Page 21 of Wolves & Watercolors
“Good.”
She wanders past me, close enough I can feel her body heat. I turn to follow her, unable to help myself. She pauses by the two garden beds of freshly planted seedlings - the ones Iplanted the day before she arrived. They’ve rooted nicely and a new set of leaves unfurls on many of their stems.
“What are these?”
“Broccoli.”
“It doesn’t look like broccoli,” she says sweetly, stooping to examine the plants.
“Seedlings often look the same. It’ll be obvious it’s broccoli as they get bigger,” I reassure her. My hand rests on her lower back. When did I put it there? “And these are cabbage, cauliflower, and that whole bed is kale.”
She twists to stare at me, her mouth playfully curved downward and one eyebrow raised. “Ew! Kale?”
“Not a fan of kale?”
“No! It’s gross.”
“Maybe Los Angeles kale is gross,” I say, unable to help the smirk forming on my face.
“It’s like the kale capital of the world,” she says, letting out a laugh. It’s husky and I feel it in my skin. The shake of her head flips her ponytail over her shoulders. “People drink it in green smoothies all the time.”
“Well, my kale is better. Not as a smoothie. That’s questionable. But cooked up with butter, it’s delicious.”
She straightens and I force my hand to drop away. As soon as the contact is lost, she sways closer. From the way her eyes look anywhere but at me, I conclude it’s for warmth.
“Are you cold?”
Aurora shakes her head but then reconsiders. “I guess so, but don’t worry, it’ll warm up soon. I don’t…”
Before she can finish her sentence, I tug my sweatshirt over my head and offer it to her. She scowls up at me. “I’m fine! Besides, I have a sweater already and nowyou’llbe cold.”
“Don’t worry about me. I grew up here. I don’t get cold until it’s snowing.” It’s a lie, but I can’t tolerate her discomfort. “Besides, I’m warm-blooded.”
“Warm-blooded,” she repeats, tentatively taking the sweatshirt and inspecting it. What possessed me to say that? Aurora doesn’t seem to mind, because she slips my sweatshirt over her head. It falls to her hips and flops past her hands.
“Here,” I say, taking one arm and rolling the sleeve up to reveal her delicate hand. Longer fingers end in a charmingly chipped manicure. They’re an artist’s hands. Repeating the move, I free her other hand, and when I look up, she’s smiling again. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you. But do you want to run home and get another jacket? I don’t mind waiting. ”
“I really am fine. So how far do you feel like hiking today? We have a few options.”
She cocks her head, her lips pursing. “I don’t mind something longer. I’ve got my good shoes on and we are getting a nice early start.”
“Okay, but we need to get water.” I look around as if it might appear from the air. This girl disorients me.
Aurora holds up her bag. “I’ve got us covered. I grabbed extra sandwiches yesterday and two bottles of water each. Will that be enough, do you think?”
“You’re amazing,” I say, speaking before thinking again. But from the rosy flush filling her cheeks, she likes it. Pink blooms over her cheekbones and jaw, and I’m tempted to reach out and touch it. Would it feel warmer than the rest of her skin? She shifts the strap on her shoulder as if it’s uncomfortable.
“You should let me carry the bag.” I frown down at the canvas bag as if it has injured and insulted me.
“But it’s mostlymyart supplies,” she argues, clutching the strap.
Sighing, I step back to give her space. “Fine, we can take turns. Deal?”
“Deal,” she agrees immediately.
My eyes fall on the garden bed from yesterday. Neat rows of sprouts run the length of the planter. Carrot seeds take two weeks to sprout. Even the radishes take at least five days, usually longer. But there they are, little leaves reaching upward to worship the sun.
