“That’s a nice idea. It really will be beautiful when it’s done.” She turns on the spot, and the edges of her blanket flutter wide, almost dipping into an open can of paint.

“Careful,” I warn her.

She glances down, her cheeks flushing with color. “Well, that’s what happens when you’re forced to wear a blanket all day.”

“You asked for a punishment,” I remind her. “And you received.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I did not ask for anything. I just didn’t want you taking your anger out on your men. They didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem.”

She rolls her eyes. “When are you going to give me back my clothes?”

“When you stop trying to run away.”

She groans. “Fine. What if I promise not to run away?”

“You’re assuming I trust your promises.”

She glares at me with those bright hazel eyes of hers, and it takes all my self-control not to smile. “You’re a beast.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

She sticks her tongue out at me. “You know, I’m getting tired of lugging around this freaking blanket everywhere I go.” Sniffling haughtily, she adds, “Guess your staff will just have to get used to seeing me walking around here butt naked.”

“You’re just begging for a lock on your door, kiska.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

I give her a carefree smirk. “It’s best not to go to war with me, June. You won’t win.”

She steps a little closer, and I notice how tenuous her grasp on the blanket is. One good tug and the whole thing will fall right to the ground. I’m tempted.

“Are we at war, Kolya?” she asks softly.

“I don’t know, June. You tell me.”

She sighs, and the defiance in her expression fades away. “I shouldn’t have left like that,” she says quietly. “Especially after we… um, well—Anyway. It was a cowardly move.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because I was scared,” she admits. The truth is unexpected. “And I guess I felt like leaving was the best thing to do.”

“What were you afraid of?”

Her eyes get a little wider. In them, I can see the flecks of gold melting together against the autumn brown. “It doesn’t matter,” she says at last, dropping her gaze. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

The moment pulses with a tenderness we’ve only glimpsed before. I know the answer to her question: yes, we’re at war.

But it’s not just a war of me versus June. It’s a war of us versus ourselves.

Of our stubbornness against our hope.

Of our better judgment against our wildest fantasies.

And fuck, I have no idea who’s going to win.

But for now, the tension is unbearable. June seems to realize the same thing a second later because she clears her throat awkwardly.

“So… carpentry, huh?”

“Carpentry,” I confirm as we circle each other within the confines of the gazebo.

“Can you build a… letterbox?”

I chuckle. “If you made me.”