Counting Fireflies (On Thin Ice Book 1) by Anna Katmore

Author:Anna Katmore [Katmore, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-06-02T18:30:00+00:00

12. He’s the target

Ruth’s on the mend. She insisted on getting up Saturday morning and going through her usual routine. But it’s obvious her hands are still a bit shaky, since she dropped the sugar bowl at breakfast, which I’m now fixing on the kitchen table for her after lunch. It only broke into three pieces, but it’ll never be quite the same.

I’m only repairing it because it’s a treasured heirloom from her grandma and one of Ruth’s favorite dishes. Even if it never holds sugar again, her collection stays intact. In the meantime, the sweet stuff is scooped straight from the package.

“What are you doing?” a slightly curious and somewhat impatient voice sounds behind me. I glance over my shoulder at North, leaning against an archway with his arms crossed.

“Your grandma asked me to fix the sugar bowl,” I tell him as I press the last shard firmly onto the broken edge of the other two. Then I smile to myself. “She said she couldn’t trust you with something so delicate because you have bear-like fingers and have never been able to handle glue.”

Ruth’s accusation lures him closer, and he looms over me with an air of grandeur. He places his hands on the table in front of me, fingers spread and raised. “Do these look like bear hands to you?”

I’m captivated by the sight, as memories of our meal at the diner flood my mind. His fingers are lean and strong, and like most days recently, his hands are clad in fingerless black gloves. I remember how they felt as he traced my palm with them yesterday. No, these aren’t bear paws. They’re far more dangerous. Like a wolf’s.

“But she’s right,” he suddenly admits, rubbing his neck with a laugh as if just now recalling his own childhood. Turning toward the window above the sink, sunlight streaming in, he gazes out. “While other kids in school used Elmer’s glue to stick beads or leaves onto their artwork, I only managed to glue my thumb to my left ear.”

I lean back, savoring the view for a second. I liked North in his light blue Fireflies jersey, but black is definitely his color. Those ever-black skate pants and sweatshirts are like a part of his personality. Not gloomy. But mysterious. Strong. And self-conscious.

North is becoming a steady constant in my life here on the farm.

When he turns back to me, though, all those traits vanish, leaving behind only the impatient expression of a twenty-one-year-old clearly bored. “Come on, put that away and let’s do something!” he begs in a tone I can’t resist.

“What do you want to do?”

“I dunno.” He leans against the sink, gripping the edge near his hips with both hands. “We could go down to the lake.”

“It’s frozen,” I counter, putting away the all-purpose glue, then I place the repaired sugar bowl with its tiny blue flowers on the top shelf, allowing the glue to dry.

North slides along the edge of the kitchen counter, making room for me while eyeing me skeptically.

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