IV . Seedlings & Sandwiches

Cedar

S kipping my morning run has my skin crawling, but it would require a hike to get a safe distance away from our visitor’s eyes, and I don’t want to lose my entire morning. I should have gone. Whenever I go a few days without shifting, it feels like fur and claws might burst out of me without my permission. I’m on edge.

So I sink my hands into the dirt and close my eyes, letting the rich soil soothe my nerves. It’s as familiar to me as my own tattoos. I’ve churned this earth, added compost and mulch, poured in vitamins. No one else understands the pride I take in this soil, but they all enjoy the harvest. That’s enough for me.

My breath slows, my muscles relaxing as I let the handful of dirt fall from my fingers. Everything is fine.

A whiff of something unusual washes over me. It’s slightly sweet, with a hint of resin and chalk, mingled with something smokey and earthy. My eyes pop open, my head swinging around until I spot her.

Hazel’s sister wanders along the edge of my garden, trailing her hand through a patch of overgrown mint. The rest of my herbs grow in the center of my garden where I can keep an eye on them, but mint is such an upstart, I banished it to the border where metal garden bins can contain it.

Morning light draws a luminous line down her nose and over the cupid’s bow of her lips. Her silhouette is clear through the light cotton dress fluttering around her knees. It’s one of those bohemian styles with rough edges. Brown eyes, lightened to honey in the morning’s glow, rise to meet mine.

My mind goes blank. What is she doing here? What do I say to her?

It takes her a few minutes to wind through the gravel pathways and reach me. Brushing the dirt from my hands, I gather up my tools and straighten.

“Hey,” she says, quieter than yesterday. Shy, almost.

“Aurora.”

“Is it okay that I’m here?”

“Yeah, you’re welcome to explore,” I say thickly. Of the entire compound, she chose my garden. Hazel and Marigold warned me, but I didn’t think…

“This is amazing,” she says, turning to survey the expansive space, taking in the tidy rows of wooden raised beds teeming with various greenery. “When they said garden, I didn’t think they meant an entire mini farm.” Her charming laugh caresses me and I sway forward.

“Yeah.” I have to clear the grit from my throat. “We’ve got a lot of people to provide food for.”

“I bet it’s great quality compared to the grocery store, right?”

I nod. There’s more to it than that, but I sense she understands.

“We have a chicken coop and two milking goats in the back,” I say, gesturing to the sloped buildings on their side of my storage shed. A few larger fruit trees block most of them from view.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling awkward. “Do you want to see them?”

“No,” she says quickly. “Um, not today, that’s okay.” Her posture curves inwards, her confidence wavering. Interesting.

“So what are you working on this morning?” she asks, changing the subject smoothly.

“I’m prepping to plant some seeds.”

“Do you mostly plant from seed?” Those honey eyes study mine, and I turn my trowel over in my hand nervously.

“Mostly seedlings, but some things are better from seed.”

She steps closer and I smell something floral under the scent of paint. Her eyes alight, mouth quirking into a smile. “Okay, let’s get to work!”

“You don’t need to.”

“Just let me. When I get bored, I’ll go paint.”

Hands propped on her hips and her bottom lip jutted out, she looks so much like Hazel and yet so different. Hazel is rarely obstinate and never enjoys arguing. I have a feeling Aurora would love some verbal sparring.

“Alright.”

“So what are we planting?” she asks, her hands sweeping out.

Picking up my tote, I sigh. “This part of the bed is going to be radishes, and the rest will be carrots.”

“Great!”

“Here, I’ll dig a small trench, and you drop the seeds in. Space them out about an inch apart, and we can thin them later.” I place the jar of radish seeds into her waiting hand.

“Cool, let’s do it.”

She grins at me while I crouch and drag my trowel through the dirt. Three rows fit across the open space before I move over and start on the next patch. I can’t help but peek at Aurora. With her tongue against her upper lip, she delicately sprinkles seeds along the lines I left behind.

“Does that look good?” she asks, meeting my gaze again.

My eyes drop to the dirt in front of me. “Oh, yeah. Perfect.”

A low laugh tumbles out of her. “Glad I can manage dropping seeds in a hole.” I’m not a fan of the sarcasm edging her words. It’s a little too self-deprecating.

Standing, I shake the hair off my forehead. “I.” My voice catches, and I have to clear my throat. “I’m getting my hoe for the next bed. It’s a lot bigger.”

Aurora pops up, one eyebrow raised. My words echo back to me, and I could burrow into the soil and die. “You know, a garden hoe, like a little shovel.” My face is flaming.

Aurora grabs my shoulder as her head dips and she struggles to breathe through her silent laughter. Her nails prick my skin through my shirt, making my back straighten.

She comes up, her face a beautiful pink. “Did you seriously just say you’re getting your hoe for the bigger bed?”

Scoffing, I fold my arms over my chest. “Yes, because I’m not thirteen years old.”

Caramel highlights shimmer in her hair as she shakes her head. “You better go get that hoe,” she chokes, not releasing my shoulder. It would be rude if I pulled away or removed her hand, right?

“Okay,” I manage to say.

Aurora jerks her hand back, pressing her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. “Sorry,” she says, the word breaking into a broken giggle.

“Okay,” I repeat, stilted. My attempt at a polite smile feels like a cringe, so I turn and march toward my storage building.

When I return, clutching the red handle of my favorite hoe, Aurora is examining the jars of seeds in my tote.

“Did you collect these yourself?”

“Yeah.” Pride warms my chest, allowing the tension through my shoulders to relax. I guess we are past the hoe debacle.

She stands, glossy hair brushing over her shoulder with the movement. “So can I see your hoe?” Apparently not. Her smirk tells me she’s joking.

Exhaling audibly, I reach for my tote. Aurora snatches it up first. “I’ve got it,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes at me. “Since you won’t let me touch your hoe.”

“Blooming bollocks,” I mutter, marching past her and deeper into the garden to the open planter. Embarrassment prickling at me, I roughly yank the last vestiges of last year’s growth and toss them into the path. I’ll get them into the composter later.

“Sorry, too much teasing? I don’t always know when to stop,” Aurora says softly. That hand rests on my upper back. She is a touchy thing, isn’t she?

“It’s fine,” I say gruffly, standing. That hand slides down my back before she pulls away. Ignoring the zing down my spine, I focus on dragging my hoe across the earth to even out a few spots.

“Okay,” she says lightly. “So what are we planting here?”

“Beets and spinach. Mostly spinach.”

We work in silence, and my mood slowly improves. Every time I glance up at Aurora, she has some look of concentration, usually involving her tongue against her top or bottom lip.

I don’t want to admit it, but she’s adorable. Her teasing might be torturous, but I could have asked her to leave and I didn’t. She’s pleasant to be around.

“That should do it,” I say, stepping back.

She continues her work, inching behind me as she adds seeds to the last few feet. Finished, she brushes her hands on the skirt of her dress and straightens.

“Thanks for your help,” I say.

“We both know you didn’t need any help, but I appreciate you entertaining me. It feels good to get some dirt on my hands.”

I blink at her. No one else has told me that before and it resonates with every cell of my being. She continues on as if nothing is amiss.

“I miss being around nature. I love my home, but the concrete jungle can’t compare to an actual forest. Even suburbia with lawns was better than the city. Sometimes I don’t think I can handle another year there.” She rambles, setting jars into my tote and straightening everything absently. Finished, she looks up at me with a vulnerable smile.

“Could you be a painter somewhere else?” I ask, no other thoughts in my head. That smile burned them all away.

She shrugs. “I guess. I’ve never tried. But hey, this is like a painting vacation. Aside from seeing my sister. Obviously her and the baby come first.” That beautiful pink tinge is back on her cheeks.

“You can do both,” I say. “I’m going to do a little weeding and cleaning up. You should go paint.”

With a lopsided smile, she hands me the tote of tools and today’s seeds. Swallowing, I accept it from her, our hands brushing. With a rustle of fabric, she slips past me.

It takes all my concentration to focus on thinning the carrots from two weeks prior. Bees buzz through the early blooms, birds singing in the distance, but the only sound my ears catch is Aurora’s pencil scratching across her paper. She’s settled against the base of a tree in the corner of my garden.

Wild strawberry hugs the ground and crawls over the fence on either side of the tree. It must be my imagination, but it looks like every single white blossom is turned toward Aurora, like she is the sun. I can’t blame the blooms. There’s something about her that draws you in. She’s a force of nature all her own.

Aurora

There are so many options for painting, I’m overwhelmed. First priority is something for Hazel. They don’t know the sex yet, but paintings of plants are gender-neutral, right?

The world drops away as I sketch, starting with a series of rabbits and vegetables, inspired by the garden. It feels very Peter Rabbit. Next, I outline a little mouse reaching for a strawberry. Cute.

Movement catches my eye and draws me from my fixation. Cedar’s back flexes as he reaches across a garden bed a few yards away from me. Somehow he’s worked his way over here. I can’t help the small smile curving my lips.

Once, he looks up, his gray-blue eyes intense under the messy mop of golden hair. My eyes dart down to my paper, pretending I wasn’t ogling him, but he’s such a commanding presence, I can’t help but look back. His head dips as he focuses on his work. I can still feel his biceps under my hands, solid and reassuring. I really should stop touching him.

A grumble interrupts my thoughts. My stomach growls again. Cedar’s head shoots up, his eyes locking on me. No way he heard my stomach from that far away.

“I’m ready for lunch. What about you?” he asks, raising his voice so I can hear him clearly. I make a thumbs-up and raise it into the air.

Adding a few flourishes to my artwork, I call it complete and stow my supplies away into my messenger bag. A shadow falls across me, and I look up to see Cedar offering his hand. He’s steady and sturdy as he pulls me to my feet.

“Thanks.”

He just nods in response and strides toward the archway on the southern end of the garden. I scramble to keep up with him, but after a moment, he slows. Pressing my lips together to hide a smile, I fall into step beside him.

“So is there a plan for lunch?” I ask.

“Crickett’s diner has some sandwiches. Is that okay for you?”

“Great.”

We scale the steps and pop into the diner. The windows leave rectangles of warm afternoon light splashed across the black and white tile floor. The counter is noticeably empty and I admire the expanse of polished chrome.

Cedar crosses to a deli case at the end. “Turkey or ham?”

“Either,” I say.

He returns with one of each, a couple of bags of potato chips, and two bottles of water. With a tilt of his head, he ushers me outside. On instinct, I go to the same picnic table as last night. Cedar says nothing but settles across from me.

“What do you want?” he asks, cracking open a bottle of water and taking a drink.

“I’m not picky, but I’d probably like the barbeque chips more than cheddar.”

“Sure, and how about I take the ham?” He claims the cheddar chips for himself.

“Works out perfectly,” I murmur, picking up the turkey sandwich and unwrapping it. The bread is thick and the aioli inside smells like pesto. “Oh, this is good.”

Cedar nods while chewing his own bite. Once he swallows, he gives me another of those rare smiles. It knocks every thought out of my head and I freeze with my food halfway to my mouth.

“My mom bakes all of our bread. And my dad made that cheese.”

“No way.”

His smile widens into something that could be considered a grin. “And I grew the lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber.”

“No wonder it’s so good,” I say, enjoying the flush warming his neck. I want to kiss the pink shell of ears when he blushes like this. As soon as the thought forms in my brain, I push it away. Ridiculous. He isn’t remotely my type, he just has a nice smile.

“When did you start painting?” he asks.

The question surprises me. It shouldn’t, but with my Los Angeles friends, no one would bother to ask. They’d be busy sharing their latest accomplishments. The past didn’t matter, just what you had right now. But I’m not in the city anymore.

Cedar looks at me expectantly, unaware of my racing thoughts.

“I don’t even remember. Forever. Remember those yellow watercolor palettes we got for school? I remember scraping the last of the paint out of those and layering it over construction paper obsessively.”

“That's impressive,” he said, and he sounds like he genuinely means it.

“What about you? Did you always want to grow food for people?”

He lets out an exhale, his shoulders rising and falling. Dark lashes frame his eyes as he looks into the distance. “No, but I didn’t have any other plans. When I was a teenager, the gardener at the time, Tansy, needed help and I was looking for a job.” He pauses, the shadow of a smile on his face. “I loved it. It’s predictable, but then it’s not because you’re partnering with nature. Like this year it’s been so warm, I finished all my seedling transplanting last week. Almost a month earlier than last year.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“And there’s a puzzle aspect to it. I can test the soil and add whatever the plants need, but sometimes it’s not that obvious. I get to diagnose problems and figure out solutions. Nothing is rushed and I like the slower pace.”

“That sounds really nice right about now,” I murmur, imagining my life slowing down. Looking more like today and less like my typical frantic race between jobs and galleries, staying up late at night to paint in terrible lighting.

“Why?” His question is so blunt, it takes me a moment to string my thoughts into a coherent answer.

Setting my sandwich down, I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Things aren’t like this at home. It’s always a mad rush. It’s exhausting.”

His mouth thins, those dimples reappearing though it isn’t from a smile. Disappointment, maybe.

“It’ll be worth it someday. If I keep hustling and getting my paintings out there, eventually they’ll earn enough that I don’t have to bartend or have a dozen roommates.”

“You have a dozen roommates?” he asks, his hands gripping the table.

I can’t help but laugh at him, but he doesn’t seem offended. “No, just making a point. I only have two right now, well three.”

His brow furrows like he’s really trying to understand me. “And you have a house out there?”

“Just an apartment. Right now I have the second bedroom to myself, though I doubt that’ll be the case very long.”

“Why?”

This is getting into uncomfortable territory. Squirming, I pick at my chips and pop a couple of shards into my mouth. But when I finish chewing and swallowing, he is still trained on me and waiting for an answer.

“We can’t make rent without adding another roommate.”

Now it’s my turn to be embarrassed, for a much more legitimate reason than saying an awkward sentence about gardening tools.

“That sounds difficult,” he says, releasing me from my churning thoughts.

“It’s not fun.”

Cedar looks at me for a long moment. His dimples appear and disappear as his jaw grinds. In the end, he decides to say nothing. My breath rushes out of me when he stands and gathers up our paper plates.

“I’m heading back to work. I might use the blower to help with some leaves, so you might want to avoid the garden this afternoon.” His dismissal isn’t harsh, just practical. Still, it stings.

“Sure, totally. I’ll see you around.”

Hours later, I sprawl across the porch, staring up at the swaying branches around the cabin’s roof line. I’m simultaneously out of creative drive for the day, but also exploding with inspiration. I was so right about this visit being good for my work.

Hazel leans over me, her sudden appearance startling me. I sit up fast enough to send a wave of dizziness through me. Hands anchored on the porch, I rotate to face her.

“Have a good day?” she asks, easing down beside me.

“Actually, it was very nice! I spent the morning in the garden.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks hollow as she chews them.

“Cedar was nice enough to let me plant some beets and spinach. We’ve got to grow lots of healthy vegetables for Mama and Baby.” With a grin, I place my palm over her belly.

Her head tips back, eyes closed. The dark shadows under her eyes look worse.

“Are you getting enough sleep, sis?”

Hazel’s dry laugh confirms my suspicions. “I’m too uncomfortable to sleep. I can’t wait for this baby to get here so I’m not hurting constantly.” She rubs at where her belly meets her hip.

“Only a while longer,” I say. “What can I do to help?”

Her eyes open and she smiles at me. “I was thinking we could have a family dinner tonight. And Marigold planned a baby shower for the day after tomorrow. Ask her if she needs anything. I’m good. Slate won’t let me work very much at this point. Not now that I’m officially a boat.”

“Hazel,” I draw her name out, chastising her.

She raises a hand and laughs. “I’m so over this, just let me joke. I didn't mind the rest of pregnancy but these last couple of weeks suck.”

“Sorry.” I wrap my arms around hers and lean my head against her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, so quietly I almost miss it.

“Me too. So when is this family dinner?”

“An hour. At my cabin.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to see it!”

“Great. I’d better get going.”

I resist the urge to try and help her as she maneuvers to standing. Her smile is edged with discomfort as she waves at me and sets off through the trees. It worries me, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.

Fifty minutes later, I’m dressed in something that doesn’t have paint all over it, my hair brushed, and my nails scrubbed. It’s my version of dressing up.

Standing on the edge of the porch, I wonder how I’m going to find my way to Hazel’s cabin, when a couple walks around the edge of the building.

“Hey!” Marigold chimes, waving her free hand at me. The other is secured in the grasp of a man I don’t recognize. The boyfriend. “This is Jasper,” she says with hearts dancing in her eyes.

“Hi, I’m Aurora.” Descending the steps, I shake his offered hand.

Jasper reminds me of Slate, but where Slate is dark, Jasper is pale. Even his hair is a platinum blonde that glows in the sunlight and makes Marigold’s strawberry-blonde curls appear copper.

“Nice to meet you,” Jasper says. “You really do look a lot like Hazel.”

“Doesn’t she?”

“I’ve heard that before,” I say with an awkward laugh.

“You’re so pretty!” Marigold reaches out to gently touch my arm. “We are here to get you for family dinner! Heath’s cabin is on our way to Hazel’s, we volunteered!”

“Lead the way!”

It’s still light out, thank goodness, so I can walk beside Marigold until the trees and shrubs force us into a single file. Jasper’s hand twists behind his back, keeping a hold of his girl. It’s sweet.

We pass a smaller cabin, but that must not be the one, because we keep going until we find a cabin with a skillion-style roof. Voices drift out of the dark forest green door that is wide open, welcoming us inside.

Jasper pauses at the door until Marigold and I pass him. The cabin is full of warm wood, comfortable leather furniture, and homey plaid throw blankets. Framed charcoal drawings dot the planked walls. It’s bigger than Heath’s cabin, though it shares the same homey aesthetic.

Hazel stands in the kitchen, fussing over some sort of egg rolls. Slate hovers nearby, watching her and ready to help. She waves him off and turns toward us with a huge smile, holding up the platter in her hand. “Come in!”

She’s prepared an entire spread of finger foods, mostly fried. Everyone fills a plate before settling around the living room. Even after we start to eat, Slate won’t remove his hand from the small of Hazel’s back. He rubs small circles as she leans into him.

“How was your first day?” Marigold asks brightly.

I swallow my bite. “Um, great. Nice. I went to the garden and did some sketching.”

“The garden?” she asks. The front door swishes open. “Oh, speaking of!” Marigold’s grin turns devious and I tense.

Cedar steps through the door. But no, the hair is wrong. It’s longer and a bit darker. Not Cedar. Then Cedar steps in behind the man who must be his brother, Onyx.

Seeing them side by side is unsettling - there is no way they aren’t twins. Copy and paste. And yet they look so different. Cedar is cleaner cut, brighter. Onyx looks like he probably used guyliner in high school.

“Hello, miss me?” The brother says, smirking as Marigold jumps up and throws her arms around him. When she releases him, he focuses on Hazel. “Stay there, sweetheart.” He walks over and stoops to hug her.

“Missed you! Where is your beautiful girlfriend?”

Onyx shrugs. “Ember didn’t want to leave things unattended. She’ll be here for the baby shower though.”

Cedar steps closer to my seat, and I tip my chin up to see his face. “Aurora, this is my brother, Onyx.”

“The sister,” he says. I set my plate aside and rise in time to get swept up in a tight hug. When Onyx releases me, I catch a scowl on Cedar’s face. He’s practically glaring at his brother.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, sinking back into my seat.

The twins get plates, and Onyx sits on the floor against Hazel’s chair, while Cedar sits beside me on the sofa.

“Cedar was saying you moved. How far away is it?” I ask Onyx.

“About a forty-minute drive north of here. Well, you have to go east, then north, then west. There isn’t a very direct route. Not for cars, anyway.”

“Will you go back home tonight?”

“Definitely. I don’t like to be away from Ember overnight. These two would kill me if I didn’t take good care of her, though she’s usually the one saving my ass.” He jerks his chin toward Slate and Jasper.

From the expressions on their faces, I suspect that is true. A few pieces start to click into place. “So your girlfriend,” I start.

“Ember,” Onyx supplies.

“Is Jasper and Slate’s sister?”

“Yeah.” Onyx says, sounding amused.

“But you and Cedar are Slate’s cousins?” I speak my thoughts out loud without filtering them. At least I stop myself before I accuse him of dating someone he is related to.

Marigold lets out a laugh. “She just put it together.” She presses her hand over her eyes. “You guys better explain.” With a snort of laughter, her head falls onto Jasper’s shoulder.

Slate rolls his eyes but sits forward and wets his lips. “Ember and Jasper are my half-siblings. We share a mom. Different dads. But on my dad’s side, I have an aunt, who is the twins’ mom. So they aren’t related to Jasper or Ember, just me.”

“Thank fuck,” Onyx mutters.

It’s my turn to laugh uncomfortably. “Okay, that makes sense, I guess.”

“I know it’s confusing,” Hazel says, a wry smile overtaking her face. “No one exactly expected Ember and Onyx to hook up, but she was here to visit us and that’s exactly what they did.”

“Hey! Not a random hook up. Marigold, tell them.” Onyx looks between them, scowling.

Marigold shrugs. “I’m not the one to talk about hook ups versus relationships. It took me ages to realize I was in love with Jasper and not just hot for him.”

“It’s okay,” Jasper says softly, placing a kiss below her ear. I swallow, something inside of me twinging. I can’t imagine having a boyfriend treat me that sweetly, or be that passionate in such a small way.

“Did you all grow up together?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. Could I make this any weirder?

“Well, Slate, the twins, and I did,” Marigold says. “Jasper grew up a few miles north, but he moved here a couple of years ago. Luckily.” She beams at her partner.

“And you know Hazel joined us a couple of years ago,” Marigold continues. The best friend vibes are strong between them as Marigold winks at my sister.

My blood goes cold as I realize they’re all in serious relationships, and then there’s Cedar and me. It’s like a quadruple partially-blind date. A triple date with two extra wheels. What does Cedar think about this? He tolerated me just fine in his garden this morning, but I know I can be annoying.

“You okay?” he whispers, leaning until his upper arm brushes mine. His body heat radiates through the thin shirt he wears. It’s different than the white shirt he wore in the garden. I take the opportunity to look at him properly. He must have showered, because his messy hair lies smoother and darker, like it’s still damp.

Instinctively, I take a deep breath. He smells like herbs - earthy basil, rosemary, and mint. I need another hit of that. I lean into him to take another lungful. Los Angeles would smell a lot nicer if they could turn that into a vape flavor. Cedar goes tense against me. Ah, crap. He asked me a question and I’m almost falling tits first into his lap.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m great. You smell good,” I whisper back, embarrassed the last part slipped out.

Every nerve in my body goes haywire when he lowers his face toward mine and breathes in my hair. It’s a good thing I’m already seated because my knees would have given out. He leans back, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he says, “You do too.”

My mouth opens but no words make it out. Did he think I was flirting with him? Was I? Did he mean to flirt back? Or is he just returning a compliment so I don’t feel stupid? My pulse races.

The conversation carries on around us, but Cedar’s eyes stay on me. I snap my jaw shut, but then lick my lips to try and prepare something to say. It’s no use. Those stormy eyes go to my mouth when my tongue darts out. Oh, that was the wrong thing to do.

“Aurora?” someone asks.

The trance is broken and Cedar looks away. I’m a muddled mess, stomach clenched, heart hammering, skin tingling.

“Rory?” Hazel asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, sorry, what?”

“Any last minute name suggestions for the parents?” Onyx asks. “They’re gonna announce the baby name at the party.”

“Shower,” Marigold corrects.

“But you don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.” I cock my head, my brows furrowing.

Hazel’s smile is secretive. “Yeah, we wanted a name that works for both.” Slate leans forward and kisses her temple.

“Nature names, right?” I ask.

“I said Storm,” Onyx says.

“I still think Jade would be good,” Jasper says.

Onyx throws his hand into the air. “I second that!”

Marigold shushes him. “You just want a name like yours.”

Shrugging, I give Hazel my best charming smile. “You know I already recommended Rock.”

“Rock,” Marigold repeats, squeezing her eyes shut as she smothers a giggle against Jasper’s shoulder.

“Otherwise, Fox has become a pretty normal name. Or Lynx,” I suggest.

Hazel exhales, shaking her head. “You guys are all ridiculous. I swear, we have this handled.”

“Sure, but if you don’t have all your options you can’t know if you picked the best one,” Onyx says with a patronizing smile. Hazel reaches down and flicks the top of his head.

“What about River or Skye?” I add.

“Rowan, Sage, Sorrel, Juniper, Clover,” Cedar says.

“Those are good!” Marigold raises her eyebrows, twisting to see Hazel and Slate’s reactions.

Hazel’s head falls back against Slate’s shoulder. “You guys can save those for your own kids. We’re good!”

“I do like Sage,” Marigold says, running her nails down Jasper’s ribs. He leans in, whispering into her ear. She shivers.

“Geez,” I mutter, pointedly looking away from the display.

Cedar chuckles, tipping his head close again. “They’re always like that. You’ll get used to it.” His breath ghosts over my cheek.

“I’m surprised they’re not the pregnant ones,” I whisper back. His huff of laughter is gratifying.

“Give it a few months. I don’t think Marigold will be able to wait once Hazel’s baby arrives.”

“That’s sweet,” I murmur.

Cedar’s eyes flick over my face, analyzing in a way that makes me feel seen.

“Do you want to go hiking tomorrow? I can show you some spots that might be good to paint.” His offer catches me off guard, and my heart swells.

“I would love that.”

My cheek brushes his and he moves away. The flash of excitement fades away with distance, though I’m still painfully aware of where his legs have spread enough that my knee touches his thigh. Any other man, I would be pissed he was invading my space, but with Cedar, I don’t mind. More than not minding, I like the contact.

“I need some chocolate,” Hazel declares, and half the room jumps to accommodate her. I raise one eyebrow and she shrugs in response. She’s got it pretty good here, and I have no doubt her baby will be spoiled to the max with so many uncles and aunties around. It’s obvious I’m not needed, but nonetheless, I’m grateful to be here.

The rest of the evening races by, full of laughter and warm affection. The two couples can’t keep their hands off each other, and even Onyx has his phone out to text Ember. I see a flash of some rather suggestive emojis when he fumbles his screen.

Cedar stays by my side, murmuring a quiet commentary into my ear whenever the others discuss something I know nothing about. My heart races each time, leaving me exhausted by the time everyone is ready to call it a night.

Marigold and Jasper offer to walk me home, and it might be my imagination, but Cedar seems disappointed. Maybe his scowl is unrelated, but it doesn’t feel that way.

Everyone says their goodbyes, including everyone saying goodbye to Hazel’s belly separately. She just laughs and rubs at that sore spot at her hip.

Onyx grabs me for a hug, leaving me feeling too awkward to initiate a hug with Cedar. I’ll see him tomorrow anyway.

The night is solid darkness. Hazel is thoughtful enough to hand me a flashlight so I can watch my own feet and ignore the way Marigold’s hand slips under Jasper’s shirt. I have no doubt the moment they drop me off at Heath’s cabin, their hands will be wandering to even more inappropriate places.

I’d like to be annoyed, but it just leaves me feeling lonely. Hugging my sketchbook to my chest, I flop down on my temporary bed and try to quiet my thoughts. In that silence, a muffled animal noise reaches me. Curiosity gets the better of me and I crack the window open a sliver.

The second howl is much clearer. It’s haunting and beautiful, leaving me aching to paint the forest and moon in shades of black and silver. It’s probably a coyote, but it sounds like a wolf. That must be why they don’t want me hiking alone.

The idea of such a majestic creature running through the woods is inspiring, and I tug the quilt around my shoulders and nestle down, visions of dark trees and silver fur swirling in my mind.