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“So you were testing me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t trust many people, why would anyone trust me?”

“So you paint?”

“When I can. It relaxes me.”

“Can I see your work?”

“No,” he said gruffly. “I don’t share it with anyone. And don’t tell anyone you brought me here either.”

“But what about--“

“I’m serious, Rosalie. No one.”

“Not even my dad?”

“Especially not your dad. I don’t want Joanna knowing, okay?”

“She doesn’t know?”

“Can you just shut up long enough for me to look? Maybe you should have stayed in the car.”

“Okay, I’m shutting up.”

He shot me a look with daggers in his eyes. I opened my mouth to apologize, then quickly closed it. I was already on shaky ground with him, I’d better quit while I was ahead.

I had so many questions for him. He was always Shane the hottie, Shane the jock, or Shane the bad boy, and now he was Shane the artist. He was more complicated than I thought.

We didn’t speak on the ride back from the store. As soon as we got back home, Shane carried his stuff up to his bedroom. It was days later when I saw him again and everything changed.

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