Page 15

I only smirk at her before I walk back out of her studio.

I can smell Selene’s scent on the wind, she’s close. Ducking across the street, I walk behind Crust Issues to take the back way to avoid being seen. I’ve got one more stop to make before I head to my cabin, hopefully at the same time she’s drinking her tea.

Her meadow, the one she sneaks away to each morning, sits vast and empty aside from the birds chirping from within the trees. A soft breeze moves the flowers and grass as it ripples across the valley. The quiet movement of the water across the river bed is a soothing balm across my soul. I can easily see why she loves this space, not for the wildness of it, but for the serenity it offers. It feels as though you’re part of a different world, one only you’ve discovered. With no touch of the human hand, you almost feel as though you’re the first one to step foot on the grass, to sniff the mountain breeze, and capture the mental image of it.

With over twenty different species of wildflower growing in the area, I let my soul guide me to the one that’s calling out to me. I’ve got no idea what any of these are called, something I’m sure Selene could tell me. We both know she has a leatherjournal full of flower clippings, leaves, and feathers from her time in the woods.

There amongst the array of flowers are these tiny purple trumpet flowers. Their vibrant deep purple petals called to me. I don’t think I’ve seen her collect these before, something new that she could write about. Bending down, I pinch the stem, breaking off a couple of them before wrapping them in the tissue I brought just for this. I’ll drop these off on her front porch and watch as she learns more about them.

Her fascination with plants is almost equal to my fascination with numbers. Where I could sit and do math for hours, she can sit with an encyclopedia learning all about the flower she found.

I first realized it when she was only seven years old and she drug her mother’s herbology book into the backyard one spring afternoon. I had been out back watching the clouds move across the sky, using math to predict the odds of certain clouds forming when I heard this little voice say, “I’ll find you in this book,” before she sat down Indian style with a book far too big for her little hands. Suddenly the clouds held no interest to me anymore, only this little girl with a curiosity just like mine. I spent the rest of the afternoon watching her as her face scrunched in confusion only to quickly widen with amazement. I knew there was no way she could read any of the words, but the look of wonderment on her face, now that's what I could understand.

My thumb brushes over the petals of this dainty purple flower as I smile at the memory of seven-year-old Selene. Every day after that she would drag that same book out into the backyard for hours, flipping through the pages and comparing the plants of her yard to those in the book. Over the years I watched it go from only knowing the pictures, to learning the words, to knowing the species of flowers.

One day I hope she’ll tell me all about this purple flower and the rest of them in this valley. Carefully pocketing the flower, I check the time on my cell. 3:45 P.M. stares back up at me. I’ve got 15 minutes to make it to the other flower before dropping the first one off on her porch.

Rushing through the path lining the pack lands, I stop off to grab a Silvery Lupine before briskly walking down the path back towards our cabins. Before I come around the final corner leading to our front porches, I slow to a stop to check the time. It’s 4:00 P.M. meaning she’s just left from Lou’s shop and should be heading this direction. I’ve got only seconds to drop this flower off and move back towards the Pack House and my office. I need her to think I’m just coming home from work, not that I’ve been running all over town.

Glancing around to ensure nobody is looking, I sneak up to her front porch and take the three steps up. I’ll put the flower on her porch swing. There’s no way she won’t see it there. I’ve just laid down the flower when I smell her scent. Fuck. She’s close.

Jumping over the railing, I rush to her backyard. I’ll have to cut across to the other road to avoid being seen by her. My heart is racing as I silently move across the grass between the houses. Praying to the Goddess that she doesn’t look between the cabins to see me ducking away. The second my feet hit the dirt path on the opposite side, I let out a shuddering breath. That was too close for comfort.

Bracing my hands on my knees as I heave out a breath, I sneak a look over my shoulder down the gap between the cabins. She isn’t standing there staring at me. I don’t see her at all actually. Good, hopefully she went inside like nothing was amiss.

When my heart rate drops down to a normal level again, I walk down the main path leading to the Pack House. Now all I’ve got to do is walk home after work. I want to work some more on her business proposal before I call it a night.

It’s almost dusk before I come up for air again. Her business proposal is coming along nicely. Granted I had to research quite a bit to determine exactly what all she would need. I’ve even called Silas about the open business property downtown to see about the cost of that. I didn’t elaborate or anything, but he has connections being a member of the city council and all that.

I rub my eyes before checking the time. 8:30 P.M. I need to head home before she tucks in for the night. I don’t know what time she is planning to drink the tea, I can only hope that I’ve not missed it.

The sky outside is awash with oranges giving it an almost creamsicle look as I walk down the path towards our cabins. Willow’s, a bartender at Pour Me Another, cabin is dark but Hazel’s, the owner of Flick the Bean Coffee Shop, has the lights on letting me know at least one of them is home.

The bedroom light is on in Selene’s parents’, June and Rowan, room as I pass by their cabin. Selene’s room is dark—did she go to bed already? As I come around the corner, disappointment already seeping in, I find Selene sitting on her porch swing with a mug in her hand.

Seems I didn’t miss the tea drinking after all. I can feel her eyes on me as I walk down the path. The urge to look at her is too strong to resist. Glancing up I find her staring right at me. Eyes unblinking, almost as if I’m the white rabbit walking in front of the starving wolf. A smile breaks across my face as I lift my hand and wave at her. Oh fuck. I’m waving at her. I’m smiling at her. She isn’t blinking. She doesn’t lift her hand to wave back or even react to what I just did. Maybe I’ve gotten this all wrong.

Shoving my hand into my pocket, I turn to walk up my stairs. Just get into the house.What was I thinking smiling and waving at her like we’re friends?Just because I can’t get her out of my mind, doesn’t mean that she feels or thinks the same way. Her bumping into me at Gail’s office and now staring at me haseverything jumbled in my mind. I don’t know what to think of all of it.

I need my math book and my chamomile tea. She might be the one drinking clarity tea tonight, but I’m the one that’s going to need a calming tea.

My favorite book, The Golden Ratio, sits on my small bookshelf in my living room. I’ve collected books on just about every mathematician throughout history along with a few scientists that have used math to make major discoveries in our world.

My home feels just like my office. Cold, sterile, and orderly. You almost wouldn’t think someone lived here with the lack of personal touches. When I was given this cabin, I arranged the furniture in a way that was clutter free and kept the flow of the house easy to use. I don’t have any family photos along the walls or overdone decor. The most personal touch is my math books, the Leonardo Da Vinci human model, and my herbal tea collection. Some would find it odd that I don’t have family photos, or even snap shots hanging on my fridge, but if I could disconnect myself any further from them, I would. I would prefer there is never any proof that I’m connected to that family.

My kettle sits exactly where I left it, sitting on the back burner of my stove top, ready for the next batch of tea. I prefer loose-leaf tea over the prepackaged dust particles they serve in stores. Often times I’ve let Gail mix up a new tea for me to try as it’s something I enjoy drinking.

The glass bottles tink against each other as I pull down the one’s I need for tonight’s tea. Chamomile flowers for relaxation, lavender buds for soothing, lemon balm leaves for uplifting, and spearmint leaves for a bit of sweetness. Dropping the leaves into the metal pod, I clasp it closed before pouring the water into the kettle.

It doesn’t take long for the water to boil. Turning the burner off, I let that steep for a few minutes while I pull down my mug and agave syrup. My wooden tea spoon sits balanced on the lip of the saucer plate. My mug is handmade from the pottery class we hold once a month in the Pack House as a fun project for the elders. I don’t partake but I’ve been known to buy the pieces.

With my tea in hand, I grab my book and head out to the porch. Finding Selene still exactly where I last saw her, I can’t help but smirk. Avoiding looking at her for fear of what I might see, I move to my own porch swing and sit down. The bitter sweet tea washes over my tongue as I take the first sip.

Later that evening as I pace back and forth in my bedroom, the restless energy between my wolf and I has prevented me from resting. He wants to go watch over her as she sleeps and I want him to realize how creepy that is. Since I’ve refused what he’s asked, we have spent the better part of three hours arguing.

“What if we just go check on her? She might be hurt.”

I grumble because even I know that’s a sad excuse.“You know she’s fine.”