Chapter 9
RAVEN
My preliminary sketch was complete. I’d started painting the background, but the lighting was terrible with only one weak ceiling light and dark rain clouds completely blocking out the sun. I couldn’t do any more to this painting until I had more light.
I rinsed out my brushes and put away my supplies, setting my palate of oils on top so they wouldn’t get smeared. The surface of the paint would dry, but I’d still be able to use the paint underneath. I left the canvas on the easel, ready to paint more tomorrow. Hopefully, the sun would be out by then, and I could go back outside.
Munch hadn’t been out all afternoon, so I walked with him out to the porch. Rain was still coming down hard, so Munch didn’t go far. He left the steps, did his business, and came right back.
I looked around the cabin. There wasn’t a TV, books, or anything to do. Not even a deck of cards. It wasn’t in my nature to sit and do nothing. I always had to be busy.
Going from window to window, I watched puddles forming outside. The lawn was turning into a pond.
“It’s a good thing the cabin is on top of the hill,” I said, “and not down by the lake, or we’d be flooded.”
Nash peered out the window where he was removing trim. “Yeah. Makes me wonder how the dirt road and bridge leading up to this place are faring.”
I sucked in a gasp. I hadn’t thought of that. We might be trapped here longer than I thought. “Do you really think they could get flooded?”
He raised his brows and shrugged his shoulders. “I got an alert on my phone a little while ago for a flash flood warning in this area. So who knows?”
As much as I wanted to keep my distance from Nash, watching the weather would only make me anxious. I needed something to distract me. “Do you have something I can do? It’s too dark for me to paint, and I’ll go stir-crazy with nothing to occupy myself with.”
If he was surprised by my offer, he didn’t show it. He handed me a hammer. “I assume you know how to use this.”
I pointed the hammer at him, not about to let him patronize me. “I’ll have you know, you chauvinistic chicken nugget, I make all my own stretcher frames and even some of my display frames. I know how to use all kinds of tools and am quite handy in the woodshop.”
“Fair enough. We need to remove all the trim.” He pointed to the wood around the windows, doors, and along the top and bottom of the walls. “Once that’s all off, we can tear off the paneling.”
“Will you be using the trim again?”
“Nope, it’ll all go in the dumpster. So it doesn’t matter if it cracks when you take it off. For right now, just pile it along that wall. I’ll take it outside when the rain stops.”
“I was actually wondering if I could have some of it to make frames later.”
“Take whatever you want. I have no use for it.”
I took the hammer and started prying away the pieces around the window on the opposite side of the room from Nash, careful not to damage the wood so I could use it later. It wasn’t hard work, so in a half hour we’d removed all the trim from the living room and bedroom. We skipped the bathroom, kitchen, and guest room for the moment.
“What’s next boss?” I asked.
A crooked half-smile appeared on Nash’s face. “How would you like to take your aggression out on the paneling?”
“Can I Hulk-smash it?” I asked, holding my hammer like a weapon.
“If you want to, but it’ll be more effective to loosen it up with the claw and rip it with your hands. I have an extra pair of gloves you can wear.”
“Effective shmective. I’ve been cooped up in this shoebox with you all day. I might have a little extra aggression to spare. And smashing seems like it would be more fun.”
“Smash away, then. And don’t forget to grunt out loud as you do it. Makes you stronger.”
I looked at the hammer in my hand. “Alright, Mjolnir. Let’s show him what we can do.” With both hands on the hammer, I swung at the middle of the wall with all my might and let out a loud guttural groan. The hammer barely dented the wood but sent a reverberation through my body. I shook my hand out. My injured wrist did not appreciate that move.
A chuckle spurted from Nash’s lips. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, that was a practice swing. Just getting a feel for it.”
“Well, you might want to move over about six inches, because I’m pretty sure you hit the stud.” With that, he disappeared into the bedroom, and I heard the creak of wood and nails through the wall.
I did as he suggested and took another swing. This time, the head of my hammer went right through, leaving a hole in the panel. I smiled with pride and continued to widen the hole with each hit.
To maximize the effect, I grunted loudly with each blow, listing every reason I had for wanting to slam the hammer into Nash instead of the wall.
This is for rejecting me. Whack.
This is for all the times you teased me. Whack.
This is for all the times you confused me with kindness. Whack.
This is for getting all gorgeous and muscle-bound. Whack.
And for making my brain go all hay-wire so I can’t think straight. Whack.
For turning me into a dreadful harpy anytime you’re around. Whack.
This is for ruining me for dating anyone else. Whack.
And this is for making it impossible for me to get over you. Whack.
“Uh, Tweet? We don’t need to take out the entire wall. You go any further and you’ll make a new window.”
I looked up, blinking. The paneling was gone, and I was pounding on the outer wall.
“Oops. Guess I was in the zone.” Boy, had I been. Better than years of talk therapy, and much cheaper. I felt calmer than I’d felt since I arrived. Maybe I needed to find ways to release aggression like this every day, or at least every time I was around Nash.
“Why don’t you take the claw and loosen the edges, then you can get your Hulk on by ripping the rest of it off?”
I tore off the rest of the panel. It wasn’t nearly as therapeutic, but it was still satisfying to clear such a big section. Since these pieces were being trashed, it didn’t matter if they got wet. We tossed them out the door into a pile on the ground.
“Hey, Tweet. Can you help me in here?”
I walked into the bedroom to find Nash standing next to the bed. I swallowed a lump in my throat. My brain short-circuited again, and I stared at him like an idiot.
“We need to move this bed out of the room, so I have room to work. Can you grab the other side of this mattress? We’ll set it in the middle of the living room for now.”
My brain still hadn’t come online, but I grabbed the edge of the mattress and followed his lead. The mattress got stuck in the door.
“Drop your side, and we’ll stand it up and carry it through.”
Duh. What’s wrong with me? Maybe the aggression I released took my sense with it or rattled a screw loose.
Come on Raven. Pull yourself together. This is no time to lose your mind.
With the mattress standing on its side, we stood in the middle and tried to lift it. The energy crackled between us. Nash looked at me, only six inches between us. Our eyes locked, and we seemed to be stuck in the moment. Much like the mattress .
Nash was the first to break the spell. He moved to the end of the mattress. “I’ll take this end. You take that one. We just need to lift it a little off the floor to keep it from dragging.”
I followed his direction, but as I watched him, looking even better after a full day’s work—all sweaty and dirty—my resistance weakened. Apparently, my walls had come down with the paneling.
How was I going to handle being alone with him until tomorrow?
There should be a flash flood alert for my heart. “Warning. Proceed with caution.” No. Scratch that. “Danger. Do not cross. Safety hazard ahead.”
Like you’d listen.
I’m one of those people who, if you say, “Don’t look in there”, that’s the first thing I’m going to do. I can’t help myself. And here I go again—worshipping Nash, the patron saint of sculpted muscles, power tools and pecs, and apparently, the resurrector of floating fish. Dang rebellious spirit.