“You have work to do? On that door?” he asked, all teasing and smart-assy. “What?” “Are you going to paint it?” “No.” “I suggest a deep, rich brown to go with your hair.” He stood, reversing the situation to tower over me. After another stare-down, one with a different meaning entirely, he leaned in and said softly, “Or gold … to go with your eyes.” “I think I just came,” Elizabeth said.
