After she’d painted about two-thirds of the wall, she got down off the ladder to look at it. Part of it had dried somewhat already. In the dark of night, with the glow of the chandelier, it was difficult to tell if the paint was the right color. It didn’t look right, but she had to go with it. It was the best she had, and with the snow, she’d never be able to get out and buy more.
It had taken ages and she wasn’t even finished with one wall. She’d have to paint around all the woodwork and fireplace by hand, and she was getting tired. The room smelled of paint, and it was a wreck. She’d never get it finished and decorated by tomorrow. What had she been thinking? She should have added extra time into her schedule. She could’ve had her mother watch Max more often, and gotten ahead in anticipation of something like this happening. This room was huge. It could easily take her three days to paint.
Abbey had two more rooms she planned to paint. She had lighting to rewire, new chandeliers in a few of the rooms. She wanted to replace some nicked pieces of woodwork around an ornamental accent on the ceiling that encircled the chandelier. The snow would put this entire process behind because she couldn’t possibly do it all herself. And now, as she watched the paint drying, she finally admitted to herself that it was completely the wrong color. Her watch read nearly midnight. She’d spent a hour and hadn’t even finished a wall. Tears pricked her eyes.
She took in a deep breath to try to keep herself together but it caught, and she sucked in ragged breaths instead. This project meant a lot to her. It was the first time in her life she was doing something that made her happy. She was living out her dream. It was the shot of a lifetime. If she could pull this off, people would trust her and hire her for more projects. She might even be able to open her own business one day.
She was tired. She could feel her tears surfacing. With a sniffle, she put the roller back into the paint and started again.
“How’s it going?” Nick’s voice echoed through the room.
Abbey’s frustration and exhaustion had been building with every paint stroke, and if she spoke, she’d start to cry, so she just looked at him, her lip trembling against her will.
His face flooded with concern and he walked closer to her. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, holding her breath to keep the sobs at bay.
“Tell me,” he said gently.
“The paint’s the wrong color,” she said with a sniffle. Tears were filling her eyes, blurring her vision. She felt so unprofessional, but then again, she was covered in paint and still there, doing it all alone at midnight. None of it was going according to plan at the moment. “And the painters canceled.” She took in another jagged breath and a tear escaped down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and tried to breathe to release the tension in her chest. She had to get herself together.
Nick reached over and ran his finger across her cheek. Was she still crying? She was so embarrassed.
He held up his gray finger. “You have paint all over your face,” he said with a small smile. He turned around and looked at the room. “Are you painting all the walls in here?”
“Yes.”
“And when do you need to be finished with this one?”
“Yesterday,” she said.
He looked at her, more concern on his face. Was he worried that she wouldn’t get it done? Was he second-guessing his decision to hire her?
“I know,” she said, answering her own questions. “I should have a team doing this, but the snow caused my painters to cancel on me. There’s no one but me to do it.”
“Hmm,” he said. “I understand. I’ll see what I can do.”
Without another word, he left the room. Who was he going to get to help her at midnight? Was he going to personally have the roads plowed all the way to the paint company? There was nothing his money could do to help her now. She’d have to just do it herself. She rolled her head on her shoulders and tried not to think about how tired she’d be taking care of Max tomorrow after painting all night.
Abbey opened up another can of paint and poured it into the tray. Then, she started painting again. With every stroke, she worried more and more about finishing this tonight. It was proving to be a much bigger job than it had looked, but she kept painting.
“Tell me what to do,” Nick said from the doorway. He had on a T-shirt, jeans, and bare feet. He walked over and pulled one of the rollers off the floor, ripping the plastic packaging off and putting it into the paint.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, putting her roller down and walking over to him. “You’ve hired me to do it. I’d feel terrible making you work.”