Page 8 of Wolves & Watercolors
Aurora
Heath asked me to hang out in the cabin until he came and fetched me for dinner. But screw that. As cute as his vintage cabin is, I need to be outdoors. The clear air caresses my skin, soothing my lungs with sharp juniper and the musty scent of pine needles decomposing underfoot.
Slipping back out the kitchen door, I take a proper look around. Rough tree trunks rise around me, reaching toward the sky. Unable to resist, I run my fingers down the bark, savoring the texture.
Wildflowers and trailing scrub cover most of the ground, with worn paths through the underbrush snaking out in several directions. Everything feels so fresh and green and my soulsoaks it up greedily, as if I had been starving for life until this moment.
With my sketchbook under my arm, I settle cross-legged on the edge of the porch. Delicate white flowers burst from dark greenery around the closest tree. My eyes follow the winding footpath as it darkens in shade and then brightens in sharp relief when the boughs part and sunlight streams down.
My pencil skates over the paper, the shape of the landscape forming with soft lines curving and crossing. The scale of this viewpoint is interesting. Close enough for details while still maintaining the towering scale of the aged trees.
A twig cracks and my pencil jolts from my hand.
Taking a steadying breath, I turn to search for the source. A man stands a few feet away with a sheepish expression on his face. The dappled sunlight gilds his short, messy hair and highlights a square jaw. He doesn’t have the refined features of my sister’s partner, but there’s something classic about him.
He moves with a grace I don’t expect from anyone that muscled, his triceps flexing as he scoops up my pencil from the dirt and presents it to me. Not that I was looking.
“Sorry I startled you,” he says, soft and low.
“No, it’s fine,” I stammer, forgetting all of my social skills in that moment. Sliding the pencil into the spirals of my sketchbook, I set it aside and wipe my palms along my torn jeans.
“You must be Aurora,” he says, his gaze meeting mine. Gray-blue eyes like a brewing storm hold me captive. His pupils widen, swallowing up the blue.
“Yeah,” I say, my mouth finally remembering how to speak. “I figured I’d get a head start with being a good Auntie and be here for the little one’s arrival. Plus I haven’t seen Hazel in like two years. A girl needs her sister sometimes, you know?”
This man listens to my babbling without moving or even changing his expression. Anyone else would have shifted their weight to signal that I’m making them uncomfortable. He stands still with those stormy eyes fixed on me like I’m sharing secrets of the universe. When he speaks, it’s tentative and thoughtful. “I get that. I miss my brother when we go too long between visits.”
“Yeah,” I say, thrusting my hand toward him. “It’s nice to meet you…” I trail off, hoping he takes the hint.
A calloused and warm hand envelops mine. “I’m Cedar. I’m cousins with Slate, your sister’s m- partner.” His mouth twitches into a frown for a fraction of a second.
I narrow my eyes, looking for the resemblance. His hand releases mine and cool air washes over my warmed skin, leaving a trail of tingles.
“I’d better get back to work,” he says, ducking his head as he turns away. The back of his hair is just as messy as the front, short caramel waves going in different directions, streaked with platinum. My fingers ache to touch, but he’s a stranger and I will definitely not be touching his hair.
On instinct, my eyes flick to his swinging left hand, looking for a flash of metal. Nothing. He seems older than me but not by much. Maybe he’s Hazel’s age.
“See you later!” I yelp, nerves rising up and tightening my throat.
Looking over his shoulder, he smiles at me. Full lips curve, hollowing dimples in his cheeks. Freaking dimples. My stomach clenches and I forget how to smile back until it’s too late and he’s already striding through the trees down a path I can’t see.
Maybe it’s all the exposure to nature, but he looked so vibrant and healthy. Hazel did too with her glowing skin and gleaming hair. If I stayed longer, would I start to look that lovely?
Exhaling slowly, I tip my face up and savor the sunshine across my skin. The soft rustle of leaves relaxes me as a breeze brushes against my cheek. Already, I feel better, like the nature around me is soaking into my soul.
“Hey, you,” Hazel greets me. She moves slowly, somehow graceful even when her walk has become a bit of a waddle.
“Are you mad I came?” I ask, setting aside my sketchbook and pushing off the porch steps.
Hazel scoffs, her nose scrunching as she shakes her head. “Of course not. Sure, more notice would have been nice, but I could never be angry when I get to see you.”
She supports her belly with a hand while the other rests on her hip. Instinctively, I reach a hand out, withdrawing before I touch her.
“Here, come feel. Baby is kicking a ton today.”
My palms go to her belly. It feels hard, not squishy at all like I imagined. Hazel raises an eyebrow and then guides my hand to her side. The skin ripples under my fingers. I jerk back with a yelp.
“Was that the baby?” I cautiously reach for her again.
