When I glance over my shoulder at him, I nod. “It’s quiet in here.”
Caleb strolls towards me before cupping my cheeks from behind and leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. “How’s your day been?”
“Good,” I say sincerely. “Saw Nathan this morning, did the task he set, and convinced Zara to play me at Scrabble.”
Zara tuts. “I never win. Honestly, this boy has some serious brains.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Caleb grins.
When Zara glances at her watch, she nearly jumps out of the chair. “Shit. I’ve got to check on the oven.”
“Finish the game tomorrow?” I suggest.
“Yeah, definitely.”
Zara leaves Caleb and me alone in the library. “You've been with Felix and your guards?”
“Yeah. Just finalising our plans.”
My stomach churns like cement. “Will it happen soon?”
“Yes.”
I gulp. I’m a born worrier, and nothing is ever going to change that.
Caleb pulls out the chair beside me. “So I’ve been looking up online types of therapeutic activities to help with mindfulness.”
My brows raise in surprise. “Yeah?”
“Mm.” He nods as his eyes roam my face. “Come with me.”
I slide my hand into his as he takes me outside, into their territory. I glance around apprehensively. “Where are you taking me?”
“Just a little further.”
“What if people see us?”
“No one will come out this far. We’re okay for now. I made sure. Carson will tell me if anyone comes near.”
The second we step into the clearing, I’m stunned when I find two canvases on easels with different bottles of paint on the ground. I blink and stare up at Caleb.
“Art therapy.” He smiles. “Or rage art. Whatever you want to call it. Sometimes, it feels good to make a mess on a canvas and hope for the best. Chaos can sometimes be beautiful.”
“Caleb…” I trail off. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”
He pokes his tongue into the corner of his mouth. “One day, you will.”
My eyes widen, and I shove him playfully. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
He chuckles. “It doesn’t matter. Art is subjective. If you wanna draw, draw. If you wanna paint, paint. If you want to splat the paint on the canvas, then I’m all for it.”
I shift between my feet hesitantly. “How do I splat the paint on the canvas?”
Caleb reaches down for the blue paint, pops off the lid, and swings it through the air as the paint strikes the canvas in a perfectly straight line. “Like that.”
“I wanna try,” I say eagerly.
He hands me the paint. “Knock yourself out.”
