Page 21 of Sunrise & Serenity

“They’re the family’s plans.”

She studies me with her pretty hazel eyes, and I have a disconcerting feeling she can see through me as clearly as she sees through her camera. But I don’t plan to explain why the thought of random city folk traipsing around this place rubs me the wrong way.

Hell, she’s basically the first of many.

“That’s enough to give you the lay of the land for now. Taryn can fill you in on the rest of the expansion when she takes you into town. She’s probably champing at the bit to get a hold of you.”

Sage laughs a little self-consciously as she glances down at herself. “And here I was thinking I’d bought all the right clothes.”

She might look like a New York City version of a cowgirl, and I doubt she could sit on a horse for too long in jeans that tight, but there’s no denying how good her curves look in them.

I step away and shove my hands into my pockets. “Taryn’ll take care of you. In between interrogating you about your fancy city life.”

She lets out a dainty snort. “Not sure if I’ll have much to tell her.”

The words are innocent enough, but there’s a brittleness to her tone that has me studying her more closely. Her expression gives nothing away.

We walk back to the house in silence, and I lead her into the kitchen. “Would you like a drink?”

I do have some manners, after all.

“A water would be lovely, thank you.”

Once I’ve retrieved two glasses from the cupboard next to the sink, I fill them with water. My fingers brush hers as I hand one over, and she looks up at me.

Our gazes linger a little longer than they should—long enough for me to notice the flecks of green and gold in her eyes—before she glances away and takes a sip. To distract myself, I take a long drink of my own water.

“So this is where you lived growing up?” Sage settles into one of the chairs at the table.

I take a seat opposite her. “Yep. Moved out to the cabin when I was seventeen.”

Her brows shoot up. “That seems awfully young to live on your own so far away.”

“It’s our land. We grew up on it. There’s nothing I need to be afraid of.”

“And your mom wasn’t worried?”

I sweep my hat off my head and run my hand through my hair. “Mom wasn’t around when I moved out there. She died when I was sixteen.”

Sage stills, almost the way she does when she takes a photo. As if she’s assessing what she sees, putting the picture together in her head.

Except this time, I’m the picture she’s trying to put together.

She swallows. “I’m sorry.”

I dip my chin. There’s not really anything else to be said.

After a brief pause, she taps her fingernails against the side of her glass. “You weren’t lonely out there on your own?”

“You said you’re an only child. Were you lonely?”

She blinks, as if taken aback by my question.

I wait for a trite comment, hoping it’ll lead us away from the line of questioning.

Instead, she says, “Every day.” Her mouth tilts up on one side. I think the expression is meant to be wry, but there’s too much truth in her words to pull it off.

So, she was lonely because she didn’t have more family, and I needed to be alone because I had too much and not enough at the same time. How do you explain that to someone?