Page 18 of Boats, Moats, & Root Beer Floats

Even for a moment.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LINDY

My Christmas castle vacation to find my muse grew complicated fast. I found a half ruined stairwell that overlooked part of the same view I suspected Covin had from his tower. Rolling green hills rambled out behind the town, and today, if only today, blue sky stretched as far as I could see.

And so I painted a blue sky.

Sometimes the stones shifted around me and after my first fright, I figured it might be then-Polty-now-Al. After I finished of course, despite being still unsatisfied with the end result but relieved to get some painting done.

Now, the day after my painting day, I stared at the dried work and wanted to shred the work with the nearest sharp stone.

Or maybe hurl it off the edge of the brutal drop where the stones crumbled away. Not that I’d come close to the sheer drop because of a sickening fear of falling off things.

Nevertheless, I hefted the piece and contemplated making a sky-blue frisbee of it shortly after daybreak. It no longer matched the hue of the day that had grown overcast again, the usual weather I found the closer it came to Christmas, but that sky did match my mood just fine.

“Don’t commit murder.”

I swiveled to find Covin munching on a bag of peanuts. “You have the unhealthiest snacking habit.”

He surveyed himself from the toes up and shrugged. “Doesn’t seem too bad so far.”

“Bet your cholesterol level is through the roof.” I didn’t have to look at him to know the crinkling meant he stowed the peanut bag away in his pocket.

“Do you ever simply mind your own business?” he asked with his usual brand of curiosity.

“Do you ever not ask questions? I mean it’s the same thing, isn’t it? You’re after the search for knowledge, and I’m nosy. No matter how prettily you phrase it, we’re both busybodies.” I shrugged and turned the canvas on its end, testing the curve of my arm.

“Don’t.” Covin’s hand closed over mine, his longer arm reaching the other side of the canvas where we engaged in a brief but futile tug-o-war. “It’s beautiful.” He didn't say anything else, but his eyes were on me, not the stupid painting.

“It’s pathetic,” I whispered, and I wasn’t sure if that comment pertained to the painting, or me, or a bit of both.

“Come on. Your garlands are lonely.” He placed the canvas back on my easel with the sort of reverence that shattered my heart a little, and held out his hand. Do you want me to take this inside where it’s safer?”

I nodded and swiped the back of my hand across my eyes. “Yes, please.”

“Lead the way.”

Smiling at his nursemaiding but grateful all the same and oddly not in the least embarrassed, I tiptoed back into the castle’s interior that had fast become our combined sanctuary.

“I forgot about the garlands. And the decorations.” I admitted.

Covin stopped behind me, fussing with my collapsible easel until I helped him right it. “You didn’t eat this morning, did you?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes I forget.”

His understanding smile as he held out that same hand, no pressure, just an offer, winded me. Covin didn’t try to bully me into a cloistered intimacy with him, or throw those heavy handed come ons at me like before, though I knew at some point he’d push again.

But for this moment, right now? He wasn’t pushing at all.

It was…sweet. I appreciated his effort, and that he backed off after I literally ran from him the other day.

Ignoring the fact I broke every promise I made myself straight up, I clasped my fingers around his hand and let him lead me through the castle like we had yesterday. After we left Al’s portrait room in the quiet wing we stopped in the kitchen, but the ghost didn’t come with us. Our meal was shared in silence and we walked back up to our bedrooms just as quietly.

And then, Covin hugged me and prompted me into my bedroom, alone.

Part of me wanted so badly to curl up in his bed with him, and part of me wanted to tug him into mine.

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