Chapter 17
RAVEN
I rolled over and stretched with my eyes still closed. A peaceful rain continued tapping on the roof and windows. A wet slurp up the side of my cheek let me know Munch was awake as well.
I rubbed my eyes, cracked them open, a little disoriented as the unfinished walls sharpened into view. It took me a moment to remember where I was.
Oh, yeah. Gladys’ cabin.
With my hands behind my head, I stretched my entire body, and then swung my legs over the edge and sat up. I spied the blanket and duffel bag I’d been curled up on in the corner.
I’d fallen asleep on the floor. How did I end up here on the bed?
My gaze swept the room until I found Nash stretched out on the floor, with his sweatshirt folded up under his head for a pillow. A blanket covered him to his stomach, leaving his bare muscular chest and arms on display.
As one who appreciated art in all forms, I couldn’t help but study the perfection of the form in front of me. It was art appreciation, that’s all.
“Enjoying the view?” Nash had his arm draped over his forehead, but apparently could still see me gawking.
Ignoring his question, I jumped into my own offensive. “I told you I wanted to sleep on the floor. How did I get on the bed, Stealthy McSneakums? Huh?”
He sat up, reached for his bag, and pulled a clean t-shirt over his head, sadly covering up his swoon-worthy six-pack. “Maybe you sleepwalked.”
“I do not sleepwalk. When I sleep, I’m out like the dead. There’s no way I walked over here on my own.”
He continued getting ready for the day, as if I wasn’t here.
Fine. Two could play that game.
I got up and made myself a yogurt parfait topped with granola. Then I walked over to my easel and settled in to get some work done. The lighting wasn’t the best, with the rain and clouds darkening the space, but I had to get this done so I could get out of here. And away from Nash. The sooner the better.
His actions perplexed me. I couldn’t figure him out.
Even though he knew I’d be upset that he gave me the bed after I specifically told him I’d take the floor, he moved me anyway. It angered me that he’d gone against my wishes like that, but I was touched he would do that for me. That he cared about my comfort enough to face the possible consequences of my wrath.
He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t like me. Would he?
Maybe it’s just his chivalrous nature. He was a genuinely good guy who would give up his own comfort for someone else’s. That had to be it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nash strapping on his tool belt. A dreamy sigh escaped my lips.
Nash looked over his shoulder at me.
I coughed and turned my attention back to my work-in-progress, hoping he’d just go back to what he was doing and ignore me.
But when he turned back, I swear he flexed his back. My mouth gaped. Muscles rippled under his t-shirt, and I bit my lip to keep from drooling.
Snap out of it, Raven. You’re here to work, remember?
I’m also here to get over him. And see how well that’s working out?
Tillie and I are definitely going to have words.
We both worked for a couple of hours on our separate projects. Then Nash set his tools down and grabbed a bottle of water.
“It’s break time,” he said, as he picked a bottle of water out of the cooler and held it up to me. “Want one?”
“Water would be great. Even though the windows are open, it’s so humid in here, it’s like working in a sauna. I have to be careful not to drip sweat onto the canvas.”
“I’ve heard of watercolors, but not sweatcolors.”
“I’m sure it’s been done, but certainly not by me. Gross.”
“Could be the next big thing in the art world. People pay lots of money for crazy stuff like that.” He took a swig of his water. “Like that coffee that comes from the poop of some jungle cat. People pay tons of money for that crap. Literally.”
I burst out laughing. “I heard some places charge up to $100 per cup for that stuff. I was going to say my sweat wouldn’t be that valuable, but how ridiculous is that? Coffee from cat poop. Now that I think about it, sweat art doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Right?”
“Every artist has to find their niche. Maybe that will be mine.” I held my hands up like they were highlighting a marquis. “Raven Rhodes, the Queen of Glistening, Perspiration Pioneer, Sweat Maestro Extraordinaire. Sorry, the heat must be getting to me. This is ridiculous, even for me.”
“If anyone could do it, it’d be you, Tweet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you can make anything into a masterpiece, even a sweat-soaked page. People will want it just because you did it. Doesn’t matter what it is or what it’s made of.”
My face flushed with heat. Did he really think that? I didn’t know how to handle such praise from him, or what it meant. Time to change the subject.
I looked around the sparse room until I saw the stack of old letters. I was curious to hear how this turned out for T, whether it was Tillie or not. But I also dreaded it and all it stirred up inside my own heart. Curiosity won.
“Hey,” I said, striding for the pile, “should we read another letter?”
“Sure. Go ahead and pull out the next one. It’s your turn to read.”
I picked the next letter from the stack and stood staring at it. The yellowed paper was thin and crisp in my hand. It was a simple piece of paper, and yet it beckoned to me. Almost daring me to open it.
Alright, alright. I’ll read it.
I took a deep breath and unfolded the page.
In the misty light of day, there was no need for candles or flashlights. I turned away from Nash and allowed the faint glow from the window illuminate the page.
Dearest G,
Thanks for your suggestions about trying to get his attention by making him jealous. This week I’ve started flirting with other boys, hoping that would get him to do something. I even got a few dates out of it. But none of these boys hold a candle to him. Not even close. So I go on these miserable dates and spend all my time comparing them to Jonah. I’m pathetic. And besides that, Jonah doesn’t seem to notice. No reaction whatsoever. He obviously doesn’t care at all.
What am I going to do? This is making me absolutely crazy. Maybe I should just give up and join a convent, but I look hideous in black.
I welcome any of your thoughts or ideas, my friend. I’m running out of options and time. Please help!
Your desperate friend,
T
“Poor T. She’s trying everything and nothing is working,” I said as I shook my head in commiseration.
I folded up the letter and looked over at Nash. A muscle bulged in his cheek as he clenched his teeth. “Poor T? What about poor Jonah? She’s playing games with him. I’m sure the poor guy doesn’t know what to do. One minute she’s nice to him and trying to get his attention, and the next thing he knows, she’s flirting and going out with someone else. He’s gonna get whiplash from all her back and forth.” He stood up and started pacing the small room, his agitation seeming to rise with each step. “And if he really does like her and has to watch her dating other guys. That’s torture. I feel for the guy.”
“If he likes her, why doesn’t he fight for her? Show her he’s better for her than those other boys.”
He shrugged and studied the floor. “Could be that he knows he’s not good enough for her. Or maybe he made a promise to stay away from her. A good man honors his promises, even if it kills him.”
He looked up at me and the heat in his eyes seared a path straight to my soul.
I wanted to ask what his reasons were, but I couldn’t bear for him to admit that he didn’t like me that way. That ours was a completely different scenario.
I put the letter back on the pile and went back to work, more confused than ever.