She nods, like she expected that answer all along. “If you change your mind, Caveman?—”
I bark a laugh before I can stop myself. “What did you just call me?”
She glances back, eyes sparkling. “Caveman.”
“That’s not my name.”
“No,” she agrees cheerfully. “But it fits.”
“Explain.”
She gestures vaguely at me. “You’re all dark and grumpy and convinced you’re invisible.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Silence stretches between us. The engine ticks as it cools. The snow outside hushes the world.
Then she smiles again, softer this time, and backs out the door. “See you around, Boone.”
The door swings shut behind her, leaving the workshop too quiet.
I stand there longer than I should, staring at the space she occupied. At the faint smear of blue paint she left on my workbench.
Caveman.
I scrub my hands harder than necessary and tell myself I don’t care.
But the light’s different now.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t know how to put the shadows back where they belong.
Chapter Two
Ember
Water is everywhere.
Not a gentle leak. Not a polite drip. Full-on betrayal.
It’s pouring out from under the sink in my new studio like the building itself has decided to test my commitment on day one. Cold water soaks into my boots, spreads across the concrete floor, creeps toward my stacked canvases like it’s aiming for maximum emotional damage.
“Okay,” I tell the room, hands on my hips, hair in my face, paint still smudged on my cheek from unloading supplies. “I hear you. You hate me. Message received.”
The sink gurgles in response.
I wrench the cabinet open and stare at a tangle of pipes that look like they were installed during a different century by someone who actively despised plumbing. I twist something. The water laughs and comes faster.
Perfect.
I bolt upright and sprint next door, sloshing through the snowmelt and mud between buildings, skidding to a stop infront of the big, dark workshop that belongs to my grumpy neighbor from hell.
Boone Lawson.
I met him yesterday. Briefly. Memorably. He glared at me like I’d personally offended his ancestors and called me trouble without blinking.
