Page 18 of Reject Him

She chuckles a bit. “My father thinks I have control issues.”

He pokes her in the arm. “That’s because you do.”

She knows he’s right, but she won’t admit it aloud. Carefully, she sets her paint and brushes down on the surface of a boulder then looks at the scenery. The mountains stretch to the north, and the city that belongs to the rogues is to the west. Far, far in the east, she can make out the wooded area of the Stonewell Pack. Aside from the mountains and the puffy clouds, everything is dark green.

Draven breaks her concentration. “How about I paint on the second one, and today, you just paint on one.” She gives him a look. “Oh, come on, just this once.”

Perhaps she looks as lonely as Val does, or perhaps he just wants to rattle her nerves. Either way, the company would be nice, and she really should be making friends.

She nods her head, giving in. After all, her painting doesn’t have to be perfect. She’s painted these mountains before. Perhaps today, she’ll paint the valley the city squats in.

He bends to pick up a thick brush then chooses a color of paint. He opens the can, dips the brush inside the blue paint, and begins. She watches him for a moment, impressed by how he paints the sky with even, steady strokes, then she picks up the green paint and begins her own project.

A calming sensation settles her nerves, and soon, she falls into the easy rhythm of such a familiar and comforting task. Like Draven, she paints the sky first, works her way down to the puffy clouds in the distance, then paints the horizon.

They paint in silence for ten minutes, both lost in thought, before the sliding glass door opens, drawing her attention away from her project. Turning, she finds Logan striding toward them. He’s holding a coat in one hand and a mug of steaming liquid in the other.

Passing her the coat, he says, “You looked cold.”

Eme takes the coat and slides her arms into it while Draven huffs. “You didn’t bring me one?”

Logan gives him a look. “You can manage on your own.” He passes the steaming mug to Eme. Then he looks at Draven’s painting and adds, “God, that’s dreadful.”

“I’d like to see you do better,” Draven says, defending his work. He thrusts the paintbrush into Logan’s palm. Green paint drips and stains the snow.

Eme laughs at the expression on Logan’s face. He holds the brush with such an awkward grip that she can’t help herself but be amused.

“What do I do?” Logan looks at Eme for support.

“Here.” She sets her mug down on the ground, goes to him, and grips the outside of his hand. She ignores the way his warm skin feels on her cold fingers, ignores the way he smells of pine and winter breezes, and guides his hand with the brush to the paint. She dips it inside, and soon the bristles are coated in a deep green paint. She takes his hand to the canvas and scoots a little closer. “The key is to not let your hand shake and to never second guess.” She shows him how to paint a tiny pine tree. “See?”

“That easy, huh?”

“Why didn’t I get lessons?” Draven asks sarcastically. Logan whips his head around, and though Eme doesn’t know what look he gives him, Draven flinches and backs away with a wave. He enters the house the way Logan had exited and shuts the sliding glass doors once more, effectively leaving Logan and Eme alone.

They say nothing to each other for several breaths, each standing so close to one another that Eme can feel his skin radiating heat. Eme loosens her grip on his hand, prepared to back away.

It’s Logan who eventually breaks the silence. “My favorite color is green.”

“What?”

Logan holds up the brush. “Green. It was my mother’s favorite, and now it’s mine.”

Eme blinks. “Okay. And where is your mother?” Eme has never met her.

“Dead, along with my father.”

“Oh, I’m -”

He waves her off. “They died a few years ago. Both of old age. They had me pretty late in their years.” He dips the brush back into the paint and attempts another tree. “My favorite food is anything involving steak. And my favorite smell is lavender.”

Eme blushes. He had to have noticed her lavender shampoo then.

“I have no siblings, and I never met my grandparents,” he continues.

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

He doesn’t look her in the eye, too concentrated on the tree when he explains, “Because you don’t know me.”