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Her lips twitched. “Thought you might.” She stepped back from her canvas. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

His dick twitched at the innuendo, then hardened further at the dancing laughter in her eyes. “You first.”

She indicated for him to walk over and take a look.

What he saw made his heart tumble in his chest. In beautiful pale watercolors she’d painted the back view of a girl and boy holding hands, the girl with masses of red/brown hair, the boy taller, with blond hair. The background was indistinct, a blur of greens and browns with a blue sky, so somewhere outdoors, but the where wasn’t important. The whole focus of the painting was the connection between the siblings. “You painted a feeling.”

“I did.”

“It’s stunning.”

Her gaze lock on his, surprised, yet also hopeful. “Really?”

He nodded, too overcome to speak. Her painting made his own effort seem trite, immature. The kid who’d ignored the teacher and decided he couldn’t be bothered, while the star pupil had diligently produced her best work.

“Let me see yours.”

Fuck, now he was embarrassed. Shame rolled through him as she bounced over to his easel.

“Oh.” Her brow furrowed, expression confused. “Do you want to talk me through it?”

“It’s the sun and the moon.”

“Duh, I got that. But how does that say Colin?”

He shifted miserably on his feet. “He’s the sun.”

Another frown. “And you’re the moon?”

“Not exactly.” His neck pricked and he rubbed at it. “He was always the light to my dark.”

He’d learned to read her face, but on this occasion too many emotions chased across it for him to accurately pinpoint what she thought. Surprise and confusion were the only two he could make out.

“I can see why Colin is light,” she said finally. “But I don’t see you as dark. Grumpy and broody, sure,” she said with a smile. “But not dark.”

You don’t know me properly. He kept the words to himself. With only sixteen more days to go before they went their separate ways, he wanted her to spend them thinking he was an okay guy. Okay enough to want to kiss him.

“We need to take a photo of us with our paintings.” Anna snapped a quick selfie of them, her smiling brightly, him looking stiff, wooden.

“We should keep your painting,” he told her. “Frame it.”

He picked up the canvas, careful not to smudge the wet paint.

“What about yours?”

“No.” He didn’t need the reminder of how much better a person her brother had been than he was. He carried it with him, permanently

December 11th

Anna glanced sideways at Luke as she sat in the passenger seat of his truck on the way to Harriman State Park.

He’d been quiet ever since their visit to the art studio yesterday. Though he hadn’t retreated to his room last night, he might as well have for all the conversation she’d had from him.

This morning he’d gone for his run as usual—she’d heard the front door bang shut as he’d left. Whatever was troubling him had still been there when he’d come back though, because his face had remained brooding, his word count back to how it had been in the first few days after Colin’s death.

“Remind me how long it’s going to take to get there,” she said to break the silence.

“Around an hour.”