Page 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

K itty stood at her easel, brush moving in slow, delicate strokes, her head tilted just slightly as she studied the canvas like it had whispered a secret to her.

Birdy sat on the old corduroy loveseat. Her legs were curled under her.

She half-watched her sister. The other half of her was lost in thought.

Her sister's town house was warm from the old radiator humming in the corner.

The only other sound was the occasional swish of brush on canvas and the distant tick of a kitchen clock.

She and Kitty had been relatively quiet children, Birdy lost in a book while Kitty scratch-scratching in a sketchbook. They could sit in companionable silence all day long without exchanging words and call it a good day.

“You’re painting foxes again,” Birdy said, taking a sip of her now-lukewarm tea.

“I like foxes. They’re clever. Observant.”

Birdy stood and walked closer, the mug cradled in her hands.

The painting was nearly complete—a snowy forest scene, hushed and dreamy, with two foxes in the center.

The vixen was vivid: reddish brown, alert, watching something just beyond the frame.

The silver fox beside her was already moving, his head turned slightly away, as if he hadn’t noticed her waiting there.

Kitty's brush moved gently over the canvas, adding a soft shimmer of white at the silver fox’s paws, like snow disturbed by motion.

Her face was calm, but there was a tenderness in her expression, something wistful in the way she lingered over each stroke.

No, that wasn't wistfulness. It was longing.

Birdy didn’t say anything. She just watched her sister—watched how Kitty’s hand slowed when it passed over the silver fox’s form. Watched how her eyes softened as if she were memorizing him with every line.

The vixen wasn’t chasing. She was just there. Waiting. Hoping. Holding her place in the snow while the one she loved wandered away from her again.

That was Kitty and her husband. They'd married soon after Kitty had graduated high school, and then he'd been deployed.

Then another deployment. Birdy didn't think he'd come back even once.

She wasn't sure if he ever would. But Kitty kept sitting here by the window painting him in flowers and foxes.

Birdy knew she could never endure what her sister was going through. Waiting like that? Staying soft like that? It required a faith she no longer possessed.

“So you and the social worker?” Kitty let the question hang in the air.

Birdy wasn't about to answer, but she wanted to set the record straight. “Are going to war—yes.”

“Hmmm? Sounds like you were at some kind of peace accords before that.”

“He helped me with an IT problem is all.” Birdy shrugged, downing the last of her tea.

“Did he untangle your wires or something?”

“Grow up, kitten.”

Kitty turned around to face her sister. The smirk she'd been wearing before melted from her face as she looked at Birdy seriously. “When was your last date?”

“Define date.”

“Someone who makes your stomach flutter and your guard slip.”

Birdy rolled her eyes. “That's never happened.”

Except it had happened. But not on a date. In an online chatroom.

Kitty set down her brush and came close to her sister. “You keep pretending you don’t want companionship, but you do. You always have, Bird Brain.”

Kitty had never even dated. She'd married straight out of high school. Her only kiss, so far as Birdy knew, had been at the wedding ceremony. She and her new husband hadn't even spent their wedding night together.

“You’re still waiting for him,” Birdy said, her voice a little quieter. “Even now.”

“That’s not the same as being alone.”

Birdy opened her mouth to argue, but her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, not expecting anything important. But there it was.

From: Paul Winters

Subject: I owe you an apology.

Birdy stared at the screen. The world didn’t tilt or freeze or spin—it just paused. Like even time held its breath, eager to know what she was going to do next.

“Who’s that?”

Birdy held the phone away from her sister. She wasn’t ready to open it or open up about her relationship with Paul Winters. Not yet.

“It's just work.”

Birdy sat back down on the corduroy loveseat. Her phone's interface was dark in her palm. The snow picked up again outside Kitty’s studio window. It swirled in delicate eddies past the glass, making a pretty picture. Neither sister noticed.

Birdy's thumb pressed the HOME button to bring the phone back to light. Her index finger hovered over the email from Paul. She didn’t want to read it. She really didn’t want to care what it said.

But she tapped it open anyway.

Birdy,

I want to acknowledge my tone earlier. It was unprofessional, and for that I apologize. I hope we can move forward constructively—for the good of the case. Let’s focus on what matters.

– Paul Winters

That was it? That was all? No joke? No philosophical bent?

She read it again. Slower this time.

His words were the same. No warmth. No sincerity. Not even a you were right, I was wrong . Just a chilly little nugget of courtesy wrapped in legalese. A classic non-apology, the kind designed to absolve the sender without actually admitting any guilt.

Her stomach twisted—not from heartbreak but from heat. From the sting of irritation creeping up her spine. She'd wanted him to apologize. But she'd wanted it to be real. She'd wanted his words to matter, like they had in the chat. She'd wanted his words to fix what was broken.

He’d treated her like a courtroom opponent instead of a human being. And now he wanted to play nice? No, thank you.

She exhaled sharply through her nose and locked the phone with a snap.

“Was it him?” Kitty asked, peeking over from the easel.

Birdy stood and smoothed her hands down her sweater. “It was.”

Kitty wiped her paintbrush clean, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “And?”

“It was nothing.” Birdy grabbed her coat from the peg. “Just a weak excuse for an apology. All professionalism and no substance.”

“And yet you look like a woman about to make a rash decision.”

Birdy grabbed her purse. “I am. I'm going on a date.”

Kitty blinked. “You’re going on that date?” Then she squealed—an actual full-body squeal—as she dropped her paint rag and bounded over. “Oh my gosh! Okay—okay—you pull up the dating app and I'll find you something to wear!”

“I have clothes in my own closet.”

“Clothes that scream you're a shark. You'll wear something of mine. Something that says confident but soft. Smart but fun. Should we go jewel tones? You look great in jewel tones.”

Birdy let her sister drag her toward the tiny spare closet Kitty used for canvas storage—now apparently a makeshift wardrobe. She wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but she wasn’t frowning anymore either.

Paul Winters could keep his cold, careful apology. Birdy had better things to do than wait around for a man who couldn’t handle her shine. Tonight, she was going to remind herself that she still could turn heads—even if it was just to prove a point.