started the frozen ravioli boiling. "Dinner'll be
ready soon," she said, barely trusting herself to look at him. "You
can pour some ice water if you like."
    Logan sat at the table and poured