Jane didn't expect Prett to return. But he did, half an hour later. He moved his ladder into a new position and got back to work. After waiting for him to speak, she decided the ball was again in her court.

"I'm not used to mindless labor like this," she began cheerfully. "I'm used to thinking at a job. Meetings. Paperwork. Phone calls. Always busy, always going to the next thing. This,"—she swiped the roller through the air at the walls—"makes my mind wander. I remember things I haven't thought of in years. Random old memories."

She rolled on more primer. "Like this blouse my mom bought me for Christmas one year. It was white with a green pattern she thought was cool. But she hadn't looked at it close enough. The print was tiny green frogs. I mean, literally, frogs." She let out a short laugh. "I hated it. I threw it back in her face. I was such a brat. But she got the last laugh. She gave it to my best friend, who wore it to school, and all the other girls said how cool it was to have a frog blouse."

She snorted with derision, ramming her roller through the paint tray. "Always on the wrong side of things. Story of my life. I can't seem to get anything right." She climbed down the ladder. "Not with my career. Not with my relationships. Not with my life. I'm wondering what the point is, really." She jabbed her roller at the unpainted section of wall. "Why am I even here? What does it matter?" She sighed, shaking her head. "It's all just..." Worthless. I've got nothing to show for my life. Nothing but these walls. And memories. Tormenting memories. I shouldn't even exist. She pushed the roller against the yellow plaster. Prett's right. Don't relive the past. Stick with the here and now. Just do. Go. Run. Keep ahead of the pain.

The loneliness.

Don't think about that. Think about smooth strokes. Smooth strokes. No roller marks. Don't miss a spot. Smooth-

"You're here to remind me," Prett said quietly.

Jane dropped out of her reverie. "What?"

"I've been where you are." He looked down from the ladder. "Questioning my existence. The Vals and I..." He looked away. "Sometimes...we're lost in a maze. There doesn't seem to be any way out. And just when you think you've found the right path, all the walls change. The people you thought you could count on disappear, and you have to start all over again. Alone." He brushed on primer. "That's when we think life is meaningless. Vanity of vanities. We're born, we suffer, we die."

He stopped. "Except it isn't. Meaningless. We forget not everyone is born to greatness. To be a leader. Famous. Some of us are just bit players helping those around us get a little farther ahead. That doesn't mean we aren't important. Maybe it was a small gesture on our part that made all the difference in someone else's life. Maybe we have yet to make that small gesture. Or maybe it's a series of gestures and the most significant one is around the corner. We can't always see it. Sometimes we aren't even meant to know, even after the fact. That's what makes life hard. Not seeing the big picture. We don't get Clarence the angel to show us how we've mattered. But it's still a wonderful life. We're all here for a purpose."

He returned to painting. "That's why you're here, right now. To remind me of that. And maybe," he twitched his head, "to tell you."

Jane stared at him, her jaw slack, arms limp at her sides, the roller in her hand dribbling paint on the plastic-covered floor. He won't talk about himself, but he'll tell me this. That I matter. "That's... I..." Her voice caught, and sobs erupted from her before she could stuff them back. Embarrassing. He says something kind, and you start bawling. Again. She dropped the roller and covered her face with her hands before crouching, pressing her elbows onto her knees. She attempted to contain her emotions with deep breaths. After a full minute she succeeded.

Wiping her eyes and sniffling, she picked up her discarded roller. She didn't yet trust herself to speak, so went back to work.

Prett moved his ladder into the utility closet which lent Jane a bit of relief. Strange, though. I'm glad he's still close by. When he reemerged, Jane could speak again dry-eyed. "Thanks for what you said. I needed that." She smiled wanly. "You must think I burst into tears at the drop of a hat."

He shrugged. "Hang around Vel long enough you get used to that sort of thing."

"Danny?" Jane laughed despite herself. "He cries at the drop of a hat? I don't believe it."

"You'd be surprised. Stubbed his toe last week, howled for an hour. And don't even mention his chocolate souffle. Cratered in the oven. Inconsolable for days." Prett shook his head. "Always a crybaby, that one. Always running to his mama-" He clamped his mouth shut as if he'd said too much.

"Well, anyway, I like your philosophy on life. I'll have to remember it when I'm feeling down."

"Can't really take credit for it. Got it from a book."

"A book? Which one?"

Prett hesitated, looking, of all things, embarrassed. "Paperback romance."

Jane laughed. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No."

"I don't know which is harder to believe—that you'd find something profound in a paperback romance, or that you read them."

"I don't, as a general rule." His face softened. "Just Jill Marquis's books."

"Jill Marquis?" That name's familiar..."Wait, is she the one you made a fireplace for?"

Prett growled and rolled his eyes. "Not for her. I messed up the carving on the one for our living room. I would've recycled it, started over, but she insisted I let her have it." He sounded annoyed. "Big mistake. She installed it in her parlor for everyone to see. Then she got Val to design her landscaping, and she's always having Vel tinker with her daddy's old farm equipment." He sighed. "We can't seem to say no to her. Sense of obligation, I suppose."

"Obligation?"

"She's my boss's wife."

"Your-I thought Genevieve was your boss."

"My other boss." Prett shrugged. "A.J. Marquis. Hires me for contract work."

"Oh."

Prett jerked his head toward the wall. "Ready to go around again with the paint?" Once they were back to work, Jane told him about Genevieve and Cadence's tour of the hotel and her meals with them. "Cadence told me how she got her scars," she added.

"Which version?"

She looked at Prett. "Her mom cut her." He snorted and gave a shake of his head. "That isn't the truth?" Jane asked in a distressed tone.

"Yes, it's the truth. What did you do, waterboard her?"

"Why would you say that?"

"She usually doesn't tell people how she got them."

"It's because she likes me. Genevieve likes me, too. She keeps insisting I move into her house instead of living here."

"Everyone's dropping like flies," Prett muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway, Genevieve's looking forward to having her family home again for New Year's, but I think Cadence is nervous about it. She doesn't seem to like big crowds. Of course they're both concerned about Holly..." Jane glanced at Prett. He's not going to offer a thing about that. She moved on. "I asked if Dona would come, too. I already knew she was Genevieve's sister-in-law, but I found out she was also her daughter's best friend, which is why Genevieve has such trouble being patient about her Alzheimer's. Genevieve still thinks of her as this mischievous little girl. And Margaret, Genevieve's daughter, was a real looker, but married this awfully homely guy-"

"You sure have a knack for getting people to tell their life stories."

"Except for you." She looked over at him. "Yet."

"You wear a person down with your infernal chattering. Makes a body want to blurt anything just to get some peace and quiet. You should be a military interrogator."

"You do realize that only encourages me. Makes me want to continue my 'infernal chattering' until you tell about your childhood."

He stopped painting to look at her. "Why are you so interested in my childhood?"

"I'm not, except you're so opposed to talking about it! That makes it mysterious. And I've always loved a good mystery."

"No mystery. It was miserable, and I don't need to talk about it."

"What made it miserable?"

"You know what? I haven't heard any sounds from the kitchen for a while." He put down his roller. "I better find out why and get them back to work." He left, and Jane shook her head. Prett didn't return, even after the kitchen noises resumed.

Several hours later, Danny texted dinner was ready. As Jane exited the back door, Val appeared. He walked her across the lawn to the apartment. I'm not sure I appreciate this. When he pulled out his phone, she braced herself.

          How's the conversation been?

"Fine," she said, her tone a few degrees below the outside temperature. They entered the building and crossed the game room to the movie theater.

          Sticking to approved topics?

"No."

Val laughed, the sound absorbed by the theater's sound proofing. Jane led the way up the back stairs.

          Good girl.

She stopped halfway up and faced him. Even at eye level he was an intimidating figure, hulking, with an enigmatic gleam in his hazel eyes. "Are you playing some game with me?" She crossed her arms, partly due to her irritation and partly to put some perceived distance between them.

He smirked.

          Hide and seek jigsaw puzzle.

"What does that mean?"

          Find the hidden pieces, figure out where they fit,
          discover the big picture.

"I still don't-"

          Hide and seek jigsaw Prett.

"You want me to figure out Prett?" Val nodded. "Why? Is there something you don't know?"

          I know everything. I know him better than he knows himself.

"Then what do you want me for?"

          To shine the light.

He then signed, pointing to himself, crossing his arms on his chest, swirling his hand in front of his face, and ending by plucking his forehead. He looked at Jane with a sincere expectation. She nodded her understanding. I love Prettyman.

          It hurts. But he needs this. We all need this.

"Why?" But Val was already sending his next text.

          I don't know how you got here or why. But you're here.
          So I'm using you to break us out of this self-imposed prison.

Val's eyes held sincere pain and sadness, reminiscent of the first evening Prett had replaced the window panels. Still... "I don't like the sound of that. Of any of that. I'm not doing anything. I'm just painting walls."

          Do what you're doing. Leave the rest to me.

"And if I mess up your little schemes, you going to punch me out like you did Danny?"

Val chuckled.

          Opening volley. Make P think I'm so mad he better protect you.
          Vel my accomplice. Good sport. Didn't mean to hit so hard.

Jane gasped. "That was fake?"

          Worked, didn't it?

"He had a feeling you were conspiring against him."

          P not stupid.

"So you made me mad on purpose so Prett would paint with me again?"

Val shook his head.

          You misunderstood. Hard to text tone. So you got mad.
          Ok. I'll use that. Make P think I insulted you.

"This is why he calls you the Master Manipulator." Val smirked, put his arm on his waist and took a slight bow. "Well, I don't know about any of this. I don't like getting mixed up in your...brotherly disputes. But I can see that Prett...well, I'll probably only be here another week or two." She turned and headed the rest of the way up the stairs. "So I don't know what good it's going to do you."

The undercurrent of the evening meal was jovial; the brothers teased and jabbed each other, sometimes drawing Jane into the mix, although Prett scowled with suspicion every time Val and Danny exchanged knowing glances.

When Jane lamented her lack of old sweatshirts in which to paint, Danny offered to give her some of his. Prett thought it a horrible idea, but relented with the admonition Danny at least wash them first. The younger brothers then spent a couple hours teaching her more sign language while Prett played on his phone. The latter walked her to the hotel later that evening. "I hope my brothers aren't trying to draw you into their machinations," he said as he stood on the threshold of the honeymoon suite.

"I'm afraid they are. At least Val is."

"Not surprised. He is the mastermind around here."

"Turns out he wasn't really mad about his decorations being on display."

"I figured that, since the panels are still down. Probably his idea to begin with. Just made me think it was mine."

"He and Danny staged the whole fight scene."

"I know."

"You know!?"

"Two things. One, he would never hit Danny. Two, if he tried, Danny still has sense enough to duck."

"You called him 'Danny' this time, not 'Vel.'"

Prett shrugged and said nothing.

"It doesn't make you mad they're playing you?"

"Whatever floats their boat. Besides, I can always take revenge. I'm thinking of short-sheeting their beds."

Jane shook her head. Are all brothers like this? She watched him walk to the staircase. "Prett," she said, and he stopped to look at her. "It was the caramel roll. Your small gesture. I wouldn't have come with you if you hadn't bought that first. No matter what terms or conditions or money you offered. I thought you might like to know. Since, like you said, most of the time we don't ever find out." She smiled. "Maybe someday I'll tell you why."

He gave a nod, took a couple steps, then stopped. "Caramel rolls, eh? Better not mention it to Vel. He'll bake you a dozen to get out of doing his laundry." He gave her a small smile which softened his features before disappearing down the stairs.

"That might be worth it!" she called after him.

"Not if he includes his underwear!"

Jane chuckled as she got ready for bed. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about Prett's sweet smile and Genevieve's comment about scars. At the time Jane had focused on Cadence's visible ones. But now she wondered what hidden scars Prett had, and if they had anything to do with the internal explosions Val had alluded to last night.

A little after midnight Jane awoke to her phone's chime. She opened it to find another text from Val.

          Your sunny conversations have thawed more of Prett in
          5 days than anything in 5 years.
          Paint slower.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please help me improve my writing by pointing out problems. And if you like what you read, please click the Vote button below. And comment! I love comments! 😊

Fun Fact: I once owned that frog blouse. Only I'm the one who found it and my mom was the one who questioned whether I really liked the pattern. Absolutely I did! I wore it several times... before I realized the green design was frogs. 😄😂 I still liked it, though. And no one ever made fun of me for it.

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