CHAPTER SEVEN
LINDY
My Christmas castle vacation to find my muse grew complicated fast. I found a half ruined stairwell that overlooked part of the same view I suspected Covin had from his tower. Rolling green hills rambled out behind the town, and today, if only today, blue sky stretched as far as I could see.
And so I painted a blue sky.
Sometimes the stones shifted around me and after my first fright, I figured it might be then-Polty-now-Al. After I finished of course, despite being still unsatisfied with the end result but relieved to get some painting done.
Now, the day after my painting day, I stared at the dried work and wanted to shred the work with the nearest sharp stone.
Or maybe hurl it off the edge of the brutal drop where the stones crumbled away. Not that I’d come close to the sheer drop because of a sickening fear of falling off things.
Nevertheless, I hefted the piece and contemplated making a sky-blue frisbee of it shortly after daybreak. It no longer matched the hue of the day that had grown overcast again, the usual weather I found the closer it came to Christmas, but that sky did match my mood just fine.
“Don’t commit murder.”
I swiveled to find Covin munching on a bag of peanuts. “You have the unhealthiest snacking habit.”
He surveyed himself from the toes up and shrugged. “Doesn’t seem too bad so far.”
“Bet your cholesterol level is through the roof.” I didn’t have to look at him to know the crinkling meant he stowed the peanut bag away in his pocket.
“Do you ever simply mind your own business?” he asked with his usual brand of curiosity.
“Do you ever not ask questions? I mean it’s the same thing, isn’t it? You’re after the search for knowledge, and I’m nosy. No matter how prettily you phrase it, we’re both busybodies.” I shrugged and turned the canvas on its end, testing the curve of my arm.
“Don’t.” Covin’s hand closed over mine, his longer arm reaching the other side of the canvas where we engaged in a brief but futile tug-o-war. “It’s beautiful.” He didn't say anything else, but his eyes were on me, not the stupid painting.
“It’s pathetic,” I whispered, and I wasn’t sure if that comment pertained to the painting, or me, or a bit of both.
“Come on. Your garlands are lonely.” He placed the canvas back on my easel with the sort of reverence that shattered my heart a little, and held out his hand. Do you want me to take this inside where it’s safer?”
I nodded and swiped the back of my hand across my eyes. “Yes, please.”
“Lead the way.”
Smiling at his nursemaiding but grateful all the same and oddly not in the least embarrassed, I tiptoed back into the castle’s interior that had fast become our combined sanctuary.
“I forgot about the garlands. And the decorations.” I admitted.
Covin stopped behind me, fussing with my collapsible easel until I helped him right it. “You didn’t eat this morning, did you?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes I forget.”
His understanding smile as he held out that same hand, no pressure, just an offer, winded me. Covin didn’t try to bully me into a cloistered intimacy with him, or throw those heavy handed come ons at me like before, though I knew at some point he’d push again.
But for this moment, right now? He wasn’t pushing at all.
It was…sweet. I appreciated his effort, and that he backed off after I literally ran from him the other day.
Ignoring the fact I broke every promise I made myself straight up, I clasped my fingers around his hand and let him lead me through the castle like we had yesterday. After we left Al’s portrait room in the quiet wing we stopped in the kitchen, but the ghost didn’t come with us. Our meal was shared in silence and we walked back up to our bedrooms just as quietly.
And then, Covin hugged me and prompted me into my bedroom, alone.
Part of me wanted so badly to curl up in his bed with him, and part of me wanted to tug him into mine.
Instead I slept alone and did none of those things. I did listen through the thin walls, but I didn’t hear any of the deep groans he let out that woke me from my morning doze before. Nor did I make any of my own. A sadness overcame me, filling the room until it hit me that it wasn’t just my sadness I experienced, but Al’s, too.
And then I slept, realizing that I wasn’t alone, and that sadness could have company too.
Which made Covin’s kindness now that much…more.
“You know it’s Christmas in two days,” he murmured when we reached the kitchen.
My garlands were stretched across the giant wooden kitchen table I suspected was built of a giant English Oak or something equally sturdy. He’d laid out all the decorations I bought too. It had looked like a lot at the time and for a normal house plus the walk up the hill toward the castle it probably was but now in the kitchen and considering the magnitude of decorating the castle it hit me…
“Maybe we could do one room? The tower you study in?” I suggested, nibbling my bottom lip.
Covin’s fingers squeezed mine. “I’m here for weeks after Christmas, Lindy. This should be something festive for your visit.”
The way he laid that out reminded me how alone I was yet again, despite the other person standing in the room with me.
“Um, sure. How about we do the entrance way, then?” I tried.
But Covin shook his head again. “How many times are you going to go out there? Come on. Let’s do the place you are going to spend your time the most, and your room, alright?”
I shrugged, letting him lead on. In the end we had enough to do my bedroom, the strange open air space I chose to paint in, and we even had a cowbell laced with holly for Buttercup’s stable area.
The coo—I would never be able to say cow again properly after this visit—nuzzled my hand, licking me plaintively.
“I’ll come back with treats later, I promise,” I whispered, as Covin, who seemed to be on a garland decorating mission though it was nearly sundown now after a full day of climbing ladders to affix greenery to every surface he could reach and some he couldn’t, tugged on my other hand. “You're my other favorite,” I promised the coo.
She lowed and nuzzled some more until finally I let Covin drag me away. “Where are we headed?”
“I think we have enough to make your other wish come true,” he said, a slightly fanatical gleam in his eye.
Part of me was curious to see where this was headed. The other half was utterly terrified.
“Uh, okay?”
I followed along aiming for some distance as my tired legs threatened to give out. “Covin, I’m done. I need a nap or something.” Outside, the rain let go from clouds that spent the day starting white and heading steadily darker. The temperature plummeted with the onset and the winds came up as well, whistling around the castle. “Where are we headed? Oh hell no.”
“That mouth.” Covin shook his head and shot me an amused look. “Do you need me to carry you?”
“No carrying required, thank you,” I lied, perching my butt on the bottom step of the tower. “You go. I’ll catch up.”
“Uh huh.” Covin wound the end of the garland around the arch of the tower entrance, pinning it in place with an apparently never ending supply of tacks and string.
“You’ve got a Mary Poppins vibe going on there.”
“Best I could come up with from the pantry that only seems to array root beer and tinned salmon otherwise.” He jammed some holly in at the top of the archway—the castle had an excess of the things—and stepped back. Whaddaya think?”
I shook my head and held up both hands. “Lift.”
“I thought you said no carrying?”
“I lied.” I balanced on the knee he held out, reaching up to adjust the stuffed in holly with both hands. “There. That’s a bit…better. Pass me another bit?”
A bunch of fresh holly that wasn’t part of what I bought was placed in my palm.
“You know we need to ration.”
“Not unless you stripped the entire tree.”
“Actually, it was a grove.” He grinned impishly up at me. A lock of sandy brown hair dropped into his eyes.
I reached down and flicked it free. “You’ll have to show me later.”
His Adam's Apple bobbed. “I can do that.”
Smiling, I turned back to decorate the garland as Covin passed me holly until I was satisfied. Then he helped me down. I tried to disguise my shaking legs but failed.
“I’ve been pushing too hard, huh?” He reached out and tucked a wayward spiral curl behind my ear.
“A bit?” I admitted. “My artist's ass isn’t made for exercise.”
“I don’t know. You managed to high foot it down to the village pretty damn fast yesterday when you ran from me.” He dropped his hands and took a step back, giving me space.
I hated it. I wanted him back, closer.
Swallowing, I reached for him like he had for me, but it was too late. He’d already turned away.
“Covin,” I whispered, my breath lodged in my throat.
He stopped, and after a moment, he held out a hand, not looking at me. “Ready to deal with the stairs? I promise you can starfish on the floor all you like and nap while I do the tower.”
“Deal.” I yawned as I took his hand, covering the tears that sprang to my eyes as exhaustion, not a reaction to his compassion to a woman he’d met mere days ago, took a hold.
The ex-who-would-not-be-named-ever-again would never have made that offer. He would have shoved my ass up those stairs with a body shaming comment revolving around my fitness or lack thereof, then made decorating an utter hell I never wanted to repeat.
We broke up shortly before he got involved in a low income building scheme that he was bought out when the original budget failed by an anonymous benefactor who heroed the project the moment it began to topple off its not-so-strong foundations and set it right again.
With the influx of excess capital and a bonus he never earned I suspect each contributor was paid out in an effort to let the new project owner slide in and take over seamlessly, the ex became worse. We broke up shortly afterward. The last time I saw him, he was dating a pair of twins with matching plastic boobs and waistlines that were better suited to an out of proportion toy store doll.
All that to say…it made Dustman’s offer of starfishing on the tower floor seem really damn sweet.
“Okay,” I whispered again, taking his offered hand.
His fingers closed firmly around mine, and he led me up the stairs at a more sedate pace this time, still carrying the remaining garlands and bag of tinsel, bows and baubles. I grabbed a dangling end of greenery, determined to do something. He huffed a laugh at my efforts, but said nothing derogatory.
Something warm bloomed in my chest that had the edge of cinnamon and gingerbread and none of the sharp tines of holly.
Maybe this Christmas would be that much different to my last one that ended in so many tears.