I smile sadly. “It’s okay. He’s just being cautious. I get it. Plus, he’s got a point. You really don’t know me anymore.” I frown. “But just so we’re clear, I am not a child rapist. Or any kind of rapist, for that matter.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know that.” He pauses, hesitating. “I think he’s just...pissed off I didn’t check with him first. Which makes zero sense—”

“Why not?”

We both turn at the same time.

The girl—Ivy, Waylon called her—glares between us, her eyes fierce. She’s a tiny thing, short and waifish, with big emerald eyes and black hair and pale skin. Less than half my weight, I’m sure, and that’s soaking wet. She looks young, younger than me by at least a couple years.

That name. I know that name.

Mason opens his mouth and closes it.

She scowls. “You never actually ask for our input, so how would you know we don’t care?”

Mason’s face bunches as she whirls around to start gathering her things, stuffing her brushes and paints into some kind of fabric roll-up thing. She grabs the canvas resting against the wall with her talon-like black nails and stomps back over to us.

She takes a step closer to me, green eyes narrowed to slits. “Look, I don’t know what kind of beef my cousin has with you, nor do I care—”

Cousin?

“—but let’s just make one thing clear here, Will.” She gets right up in my space, jutting her chin up at me. She barely reaches my chest. “If Waylon has a problem with you, then I have a problem with you. Capiche?

“Seriously, Ivy?” Mason groans.

Shit, I do know that name.

I tilt my head. “You’re his cousin?”

I never met the girl. But from what I remember, he had a little cousin he was pretty close to from a neighboring town. He used to save some of the treats I’d bring him if he knew he was seeing her in the near future. My grandma was always baking and sending me to school with bags of cookies and shit.

She frowns. “Isn’t that what I just fucking said?”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek.

She takes a careful step back, then another. Not once taking her eyes off my face.

“Retract the claws, Ives,” Mason says tiredly. “I literally just ran into him. I didn’t exactly have a chance to talk to you guys first.” He pauses. “And for the record, you could always speak up if you have an issue. I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

“No, but you do have at least two brain cells, right? Maybe try rubbing them together sometime and see what happens.”

And with that, she stomps away, not unlike Waylon as he stormed upstairs only moments ago.

I whistle under my breath.