Page 7 of Eye of the Hurricane (Weathering Doves Harbor #2)

Ares

Yep, it’s official. If I ever see another empty paint canvas in my life, I’m going to break it over my knee. In fact, I might also set the broken pieces on fire.

Adding emotion into my art seemed really easy in the moment. When Vines told me I needed to include it, my first thought was oh yeah, no problem.

That was fucking stupid. Maybe I can paint something and add the emotion in later? Is that even a thing? Can it just be added in like details? I thought my painting had emotion.

Ravyn is somewhere behind me, reading some book on her tablet. I turn to get her opinion and she’s laid out on the couch, big brown curls splayed around her head.

“Ray, do you think my paintings have emotion in them?” I ask. She lazily sets her tablet down, then turns to face me and my blank canvas.

“Is blank an emotion?” she asks, a shit-eating grin creeping up her face.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes,” I grumble, rolling my eyes at her .

“It’s part of the charm,” she says with a shrug of the shoulders.

“That’s my line.” Specifically it’s the line I throw Katherine’s way quite often.

“Yeah, that you stole from me.”

I glare at her in response but she’s probably right. I feel like my personality is a third Ravyn, a third Audra, and a third my family.

“I’m serious. You’ve seen a lot of my work, do you feel like there’s emotion in it?” She pushes herself off of the couch and stands to take a walk around the room.

I’m lucky enough that my parents let me turn the extra office in the house into a mini art studio.

There are paintings and photos of all different sizes hanging on every wall.

There are drawers filled with all the different mediums I’ve dabbled in over the years.

Hundreds of brands of paint, brushes, pallets, and other small tools litter the drawers, reflecting back a life time of practice.

Wish they’d reflect back the instruction manual on how to put emotion into this fucking canvas.

She walks around for a few minutes, taking a moment to examine each work piece by piece. Finally, she turns to me.

“I don’t know if I’m the best person to be answering this for you. They’re really good. I couldn’t tell you the emotion behind any of them, though. I don’t know if I could with any art,” she admits.

“Professor Vines said my work was void of emotion altogether.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch.” At least her delivery was sweet when she said it.

“You’ll figure it out. When you’re feeling something, paint. That should help.”

Ares

We’re going on a date tonight

Katherine

Can’t, work tomorrow.

Ares

I’ll make us dinner at your house, you won’t even have to go out. I’ll make sure you can get to bed at a decent hour.

Katherine

Okay.

Ares

Allergies?

Katherine

None. I hate yogurt though.

Ares

Well there goes the yogurt parfaits I had planned for dinner.

Katherine

You’re ridiculous lol. I’ll get home around 4.

Ares

Then I’ll be there around 5:30

Sure, being Kat’s fake boyfriend is mostly out of the kindness of my heart.

A favor for a friend. I’d be lying, though, if I said there wasn’t a small voice in my head telling me that this is my opportunity to show her she can have her dreams and a relationship.

She’s under the impression she has to choose and she chooses career every time.

So I spend the afternoon getting ready for our fake date. A quiet, nagging voice that sounds an awful lot like my mom echos in my head. It’s a million thoughts of how messy this fake dating thing could get, why it’s a bad idea, and why I shouldn’t do this.

I run to the grocery store and spend half of my time there deciding what to make for her. I skim aisle by aisle trying to choose. I consider eggplant parmesan before realizing that eggplant as a surprise maybe isn’t the best foot to start on.

I decide to go with something more universal and pick fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken strips. I grab some garlic bread and red wine to go with and head out.

Halfway between the grocery store and Katherine’s house, I decide I should’ve grabbed flowers. I pull over and look up the nearest grocery store or gas station selling flowers. In a rare bit of luck, there’s an actual flower stand less than a mile out of my way.

I pull into the parking lot of this flower shop; an unfortunate mix of gravel and sand. Still, I park the car and head for the flower stand.

The sign above the stand looks like sun-bleached driftwood painted with a baby blue that is almost fully faded. The sign reads “Dahlia’s Flowers & Seeds.”

When I walk through the open doorway, the whole storefront is no larger than a living room.

The aroma of floras is overpowering, but pleasant.

There’s a woman behind the cash register who looks to be no younger than seventy-five.

She’s short and overall, tiny. I can’t quite place it but she just looks like she’s meant to be in a place like this.

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, making her way from behind the counter and over to the walls of flowers. Her voice is hoarse, but soft .

“A date, kind of.” I can’t help but chuckle at how silly that sounds. “It’s a long story.”

“If you’re unsure of the situation, can I suggest a mix?”

“Yeah, I’ll take all the help I can get. Never bought flowers for someone before,” I admit. A soft smile tugs at her mouth.

“Must be special if she’s the first girl you’ve bought flowers for, hm?”

“She’s a friend of mine. She’s never been on a date. It’s more like a practice date,” I explain. She just hums in response and gives me a half-hearted nod, like she doesn’t believe me one bit.

I give the woman the okay to pick the flowers for me. I follow her mindlessly as she picks a flower here and there from each type. By the time she takes them up to the cash register, it’s a full-on bouquet.

She lets me pick out what color wrapping to put them in, I pick yellow.

She lets me pick a ribbon to tie around it, I pick the one patterned in sunflowers.

The finished product is a bouquet of pinks, blues, purples, and oranges wrapped up in a sunny yellow paper with sunflower ribbon holding it all together.

“Thank you so much…” I pause to read the name on her tag. “Dahlia.” Of course .

“I hope you’ll come back and buy her more flowers.”

“Me, too.”

The drive to Katherine’s house leaves my pulse thumping through my entire body. I don’t quite know why. Maybe my heart didn’t get the memo that this date is fake.

I feel silly knocking on her door with grocery bags in one hand and a big bouquet in the other.

I look like I’m either here to court her and ask her father for permission to take her out for a night on the town.

Or like I’m her deadbeat of a boyfriend here to apologize for cheating on her for the thirtieth time.

All the thoughts about how this might look disintegrate the second she answers the door. She’s in a solid red, floor-length dress, with the thinnest straps I’ve ever seen. It wouldn’t be a Katherine Graeves outfit without the matching red heels and the silver jewelry with red accents.

“You brought flowers?” The usual attitude and playful indifference is absent from her voice. It’s soft and full of something sweeter.

“It’s your first date. You deserve flowers for your first date,” I tell her. A smile so subtle it’s almost invisible tilts at the edge of her cherry lips.

“You look stunning, if it isn’t obvious.” I hold the bouquet out to her and she takes it without hesitation. She steps out of the door frame, making room for me to come in.

She offers a hundred times to help me as I’m cooking in her kitchen and I start to get the vibe she’s got a real problem with letting someone else be in control. Every step of the way, she leans against the island and watches me intently.

I pay more attention to her than the food I’m cooking and I hope that when we sit down to eat, the flavor doesn’t show it. She’s distracting enough as is but in this red dress and smiling at me across this kitchen? I’m a goner.

As I wrap up the last couple of touches, she sets the table. She has a full kitchen table which is odd considering it’s just her and her cat living here. Maybe she has family that visits a lot. Although, given the stories I’ve heard of her mom, I wouldn’t guess it.

Even though her kitchen table is big enough to seat eight, she sets the table for us to sit on one end, directly across from each other .

“So, is this the Ares Dawkins special? You cook dinner and bring her flowers?” she asks, sitting across from me.

“I’ve never brought someone flowers. Actually, now that I think of it, I’ve never cooked dinner for a date either. Just Ravyn and Audra.”

“Why go all out for a fake date?” She doesn’t meet my eyes as she asks, looking at her plate and pushing her food around, instead.

“Someday, you’re going to have all of the things you’re reaching for and when you do, you’ll find the time for relationships. I want you to know what you deserve when that happens,” I tell her.

Blush spreads across her cheeks, kissing the bridge of freckles that stretch across her nose. A smile dares to tug at her lips but she quickly pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to stop it.

She finally takes a bite of the chicken and alfredo. As soon as it touches her tongue she rolls her head back, moaning. The sound that leaves her mouth and the look of pure bliss on her face goes straight to my cock.

I’m instantly trying to think of anything else to make a quick recovery. I start thinking of math problems and grandmas. Katherine’s voice draws me out of my own head.

“So what are you really like on a date?” Her smile is big like she’s excited to learn. If I know anything about her, it’s so she can make fun of me for it later.

“I don’t date much, Kat,” I admit. She rolls her eyes and gives me a hum of disapproval.

“I hear stories, I know that’s not true,” she remarks. It doesn’t take a genius to know what she’s talking about. I have a bit of a reputation around here .

“Just because I’ve had a lot of hookups doesn’t mean I’ve been on a lot of dates.”

“Is this the part where I slut shame you?” she teases while nudging my ankle with the front of her high heel.

“I’m sorry, did you just make a sexual comment about me on the first date?” I ask, pulling my hand up to an open mouth with fake shock.

“Ohhh, I see. You’re turning the tables to slut shame me,” she exclaims, propping her elbows up on the table and resting her chin on the backs of her hands.

“Kitty Kat, you being a slut would never be a shame.” The confidence on her face falters and the blush that was beginning to fade is now back with a vengeance.

A loud, true laugh breaks free from her.

“I’ve got to say, slut is a new one for me.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t that kind of a staple insult when girls are jealous?

” I find it damn near impossible to believe.

Not because I think Katherine is a slut—I don’t.

I just know how jealous teenagers are. I know that a woman as beautiful as Katherine would have been hated by girls at her school.

I know how evil girls can be, especially young girls. I know it from Audra and Ravyn. Nothing on this planet scares me more than a teenage girl who thinks some other girl has a crush on her mediocre boyfriend.

“I don’t know. Not one I’ve had used against me.”

A few beats of silence fill the room as I fish for things to say. I think of what I’d say on a real date but I fall short. I don’t go on real dates and when I’m looking for a hookup, I don’t take the time to get to know them.

“How has no one taken you out before?” I ask. It’s the only thought I’ve had all night and it’s the only thing I can think to say in that moment .

“You know how. I don’t let them. My commitment to saying no isn’t specific to you, you know?”

“Guys must throw themselves at you,” I state. She shrugs, as if it’s true but it doesn’t matter to her. Maybe I know that. Maybe I need to hear it.

“I don’t notice. Except for you, of course. You don’t allow yourself to go unnoticed.”

“Aww, Kat, you notice me?” I tease, winking at her across the table. It has its intended effect when blush burns like a brush fire across her cheeks.

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes and a giggle bubbles from her. “Is your Roman your only sibling?” The question is so random, it throws me off guard.

“Huh?”

“If we’re going to pass as boyfriend and girlfriend, we should probably know basic information about each other.”

“Okay, I’ll play. Yes, Ro is my only sibling.” I pause, tapping a finger on my chin. “You talk a lot about your mom, what’s your dad like?” I ask.

“Better, but not great. I don’t know how much you can respect someone who lets their daughter be treated that way.

Plus, it’s his money that she holds over my head.

So, if he really wanted to, he could stop it.

He’s not as outright mean, though, so I guess that’s something,” she says with a huff.

One that tells me all of this weighs on her.

“And siblings?” I ask. She rolls her eyes.

“I have one brother, Noah. He’s okay, I guess,” a bitter laugh rolls out of her mouth.

“He doesn’t have the backbone to stand up for me—or himself for that matter.

But when we’re alone, he’s sweet and supportive,” she says.

She’s giving me more than I thought she would.

This has become my favorite part of the evening .

She abruptly sucks in a breath and changes the subject. “Favorite color?”

“Yellow,” I say simply. “You?”

“Pink, I think. I like them all.”

“Favorite food?”

“Can I just broadly say Italian?”

“You can say whatever you want.” She smiles, leaning closer into the table.

“Do you think we can really pull this off?” she asks.

“Is that your question?” I reply.

“Yes.”

“I think we can. Do you?”

“I hope.”

We spend the next hour or so asking each other a million questions. Everything from favorite numbers to whether or not we believe in soulmates and aliens.

She talks and laughs with a smile on her face and I spend every minute looking for ways to keep it going.