“It’s amazing,” I breathed. “Thank you.” Looking up, I found his soft eyes gazing back at me, head tilted, his lips slightly parted. Lips I wanted to run my fingers along, to feel if they were as soft as they’d felt last night. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing, gave his head a little shake, and stepped over to a workbench like he was looking for something.

I swallowed hard and lifted the page to look at the second drawing underneath, revealing a very different image. This too was of me, but I sat sideways in one of the workshop chairs, my legs dangling over one arm and my back against the other. My elbow rested on the back of the chair, propping my head up, my eyes staring unfocused at some spot out a rain-sprinkled window. I looked…sad.

I held the papers up. “So which am I? Proud warrior or despondent thinker?”

He tapped the one of me in the chair. “I was actually going for excessive tea drinker in that one. I think I’m actually out of bergamot.” Sure enough, a pile of empty teacups sat in the background of the drawing.

I gave him a flat look, and he smiled, leaning back against the workbench. “Why can’t you be both?”

I tucked the second drawing underneath the first and set them on the workbench. “I’ve wasted enough time being sad.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being sad. Everyone feels that way one time or another.”

“Some people for longer than others,” I muttered.

Caylus stepped up beside me, sliding the top drawing over so they lay side by side. He pointed at the one of me curled in on myself. “What do you see?”

“Weakness.”

He smiled, sending a rush of warmth into my cheeks. “I see someone who cares about something enough to worry about it so strongly, she loses herself in it.”

My flush deepened. “I think you’ve inhaled too many fumes.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “You think about the crows, don’t you? When you go quiet,” he said.

I folded my arms. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking in those moments.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving me a doubtful look as if to ask, You? Not talk?

I deflated. “Yes. I think about the crows.”

He moved closer, the heat from his body dancing along my skin. I became all too aware of his closeness, of the bright green of his eyes. The kind of green that pushes up out of the ashen earth to remind you that life struggles on.

His fingers grazed mine, surprisingly steady. Sharp heat prickled behind my eyes, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the growing tears at bay. He must have seen them anyways, as his fingers brushed my cheek gently.