“All right.” Aiden opened the deck chair he’d carried in and set it in the middle of the room, then dragged over a five-gallon bucket of paint. “Take a seat and prop up your foot. You can hold the flashlight for me. I’ll have this taped off in no time.”

Pain caused Sophie to stir. She opened her eyes to the sucking sound of a roller laying on paint. The smell of paint fumes hung heavily in the air. The flashlight she’d been holding had been turned off and now lay on her lap. Blue tape outlined all the woodwork in the room. Aiden had propped three flashlights, aimed at the wall he was currently rolling with primer.

She’d fallen asleep again. She checked her phone for the time, ignoring the notifications. It was after midnight.

She must’ve made a sound because Aiden turned around. “Did I wake you?”

She shifted in her chair, finding her muscles stiff. The movement made her ankle throb. “I’m not taking any more of those meds. They knock me out.”

“It’s probably time for more.”

“I’ll take ibuprofen. I can’t afford to sleep my life away.” Her gaze skittered around the room, buoyed by his progress. “You got a lot done. It’s late, though. You must be getting tired.”

“Let me finish rolling the primer. Shouldn’t take but a half hour or so. The hallway and other two rooms are done. Are you good till then?”

“Sure.” Sophie dug in her purse for ibuprofen and popped three of them. Then she got up and hobbled around on her crutches, needing to move her stiff limbs. She noted the gap of paint between the primer and baseboards, an idea forming. Spirits lifting a little, she limped to the bags in the corner, finding a narrow paintbrush.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ll cut in around the baseboard while you finish rolling.”

She could feel his look of disapproval. “Sophie . . .”

“I’ll scoot along the floor. I’ll be fine.”

“I can see there’s no reasoning with you.”

She lifted her chin. “Nope.”

She set herself up with a flashlight and a pan of primer, then went to work. Her ankle did hurt, but she didn’t have her weight on it, and the pills would kick in soon.

The sound of her brushstrokes joined the slurping of paint being rolled onto the walls, making a satisfying symphony. It felt good to be making progress on her dream. To get on with the work and know they stood a chance against the ticking clock.

Aiden had opened the windows at some point, airing out the odors of must and primer. The briny scent of the sea now mingled with the other smells. She was happy to have him here. Maybe too happy.

“Was Tiffany upset you didn’t come home tonight?”