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Sean has small splatters of green layering his cheek and forehead. I instinctively walk toward him and start wiping. He lets me, the tense lines on his face relaxing.

His gaze hits my heart like a truck. He doesn’t even have to try that hard. With his smirk and bright green eyes, he could have any woman he wanted.

“I’m glad you like it, because I will not be repainting it,” he breathes out, smelling of peppermint.

He rests his hand on my hip, holding onto me, as if he’s attempting to not fall over. My breath hitches—I know he notices because his lips subtly curve up.

Somehow, we connect now more than we did back in high school. We were like two peas in a pod back then. I’m not sure what that makes us now.

He cares for me. He helps me with no questions asked. He encourages me more than anyone else.

“Is it gone?” he asks.

I got entranced by his face for a moment; the paint is no longer there, yet I’m still rubbing him.

I clear my throat and take a step back, admiring the walls instead of his mouth. I’m glad I didn’t have to do this all by myself. It would have taken me days.

“How much do you wanna bet all this painting has made you high?”

“I definitely feel something,” he says with a laugh.

The crevices of his arm flex as he pushes his hair out of his face.

“Thank you for helping me. You saved me a lot of time.”

I glide onto my tiptoes and lean into his cheek, planting a small kiss. His face is soft, his light stubble lingering against my lips. When I step back onto my heels, his eyes have widened.

“You’re welcome, Bee.”

I freeze—my mind and body vibrating at the word. I never thought I’d hear that name come out of his mouth again.

He’s been so helpful the last few weeks, making every part of this move so seamless. He doesn’t even have to put any effort into keeping everything in the past. He makes it look so easy. I’m not sure if it’s a woman thing or just a me thing, but I’m finding it more difficult.

I instinctively move toward the door and away from him. “I have the food on the counter. You hungry?”

“Starved.”

He moves past me to the kitchen and as I turn to follow, I see his back is completely covered in paint. I don’t even know how he managed to do that—he’s a mess.

He sits on the floor of the empty dining room with the Chinese food I’ve just brought back.

We still haven’t brought in all of my furniture. My dad and I have been slowly collecting things in his garage. The only large pieces I have here are my bed and nightstands.

I sit crisscross in front of him, the cold floor even more uncomfortable than I imagined. He hands me the box of orange chicken and a pair of chopsticks.

As I begin eating, he digs into the chow-mien. He catches me eyeing it and puts his hand out for me to take a bite. I lean over and he plants the noodles in my mouth. They are spilling over my lips and I gently laugh as he wipes my chin for me.

“When we were loading your boxes into the house, one of them opened on the bottom,” he starts. “It was some photos and things. A photo of you and Graham,” he says, eyeing me.

I didn’t even so much as rummage through my things before I packed it all up. I never threw it out.

“I honestly forgot about it.”

“He’s a good-looking guy.” His voice sounds like he’s joking, but his eyes look bitter.

He has nothing to worry about, he has Graham beat by a long shot.

“Yeah, he thought so too.” I grimace.