Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(40)

“You’re spending an awful lot of time on that lettuce,” he calls out from across the kitchen, tilting his head back to cock an eyebrow at me. “It’s gonna start disintegrating if you don’t let up.”

Snapping out of my reverie, I shut off the sink and set the lettuce on the granite countertop to dry. Wiping my hands on my leggings, I check the farfalle pasta cooking on the stove, then grab my phone and shoot a text to my brother.

Me: Do you remember that time Mom made bow tie noodles for my eleventh birthday?

A few seconds later, his response pops up.

Boyd: Do I remember the day she nearly burned down your trailer, and made you eat black pasta?

Me: It wasn’t all burned.

Boyd: No wonder you cleaned your plate.

I’m not sure where to take the conversation next, so I wait for more; it never comes, and sadness works its way into my heart all over again.

Sighing, I lean against the kitchen island and lock my phone back, cursing myself silently for undoing any semblance of progress my brother and I had made in our relationship in the years before I left Maine.

“Are you okay?” Caleb asks, pushing away from the dishwasher as he gets to his feet.

I nod, forcing a smile. “Just my brother being his annoying self.” Turning around, I move to stir the homemade tomato sauce—a recipe I got from Kal’s Italian wife—and lift a shoulder. “You have two brothers, though. I don’t have to tell you what that’s like.”

Caleb rests his hip on the island. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

The cogs in my brain skid to a halt, and panic swells in my chest. My hand continues stirring, kinetic energy propelling the movement.

“We have a complicated relationship,” I say, settling on a half-truth. “I don’t really talk about him much.”

He grunts. “Not even once in the two years we’ve been friends?”

Pressing my lips together, I shrug. “Guess it’s never really come up.”

I feel his dark eyes boring into the side of my head, but I keep mine trained on the sauce. Finally I see him nod in my peripheral vision, and he seems to relax.

“Well, I know better than to push you for information. Don’t want you to lock me out on the deck again.”

The tension in my shoulders lessens slightly, and a laugh pushes from my throat. “I’m not that bad.”

“It was the middle of a snowstorm,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “And all I asked was if you needed extra firewood.”

“And then you learned I have a gas fireplace.” Glancing over at the gray stone mantel, I try not to think of the one at my brother’s house, and how this one seems empty in comparison.

Overall, the entire cabin is pretty empty; sure, it came fully stocked with handcrafted pine furniture that matches the paneling on the walls and vaulted ceilings, but since I can’t acknowledge my old life without risking my safety, no personal effects decorate the place.

The lakefront and mountainside views through the ceiling-to-floor windows, though, are almost enough to make up for it.

Almost.

After a prolonged silence, Caleb jumps back into fixing the dishwasher, and I strain the pasta, emptying both pots into respective serving dishes and setting them in the oven for a minute to cool down.

When he’s finished, I offer him a plate, and we eat standing at the island, staring out the back windows.

There’s another cabin just beyond the lake, uninhabited for years, according to the locals. Movement catches my eye, though, a dark figure lurking in the shadowy corner of a window upstairs, and an uneasy feeling settles in my gut, putting me on edge.

Then I blink, and the figure’s gone, the house as still as always. Leaving me to wonder if I made it all up.

Spearing a piece of pasta with his fork, Caleb nudges me with his shoulder. “So, you gonna attend the art show coming up? The focus is on indigenous folklore.”

I poke at my food, pushing it around my plate. “That sounds interesting, but I don’t know…”

“If you feel weird about the crowd, I can always escort you.”

A cramp flares in my stomach, and I shift my eyes down, discomfort tangling in my nerves.

“It could be fun,” he continues, shoving another forkful of pasta into his mouth. “That’s all I’m saying. Champagne and appetizers, and you get to judge people all night. What more could you possibly want for a winter evening?”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, even though I’ve already made up my mind.

Satisfied with that, he finishes his food and washes his plate in the sink, drying it and putting it away quickly. I walk with him to the front door, my body going stiff when he stops to pull me into another hug.

Pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, Caleb pulls back, and I try not to seize up completely at his forwardness. My brain repeats that he’s just an affectionate guy, and that he doesn’t mean any harm, but my body rejects the sentiment.

My pulse thuds loudly at the base of my throat as he releases me, and he grins. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay, Angel?”

I nod, disgust immobilizing my vocal cords, and watch him descend the porch and head to where his Jeep is parked.

Going back inside, I shut the door and secure the three deadbolts, peering through the little glass window at the top of the door. Caleb sits in there for several beats, staring up at the house, and for a second I’m racked with nervous energy.