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“Think of it like Dracula versus the werewolf.” Ravyn lifted the picture to rest it on the wooden pegs that held her canvases. “Sure, they’re going to give each other their space most of the time, and there’s a lot of mutual respect there. But if the werewolf sniffed and then howled at Dracula’s bride…”
It all made perfect sense to me. “I can see that.”
Ravyn grinned. “So, yeah. I’ll wrap up the cliff by this weekend, and if you want to use the barn tonight, or the yard… the farm, any of it for pictures today, go ahead. I keep Bowie and Ozzie inside, so they won’t get in your way.”
She named her pets after the picture? Cousin Ravyn was officially my coolest not-really-a-cousin ever.
“You have dogs? What kind?” Alys asked.
Ravyn tucked the fantasy painting away again. “The cat kind. Why would you name a dog Ozzie? He’s a Siamese and Bowie is a calico.”
Which also made perfect sense.
We finalized a few more details with Ravyn, and she headed inside.
Alys had gone quiet again, and her pensive look was back.
“Are you up for being a model today?” I asked.
“We’re already here.”
That was less than an enthusiastic yes. “Come on.” When I grasped her hand, it fit perfectly in mine. I tugged her out of the barn and toward an old wooden swing that sat a few hundred yards away, nestled in a small grove of trees.
When we reached our destination, we discovered the bench was battered, warped, and covered with splintered wood. “This might not have been the coziest place to go to after all.”
“It’s okay.” Alys picked at a loose piece of paint on the frame.
What now? “What’s your ideal rock star death match?” Good one, Maddox. Not.
Alys furrowed her brow and studied me. “Believe it or not, I never really thought about it.”
“Me neither, but now that I am…” Who would I pick?
“Yours, then?” Alys mirrored my question to myself.
Um. Fuck. “Kurt Cobain and Axl Rose.”
“I think they were already mortal enemies.”
“Which is why they’re fighting to the death.”
Alys screwed up her face. “In that case… Barbra Streisand and Robert Smith.”
Far be it from me to shoot down a good suggestion, but… “One, she’s not a rock star, and two, South Park already did it.”
“Your rules are confusing.” The wind gusted around us, blowing Alys’s hair into her face.
I brushed the long strands of pink aside, lingering with my fingers on her cheek. “They’re not my rules, they’re the universe’s rules.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not true.” She was almost smiling.
I tugged at one corner of her mouth. “That’s closer.”
“As in, I’m prettier when I smile?”
“You’re always gorgeous, no matter what. If you’re smiling though, maybe you’re feeling better.”
Alys’s posture relaxed, and more amusement slipped onto her face. “You’re trying to distract me from the bad feels?”
