“You’ll put the front door on this side? Or no?” Cassia asked.
“Naw, on the right, facing the road. Same as Gramma’s house,” he said, sticking out his forearm to illustrate. “But… I thought maybe a side door too, maybe off the kitchen? And stepping stones between the houses…”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “A kitchen door's a great idea. Especially if you burn some griffon and need to get the smoke aired out.”
“You making fun of my cooking?”
She ignored that. His cooking was worse than his taste in custard.
“Are you going to hang a swing on that branch?” She nodded with her head. The big oak had one large, low branch, sturdy enough to support one.
“I kinda thought so,” he admitted.
“You better make sure you have a window facing it, then. Maybe out of the kitchen or den.”
Aevrin nodded, looking serious and thoughtful.
“How many stories? And rooms?” She asked.
“I was thinking three bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, den? All on one floor.”
Cassia walked around to where Aevrin had said the front of the house would be and stood there, staring at the horizon. Aevrin’s house. She could imagine him coming through the front door. Some pretty girl hollering hello and children shrieking andrunning to meet him. Aevrin's eyes would be full of love when he looked at them. Or maybe his wife would work the ranch alongside him. His whole family did, after all. That was probably the sort of woman he belonged with, a rancher.
“Maybe an open entryway,” she said softly, trying to imagine it. “You walk into the family room. And… the dining room spills right off it, and off that is the kitchen… I dunno, Aevrin. What is it you want help with?” Frustration had crept into her voice, making her words sound like a sharp complaint by the end.
He was silent a moment, staring at the dirt with his thumbs hooked on his belt.
“...I guess I’m not sure,” he admitted at last. “I just… sort of… wanted your opinion. This was a stupid idea.”
“No,” she insisted, feeling even worse than she had before. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being a bother. The house will be lovely, no matter how you do it.”
“Yeah. We’ll see.” He sighed.
“What’s that cabin?” she asked, needing to change the subject away from his family home project. “It’s not Dariek’s place, is it?” She still hadn’t met his oldest brother. But the cabin looked more like a ruin than a residence. The shutters hung crookedly; part of the roof was a gaping hole, the tiles punched in like a dragon had landed there a little too hard.
“The cabin—? Oh, no, that’s the old house.” He squinted at it. “It was… let’s see. My great-great-great grandpa, I guess, built that when he started this ranch. Family house was on the other side of what’s now the town, before then.” She was stunned again by his knowledge of his family roots.
“Why’s it empty?”
“It’s got no pipes and the well’s bad. But we slept there sometimes for fun, when we were young. Still got some of the old furniture too.”
Cassia stared at it in fascination. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Aevrin turn towards her.
“You wanna see it? I can give you the tour,” Aevrin offered.
It felt like a peace offering. To go somewhere with him, with something interesting to look at, and no more mentions of how many children's rooms he might need to put in his future home.
“Kind of. Only if you don’t mind.”
“Course not. C’mon then.”
Aevrin
Aevrinanxiouslyheldthefront door of the old house open. Cassia stepped inside, blinking into the dark shuttered room. It smelled strongly of wood, and a little of dust.
He could tell she wasn’t happy. And he didn’t have a clue how to start, even though he must have been running the words over in his head for the past week straight. He'd thought he might bring it up on the walk over to the lot, or underneath the tree. He still hadn't managed.
“Woah,” Cassia said, as Aevrin slowly pushed aside a tattered curtain to let the light in. “It’s like stepping back in time.” The room they were in was empty except for an antique wooden sideboard and a bench. The floor was packed dirt rather than stone or wood. The stones that made up the walls were all hand-cut by his ancestors, not panelled with painted wood or hung with art.
