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“I’m not… good with people.” He starts.
I relent a bit. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re better than you give yourself credit for. You have your charming moments.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“No. They shouldn’t let you out in public.” His lip twists. I look around at the mess on the floor. “What are you making? Furniture?”
“See for yourself. There’s a couple finished ones back there, under the tarp.”
Intrigued, I go to lift up the blue plastic sheet. My eyes widen. “Oh my God.” Underneath the tarp are three canvases arranged in a pile, from biggest to smallest. “Did youmakethese?” I lift one up to examine. It’s perfect. The wood has been sanded down. The fabric is perfectly taut, stapled into the frame on the back. It looks even better than the canvases I would buy at the store—professional-grade, but just a little rugged. Perfect for mountain landscapes.
“Figured it would keep you quiet,” he says gruffly. “You can’t just wander around the place getting in everyone’s way. They better be good enough, because I’m not doing them again.”
“I thought you were throwing me out,” I remind him, running my finger down the line of perfectly even staples.
“Doubt the others would let me.”
I glance at him. “Is this your way of saying sorry?”
He turns his attention back to the nail he’s hammering. “I’ve got nothing to apologise for.”
I scoff. “Yeah. Sure.”
I’m pretty sure it is an apology. Cole’s not exactly the best at saying things out loud, but actions speak louder than words, right? He saw that I was upset about my broken canvases, and he decided to fix the problem. That’s an apology.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He nods, then jerks his head towards the knot I made. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Oh.” I look back at it. “My dad was in the navy. When I was little, he used to practise his knots with me. I learned every one in the book.”
“You’re close?”
My throat tightens. “We were.”
“He’s dead?”
“No. Just… we’re not close, anymore.” I remember the last time I saw my parents. It was only about a week ago. The look of utter disgust on my dad’s face when I turned up crying on their doorstep flashes in front of my eyes.
Neither of them have called. I don’t think they’ve even noticed I’ve left the country.
I shake off the clawing sadness. “What about you? What’s your family like?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t have one.”
“No one at all?”
“No siblings, and all my mum cared about was whatever boyfriend she was fucking at the time. I pretty much raised myself.”
Explains a lot.
“Eli’s mum took care of me, when I was in school,” he continues. “I spent half my childhood at his or Riv’s house.”
“And you’ve been living together since?”
“On and off.” I wait for him to elaborate, but he turns back to his work. This conversation is clearly over.
I look out of the doorway, back at the gently falling snow. “I was thinking of putting that shack thing on the safety line. Eli said you don’t use it, but it would be a good shelter, if you can’t drive the car up all the way to the house.”
