Page 40
Sera reaches for an egg roll at the same time I do, and our eyes connect when our skin touches, both of our hands lingering there. We unpacked the leftover food in her room after I started a roaring fire to chase the chill from her bones.
I clear my throat, pulling my hand back to allow her space. “So, tell me more about you. More than what’s on your hiring paperwork.”
Reminding her I’m her boss when I’m trying to be anything but wasn’t the smoothest move, but thankfully, Sera smiles, and the tightness in my chest eases.
I rub at the loosening knot.
“Well, there’s not much to tell…”
I cut in, “No way. Even from one glance, you can tell there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
“Yeah, a calamity,” she whispers.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Reaching for her soda, she sips before her gaze travels to the fire now blazing in the hearth.
“I grew up without my parents. I lived with my uncle until I ran away at seventeen. Then, I worked odd jobs as I couch surfed, but always dreamed of…” She sighs. “Well, that doesn’t matter.”
“Dreamed of what? Come on, tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”
She smirks as if she knows I don’t have any friends outside of those who know about the shit show that is my life. “Of writing. But the problem is, I don’t know what I’d write about or if I’m good at it.”
“I think you can get good at anything you set your mind to and practice.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve just never found the time or the will to start, nor the muse.”
I laugh.
“What? All the greats have muses.”
I lift my hands in defense, still smirking. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me about you,” she bats back, and I’m suddenly left wishing my dumb ass hadn’t started this line of conversation because there’s not much I can tell her, other than what’s already printed in the media.
“What would you like to know?”
She shrugs, licking sweet and sour sauce off her fingers one by one, stirring a darker, more lurid nature to life. “There was a fire here when you were kids, right? Were you in that?”
So she’s been looking into us.
“There was a fire that burned down the potting shed, yes.”
“I read that your father was inside of it, and your brother?”
Swallowing, I hope like hell that said brother isn’t currently pressing his ear to the door, because he hates talking about the past and hates that anyone knows about the fire.
“They were, yes.”
She swallows, weighing her next words carefully. “And your brother was the only one to make it out?”
“So to speak.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that he might’ve gotten out, but he was never the same. That day changed him forever and left him scarred. The brother I knew died in that fire.”
“Oh.” She sits straighter. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t know that loss, but I know what it feels like to lose family. My parents died when I was young.”
