Page 18 of Crystal Iris #1

Fifteen

“The artist’s world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep.” – Paul Strand

“ N ice boots,” Hoyt says when I come downstairs after changing. I’m wearing my new outfit, a perfect replica of the mannequin from the store where I bought it. I just hope my shoes don’t need breaking in.

“I hope they’re the right kind,” I reply.

“They’ll do,” he says with a quick smile.

Akira somehow is wearing an old pair. “You had boots?” I ask her. I completely forgot to tell her to bring some.

“No, I borrowed them from the closet in my room,” she says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Your closet has… clothes?”

“Yeah, doesn’t yours?”

“No, it was empty.”

Hoyt is already waiting for us outside and doesn’t hear our last exchange. I don’t want to think about why there are girl things in a room in his house.

The barn is at least a mile away, and with the ground wet, I get mud all over me. My new clothes quickly blend in.

“Broc!” Hoyt yells at the guy brushing a brown horse. The tall, strong man is wearing a cowboy hat. He stops what he’s doing and walks over to us. He’s one of those people who smiles with their eyes.

“I’m Iris,” I say.

His tan, muscled arms shake my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is my friend Akira,” I introduce them. He looks down at his hands and removes his glove before shaking hers. I notice from the corner of my eye that their hands… linger.

I walk straight to pet Blackwater; he’s the only black horse around.

“Can I?” I gesture to touch him.

“Yes, but first, let him smell you.”

I move my hand closer to the horse’s face.

The three of them laugh out loud.

“It’s not a dog,” Hoyt says, coming closer to pet the animal himself.

I make a face at him. “I’ve never…”

“I can tell.” He’s smiles.

I run my hands over the softest, smoothest, and shiniest coat. I could swear Blackwater’s eyes can see right through me.

“What’s this one’s name?” Akira asks, petting the brown one with white spots.

“That’s Lumberjack, our tobiano,” says Broc. “And this one is Elmwood, his foal.” He points to the smaller one.

“Can we ride them?” Akira asks.

“Broc, you take Iris. Akira, you come with me,” Hoyt says, getting the saddles ready.

“I can ride my own horse,” Akira says, already looking around.

“Not here you can’t. I’m not going to have you two getting hurt while staying under my roof.”

“How hard can it be?” I ask.

“I find it pretty easy,” Broc says, offering me a hand.

No amount of yoga would strengthen the muscles I’m using. I’m holding so tightly to the reins that my hands are getting red marks .

“You can let go. I’m not going to let you fall.” Broc is being respectful, though he’s close enough that I know I’m safe in place.

Hoyt and Akira are far ahead, going much faster than us. I’m sure she’s begging Hoyt to speed up.

“What if he starts… racing?” I ask Broc.

“He won’t. Jet here is a fast one, but he knows not to take off when it isn’t time.” We’re riding a brown horse with a white blaze—Broc mentions that’s what the white streak on their head is called.

I try to let go a bit.

“How long have you worked with horses?” I ask him.

“I grew up here, with Hoyt. My dad worked for his dad, training the horses.”

“So you live close by?”

“Yeah, in the west house.”

“West house?”

“Yeah, Hoyt wouldn’t take no for an answer. After his dad died, he made sure we moved in there—my brother and me.”

“So you live here, on his land?”

“Yep, he’s a good boss, but… he always treated Sawyer and me like brothers.”

“And does Sawyer take care of the horses too?”

“Yes, you’ll meet him tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Hoyt invited us for dinner. We never say no when he’s cooking.”

The land is vast and devastatingly beautiful. Miles and miles of grass stretch underneath us, as far as the eye can see. The tall trees sway gently with the breeze while the mountains watch us from afar. We ride to the river and back.

I have a hard time getting off the horse, and I could have done without Hoyt watching me dismount ungracefully. I thank Broc for his help .

“Anytime. See you both at dinner.” He tips his hat to Akira before heading back to the barn.

“I need a shower,” I tell Akira as we take off our boots in the mudroom before entering the house, copying Hoyt’s habit.

“You ladies are free to roam around until seven.”

“What’s at seven?” Akira asks.

“Dinner,” he replies.

My room has a private suite, and I almost want to cry when the extra powerful water jets start doing their thing.

The bathroom is simple yet luxurious, like the rest of the house.

Large, irregular brown stones cover the walls while tile lines the floor.

There are plenty of fluffy towels, nicer than the ones in any hotel I’ve stayed at.

I take my time drying every part of my body, letting myself enjoy their softness.

I still have another hour before dinner.

I offered to help with the food, but Hoyt dismissed me, telling me to relax.

I’m not the best at doing nothing—my mind has a way of ruining those moments.

Still, I’m trying to take my time, enjoying my shower and the view.

What am I supposed to wear? I look at my wide-open suitcase.

It’s probably a casual thing, even though Hoyt has invited his friends.

I would hate to be overdressed and feel like I don’t belong with them.

I would also hate to look… unattractive.

I text Akira: What are you wearing to dinner?

She doesn’t reply and comes straight to my room instead.

“Let me see what you brought,” she says, starting to pull things out.

“How many pairs of jeans did you bring?” She’s counting them.

“I told you, I have nothing to wear.”

“Wait here,” she says, walking out the door.

“Please bring something… simple!” I yell after at her. I’m taller than Akira, yet we wear similar sizes.

“Two options,” she says when she returns, carrying a couple of tops. “This shirt”—she lifts a purple long-sleeve shirt with a lion illustration on the front—“or this one.” She holds up a tight-fitting black sweater. It’s not really a choice.

“It smells amazing,” I say, coming downstairs and finding the table already set for six. Even with the nice china, it looks casual, to my relief.

“What kind of drink can I get you?” Hoyt asks as he places the bread on the table. He’s wearing a navy-blue shirt that hugs every muscle.

“I’ll take a glass of wine,” says Akira.

“Wine sounds good. Can I help you? I feel bad, you’re doing all the work.”

“I’m the host. Go pick a bottle,” he says, pointing to a door.

I open it to find a storage room. Chef-quality ingredients fill the shelves, including truffle oils, jars of sun-dried tomatoes, capers, and other similar items. I can tell already that Hoyt takes his hobby seriously.

On the other side, I find racks of wine bottles.

I pick one with a nice label. On the way out, I pass a collection of local whiskey.

I tell myself to take it easy with the drinking. I need to keep myself… controlled.

We’re sipping our wine when his guests arrive.

Broc says hello while taking off his coat and hat. He’s carrying a pack of beer. His brother looks a lot like him, except with longer hair and sadder eyes. Much sadder.

“This is Sawyer,” Broc introduces us.

“How do you do?” he replies. Akira seems to stir something in him—like her presence is… bothering him. I look at her, trying to figure out why. She could almost pass as someone local with her plaid flannel.

“Did you… borrow this shirt from the closet?” I pull her aside.

“I don’t own any flannels, and it looked comfortable.”

“Akira!”

“What?! They’re probably from an—” She stops herself when she sees me fidget.

Hoyt walks back from the kitchen, carrying a large covered pan that smells divine. “I should have asked. Any food allergies?” He looks at both of us.

We shake our heads.

“Then let’s eat.”

“Nice shirt,” Hoyt says to Akira when we finally all sit down at the table.

“Are you expecting… someone else?” I ask him, eyeing the empty chair.

“I thought you said Maeve was home,” Hoyt asks Sawyer.

“She is. She should be here any minute. You know how she is.”

The door opens less than five minutes later.

“You guys couldn’t wait?” she asks, taking off her coat.

“Like you weren’t trying to make an entrance,” Broc says, taking a piece of bread.

“You know where the wine is,” Hoyt says without even lifting his gaze.

I study the food when she sits down.

“Hi, I’m Iris,” I say to the long brown-haired girl.

“Maeve.”

I can’t help but notice the similarities.

“Are you guys…?”

“Yes, siblings. Unfortunately,” she smiles at Broc and Sawyer.

“It’s a pleasure to have you around too, sis,” Broc says.

“I’m Akira.”

“Now that we all know each other, can we eat? I’m starving,” Sawyer asks.

“Always so... pleasant,” Maeve says to her brother.

They all act like siblings—Hoyt is just as comfortable with them as they are with each other. I can tell they’ve grown up together. Including the beautiful sister, with whom Hoyt avoids making eye contact as much as possible. I’m not sure I want to know the reason behind it.

Sawyer keeps glancing at Akira. By the third time, she demands, “Just say it!” She looks right at him. I freeze, feeling the tension.

“Where did you get that shirt?” Sawyer asks.

“From the closet,” Akira replies.

“Well, it’s not yours.”

“And?”

I watch them, feeling very uncomfortable with their tone. I knew she shouldn’t have.

“It’s my sister’s,” Hoyt says. “And you’re welcome to anything in there; she wouldn’t care. She... left them here.”

I look at all of them as the mention of a sister, whom I’ve never even seen a photo of, is brought up.

“Now, please, Sawyer. Some manners, they’re my guests.”

“This is delicious,” I say, trying to break the awkwardness. Hoyt smiles at me, picking up on my gesture.

Hoyt sits to my right, at the head of the table, while Akira sits to my left. I work hard to make sure no parts of my body are within touching distance of his.

“It really is,” Broc says.

“And what exactly am I eating?” Sawyer asks.

“Braised pork,” Hoyt answers.

“The sauce?” Akira asks.

“Calvados and heavy cream. French-style.” None of us knows what that is, but we all clear our plates.

“How do you both know Hoyt?” Maeve asks, helping us clear the table.

“We met at... an event... a party... in Boston,” I reply.

“You guys live there?” she asks.

“They’re Harvard professors,” Hoyt says, returning with dessert.

The girl looks surprised by his answer. The comment seems to tone down her... aggressiveness.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” I ask him, taking a serving of the mousse .

“Self-taught. Books and cooking shows.”

“Remember the first things he made?” Sawyer asks Broc.

“That garlicky chicken? Inedible,” Broc says with a face, and they all laugh.

“I needed a... distraction after Dad left me with all this,” Hoyt explains. “It was either cooking or drinking.”

“I’m glad you picked cooking,” Maeve says from the other side.

Hoyt nods at her.

“You cooked, let me at least do the dishes,” I say to Hoyt in the kitchen.

“See this thing here?” He points at the large dishwasher. “It’s my best friend.”

I help him load it.

“So you have a sister?” I ask him while placing another plate in the machine.

“Johanna. I haven’t seen her since... three years.”

“Younger?”

“She’s five years younger than me.”

“They seem... nice, your friends.” I change the subject, sensing he doesn’t want to talk about Johanna.

“They are, if you can pass their bullshit first.”

“Does Maeve live in the... west house too?”

“No, she just comes by sometimes.”

Akira brings the rest of the plates, and we finish loading everything.

“No bets during the first rounds,” Hoyt says, dealing the cards.

“Bets?” I ask him, taking a sip from my drink. I wasn’t planning on having whiskey, but I couldn’t resist when all of them got a glass, the bottle sitting in the center of the table.

“It’s all about the cash with those two,” Broc says, gesturing to Hoyt and Sawyer.

“And not with you?” Akira asks.

“I play for the... fun,” Broc answers.

Hoyt fakes a cough.

The three men take turns explaining the rules of poker to us.

“So that’s a straight flush,” Broc says.

“This is complicated,” Akira says.

“Says the astrophysics Harvard professor,” I comment, and they all laugh.

I have no idea how to play, yet I do anyway. We all joke around, and I feel content. It’s nice to feel at ease around people, even with Maeve’s judgmental eyes on me the entire evening. Akira and I watch a few rounds while the boys and Maeve move on to betting money.

“You pull this shit every time,” Sawyer says, standing up.

“And you’re always a sore loser,” Broc says.

“I’m out of here. Thanks for dinner, boss,” he says to Hoyt. “Are you coming, Maeve?”

“Yes,” she says, even though I can feel she wants to stay.

“Nice meeting you both. See you around, Hoyt.” She exits with her brother.

“What’s the deal with him?” I hear Akira ask Broc.

“Walk out with me?” Hoyt asks me, opening the back door.