Page 14 of Wolves & Watercolors
Caramel highlights shimmer in her hair as she shakes her head. “You better go get that hoe,” she chokes, not releasing my shoulder. It would be rude if I pulled away or removed her hand, right?
“Okay,” I manage to say.
Aurora jerks her hand back, pressing her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. “Sorry,” she says, the word breaking into a broken giggle.
“Okay,” I repeat, stilted. My attempt at a polite smile feels like a cringe, so I turn and march toward my storage building.
When I return, clutching the red handle of my favorite hoe, Aurora is examining the jars of seeds in my tote.
“Did you collect these yourself?”
“Yeah.” Pride warms my chest, allowing the tension through my shoulders to relax. I guess we are past the hoe debacle.
She stands, glossy hair brushing over her shoulder with the movement. “So can I see your hoe?” Apparently not. Her smirk tells me she’s joking.
Exhaling audibly, I reach for my tote. Aurora snatches it up first. “I’ve got it,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes at me. “Since you won’t let me touch your hoe.”
“Blooming bollocks,” I mutter, marching past her and deeper into the garden to the open planter. Embarrassment prickling at me, I roughly yank the last vestiges of last year’s growth and toss them into the path. I’ll get them into the composter later.
“Sorry, too much teasing? I don’t always know when to stop,” Aurora says softly. That hand rests on my upper back. She is a touchy thing, isn’t she?
“It’s fine,” I say gruffly, standing. That hand slides down my back before she pulls away. Ignoring the zing down my spine, I focus on dragging my hoe across the earth to even out a few spots.
“Okay,” she says lightly. “So what are we planting here?”
“Beets and spinach. Mostly spinach.”
We work in silence, and my mood slowly improves. Every time I glance up at Aurora, she has some look of concentration, usually involving her tongue against her top or bottom lip.
I don’t want to admit it, but she’s adorable. Her teasing might be torturous, but I could have asked her to leave and I didn’t. She’s pleasant to be around.
“That should do it,” I say, stepping back.
She continues her work, inching behind me as she adds seeds to the last few feet. Finished, she brushes her hands on the skirt of her dress and straightens.
“Thanks for your help,” I say.
“We both know you didn’t need any help, but I appreciate you entertaining me. It feels good to get some dirt on my hands.”
I blink at her. No one else has told me that before and it resonates with every cell of my being. She continues on as if nothing is amiss.
“I miss being around nature. I love my home, but the concrete jungle can’t compare to an actual forest. Even suburbia with lawns was better than the city. Sometimes I don’t think I can handle another year there.” She rambles, setting jars into my tote and straightening everything absently. Finished, she looks up at me with a vulnerable smile.
“Could you be a painter somewhere else?” I ask, no other thoughts in my head. That smile burned them all away.
She shrugs. “I guess. I’ve never tried. But hey, this is like a painting vacation. Aside from seeing my sister. Obviously her and the baby come first.” That beautiful pink tinge is back on her cheeks.
“You can do both,” I say. “I’m going to do a little weeding and cleaning up. You should go paint.”
With a lopsided smile, she hands me the tote of tools and today’s seeds. Swallowing, I accept it from her, our hands brushing. With a rustle of fabric, she slips past me.
It takes all my concentration to focus on thinning the carrots from two weeks prior. Bees buzz through the early blooms, birds singing in the distance, but the only sound my ears catch is Aurora’s pencil scratching across her paper. She’s settled against the base of a tree in the corner of my garden.
Wild strawberry hugs the ground and crawls over the fence on either side of the tree. It must be my imagination, but it looks like every single white blossom is turned toward Aurora, like she is the sun. I can’t blame the blooms. There’s something about her that draws you in. She’s a force of nature all her own.
Aurora
There are so many options for painting, I’m overwhelmed. First priority is something for Hazel. They don’t know the sex yet, but paintings of plants are gender-neutral, right?
