He comes over, standing behind me again.

What, Kaleb?

I dig in my brows, my body tense and bracing myself for whatever mean shit he’ll do now, but after a moment, I decide to ignore him.

I continue shading in some blue.

Unfortunately, the same thing happens, and I pause. I want the colors to blend, but the change from lavender to blue is too abrupt. I scribble harder, changing directions, trying to make the colors melt into each other, but he’s standing behind me, and I can’t concentrate. I lift my head, struggling to make it work as I switch from shading in lines to shading in circles.

Still, though…the transition is too sharp. I reach up to tear the sheet off and throw it away.

But his hand comes down on top of mine, stopping me. I’m about to throw him off, but he gently pulls the pencil out of my hand, sets his coffee down, and plants his other hand on the table, leaning over me. I watch as he holds the pencil between his fingers, pinching it all the way down at the tip, and shades in a circular motion along my line and then uses his thumb to rub the colors together, blending it just how I wanted.

He continues, the wind howling outside as a curtain of snow falls beyond the windows, and my shoulders relax a little as he picks up the violet again, bringing streams and drops into the blue, almost like a…

Like a watercolor. I want to smile. It’s exactly what I was seeing in my head.

I pick up the green pencil and start on the final section, shading in circles like he does. He follows, blending in his blue with my sea green, and our hands brush as we rub the colors with our fingers.

Does he draw a lot? I move my head, wanting to look up at him, but I catch myself in time.

I finish the legs and add some fancy handles to the drawers, only faltering for a moment when I see him uncrumple some of my previous drawings. He lays one down on the table, smoothing it out and hands it to me.

I swallow. It’s the teal and black design.

“I liked that one,” I murmur.

But it looks too…I don’t know…Beetlejuice? I thought it was childish.

I stare at the amateur sketch and pick up my pencil and ruler, adding more stripes to the drawers.

“I used to do so many drawings when I was little,” I tell him. “My house with trees and a rainbow. I’d put it on the refrigerator for my parents to see. Display it really pretty and nice and high, so they’d notice it when they got home.”

His hand remains planted on the table at my side, and I pick up the black pencil, shading stripes.

“I was so excited by how dreamy the picture was,” I go on. “There was so much color, I just wanted to jump into it like it was one of the chalk drawings in Mary Poppins.” I laugh a little. “Kind of precious and magical.”

I switch out the pencil, picking up a teal one as a lump forms in my throat.

All I can manage is a whisper. “Hours later, I’d find them hidden in the trash.” I flex my jaw as needles prick my throat. “They didn’t go with the décor.”

Tears rise up from my chest. I’d forgotten about that. But now—years later—it hurts more than ever. Couldn’t they have kept it up for a day? Was it impossible to say one nice thing?

I want to break, to let it go, but he catches me just in time. Suddenly, I feel him. His lips in my hair as he leans over me.

I close my eyes and stop breathing as the silent house surrounds us. He holds me. Barely touching me, he holds me.

Chills spread down my arms as his mouth grazes my hair. He inhales, like he’s drawing in my scent, and I pause in my work as he reaches around and cups my face.

His nose trails down my temple, his hot breath heavy on my cheek.

Like he’s struggling.

Bringing his other hand up, he holds me to him as my whole body warms under the blanket of him.

No kissing. No touching anywhere else.

Just warmth. He’s not in control and neither am I, and even though my nerves fire under my skin and my blood races, my fingers don’t fist and my muscles don’t tense anymore. I feel safe.

And when he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, I fight to keep the tears away again.

Kaleb.

He just holds me. Or holds onto me. Either way, I don’t want it to ever be over.

I know what he wants, though, so it can’t ever start. He can’t do this, and I can’t let it happen.

I pull my face away, out of his hold, and it almost makes me sick, because I don’t want to lose his touch, but…

“I guess a slut is good enough,” I mumble. “When you’re desperate enough.”

Pulling away from him, I pick up my pencil, feeling him stand there frozen as I quickly dry my eyes and keep working.

I wait for him to explode. To spit on me or handle me like he always does, because he throws tantrums when he doesn’t get what he wants, but…

He just leaves—pushes off the table, turns around, and leaves.

I don’t see him for the rest of the day.

I curl my dry toes inside my socks and warm boots, the cold from the snow starting to seep through as I tip my face back and let it stick to my nose and lashes.

I twirl, faking some ballet, and I can see Jake watching me from over by the barn, probably shaking his head as he tosses tennis balls for the dogs to fetch.

What? Growing up in Southern California, I don’t get to experience much precipitation. It just makes my day, is all.

I stop, the world spinning, and I finally lock eyes with him and see him trying not to smile but failing miserably.

I don’t care if I look like an imbecile. I was miserable three months ago, and now I’m not. I jog over to him, the snow crunching under my feet as Noah and Kaleb load up his snowmobile and disappear back inside the shop.

I look after Kaleb. “Is he going with you?” I ask Jake.

“Nope.”

“Doesn’t he usually?”

I was kind of counting on Kaleb to join Jake on his four-day foray up to their other cabin. It’s where Kaleb was when I first got to town, and I’ve since learned he and Jake like to spend time there whenever they don’t have a deadline looming. They use it for extended hunting trips or when they want to be closer to better fishing.

It’s definitely not a place that can fit all of us, and there’s no electricity, WiFi, or plumbing, so I’m out, but I’m told it’s beautiful, especially in the summer.

I might not be here to see it, though.

Jake simply shrugs at my question, and I gather he doesn’t know why Kaleb is hanging back, either. I can deal with Noah on my own. Especially since he’s backed off since the night in the shop under the bike a couple weeks ago.

And Kaleb has barely looked at me once in that time, either.

I look longingly at the scruff Jake is growing like a winter coat or something. I guess I can get ahead on some schoolwork while he’s away.

“This was a good idea,” he says.

I follow his gaze as he heads just inside the barn. We stop at the coop and the monster truck tires Noah helped me cut in half. Three halves are stacked on top of each other, the insides filled with hay and chickens.

I grin. “Re-appropriation of materials and it’s supposed to do a good job of blocking the wind,” I inform him.

Another of my DIY projects. The animals seem quite content in their winter homes.