Page 40 of Boats, Moats, & Root Beer Floats

Finally, I placed my paint brush down and stared over the edge of the canvas. I didn’t want to look at it. Whatever I had made, it was wrong. For this place, this time.

This version of me.

“I liked the other one better.”

Not now. Not him.

My heart just went numb again.

But the sound of Covin’s voice flared pain out in all directions radiating from a central point deep in my chest.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered. “You weren’t meant to find me.”

“But I did.” A touch of pride and triumph edged into his voice.

“Because that’s what you do,” I said numbly as salt trickled into my mouth. I swiped the tears away with my knuckles, not looking at him.

Warm fingers caught my chin, turned my face toward him anyway.

So much for that resolve.

Warm hazel eyes shot with slivers of pure gold stared back at me. “I never gave up on you, Lindy. I just gave you space. By the time I came to find you, you were gone.”

I nodded, dislodging his hold. “I know. That was the plan.”

“Yeah?” He crouched in front of me, tenderly swiping away my tears as fresh ones I couldn’t stop fell. “How’s that feeling right now?”

I laughed at him because what else could I do? “You know the answer to that as well as I do.”Or you shouldn’t be here with me.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He cupped my cheek, squeezed gently. “I really do, Lindy. Then I heard a story. About a girl. This girl, she showed up at my college. Made one hell of a ruckus at the dean’s office. Offered to teach him how to paint on his weekends. You know that? He doesn’t know what a weekend is.” He laughed.

That sound ignited something in me. A speck of hope, maybe.

“She sounds batshit cray cray to me. You should steer clear of her,” I muttered, though the tears stopped flowing, for now.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. I like a good dose of crazy. Matches mine.”

“Yeah, you have enough of that. It’s true.” I nodded enthusiastically, squeaking when he wrapped his arms aroundme and pulled me off my stool, numb bum and all, and onto his lap where we tumbled onto the stones below.

“This girl,” he shushed me when I started to talk, “She also raised hell with Oxford. No fucking sense at all, right? Anyway, Ras called. Apologized to the castle owner. Made sure the ghost would be respected. Actually, there’s a uh, an article being printed about historical rights of the dead, and their stories to be told. Who owns those, etc.,” he muttered.

I looked at him, unwillingly impressed. Again. “Not bad, professor.”

He laughed, and blushed.He blushed. Cuteness factor. “Thanks. So…she did something crazy. And so did I.”

“Yeah? Apart from the article of the dead?”

Yeah.” He squeezed my waist in that way of his, resting his forehead against mine.

I giggled, hope burning eternal in my artist’s heart so damn bright it threatened to engulf us both.” What did you do, then, professor? Impress me.”

“I bought a castle.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

COVIN

Lindy gaped at me. “You did what?” Her eyes flooded with tears again. A different sort this time, I thought. “Oh, Covin.” Her voice hushed as I held her.

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