The City of Crows by Bethany Lovejoy (novels in english .txt) 📗

He said, digging around his cupboards for some glasses. “Why, do you think they’re bad? I paint too, I’m not very good at it, but people like to buy colorful things as well so...” he shrugged.

“No, I think they’re nice,” I admitted, my eyes seeking out the next ones. “I don’t know many artists…” or any, at least not gainfully employed ones.

He snorted, withdrawing two burnt orange colored mugs and setting them onto his counter. “That’s because you didn’t draw them, so you can’t see everything that’s wrong with them. The shading’s off on that one, and she needs more white in the eyes. And the other one? I could have been more dynamic with my lines. I only put them up to remind me.”

“So you only put flawed pieces of art up to remind you?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

Leo looked over his shoulder at me, shooting me a look that almost seemed impatient, as if he was waiting for me to realize something. When I didn’t, he smiled, an exasperated and tired grin. “There is no perfect artwork, Lyra. But thank you for thinking so highly of mine.”

I could have argued otherwise, but I didn’t, sliding onto one of the stools on the other side of his kitchen bar, inwardly noting how much longer and bigger it was than mine. It was evident that I wasn’t the only one who thought he had beautiful work; otherwise, I doubted he could have afforded his apartment.

“I have portraits of you, you know,” Leo admitted, turning the burner on underneath the kettle he’d placed upon the stove. Embarrassed, he quickly added, “of course, I didn’t know you yet, so they’re not quite accurate. Just speculation as to what you could look like. If anything, it’s a little embarrassing. I’ll draw you again someday. I like to draw people who are important to me.”

“You’ll have to do it soon,” I informed him. “Otherwise, you’ll forget.”

He averted his eyes, looking back to the kettle. “No, I don’t think I will forget you, Lyra.”

My smile fell. I took in his back once more, lips pursing. I suppose he wouldn’t, not if he got to live. A part of me wanted to inform him that I wouldn’t forget him either, but that felt unnecessary. Still, I wanted to say something.

“You’re probably still cold,” Leo said. “You can pick out something from my armoire; I don’t have anything to hide. I promise there’s more than art smocks and sweaters handknit by my grandmother. I’m not such a square that I don’t own a t-shirt.”

“Right,” I said, pushing back from the counter as he began pulling out metal containers full of tea leaves and setting them on the counter. Noting his bare feet, I kicked off my shoes and set them to the side before approaching his armoire, a nagging feeling still tugging at me as I began to pull open drawers to search for suitable sleepwear. “Thank you, Leo,” I started, though it still didn’t feel like enough.

“You’re welcome,” he responded, the pop of an airtight container following soon after his voice as I dug through his t-shirts.

They were a bit bigger than I expected, longer to cover his torso and also a bit wider. The curse must have begun to take a little weight from him, and I wondered what he looked like underneath the sweaters for a moment, but then realized myself and quickly moved on from such thoughts. Back to thinking of how to repay Leo, I sighed, pulling a long, plain burgundy shirt from the uppermost drawer, then bending down to inspect the lower ones. “He didn’t hurt me or do anything wrong, not that I realized right away,” I explained. Information, that was the only way to repay Leo. “I mean, Rowan? He can be a really good guy, underneath it all.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I do, Leo, because I’m taking advantage of your hospitality to avoid my problems,” I sighed, finally locating a sea of cotton fabric that led me to believe it was the pajama pants drawer. Luckily, it was. “I mean, I must look pathetic to you.”

“You could never look pathetic to me,” he said, the clink of spoons being placed into cups ringing through the air.

“Would you believe he was already like this before?” I pulled his t-shirt over my head, swiftly reaching down to remove my jeans. “You know, weird. Not in the best of ways, always looking for a way out, a way to be better than everyone. I thought it was okay for a while, but… that’s not a life, not for me.”

“I’d believe anything you told me, Lyra,” Leo reassured. “And I won’t push you to go back or to ask him anything. If you don’t want to be there, I’m not going to make you go.” He sighed, and yet his voice made me believe him when he said, “I’m happy with what I have so far.”

I pulled the pants over my thighs quickly, wanting to gauge his face as I spoke again. My eyes peeked past the divider, voice carefully asking him, “So you think there’s a chance?”

His sleeves were rolled up, and the slender muscles on his forearms tensed as he leaned down on the counter. In front of him sat the mugs, both steaming as the tea brewed. “Well, not an outright one. I mean, I don’t have any idea of how powerful or anything like that, but…” He gestured to the mugs, beckoning me closer. “C’mon, sit, drink. Chamomile, lavender, and magnolia.”

I nodded, approaching the table with little protest.

“I added a little milk and honey, just to make it sweeter,” he informed me as I sat down, lifting his own cup to his lips before I could mistakenly grab it. I caught a hint of his tea’s almost black surface and its thickened texture, the smell of licorice hanging like a memory in the air.

I looked down at my yellow tea, the clouds of milk that were devoid in