“She did what?” Silver glances at me, something like surprise lifting the mask from his face for a bare moment in time.

“I shoulda killed her when we got home, but, ya know, kids will be kids.”

I pluck a purple lilac that was growing in the overgrown yard, and the silence makes me self-conscious. I glance up to find him watching me with the weirdest look of self-satisfaction. “What?” I ask, defensive.

He shakes his head, a smile teasing at his lips. “You called this place home.”

I shove my short hair from my eyes, a small smile turning my lips. It’s bittersweet, really. I haven’t gotten up the courage up to return to my old home… but now, this place, with it’s creaking boards and soft mattresses and rustic fashion, has begun to feel like home. Partially because of who is here and that makes it special. “I did, eh? And where do you call home?”

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A guarded expression overcomes his face, erasing the smirk. “Many places I’ve lived, many places I’ve known, but few have been home.”

I strip the lilac of its lower leaves, peeking up at him, only to find him watching the house, his face impassive to most. But I’m beginning to know the many facets that makes him, him, and I can see the clench of his strong jaw and the pain he tries to hide in his eyes. I scootch over, barely touching his arm with mine, trying to offer what little comfort I can.

He glances down, one eyebrow raised, but then he softens and lifts his arm. I duck under it, and he squeezes my shoulder. I lean into him, feeling safe in the curve of his arm even with the knife hilts poking my ribs.

Pine and knife oil surround me, and I squeak when he kisses the top of my head, a blush deepening my cheeks.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Relax, mea tigris. I don’t bite.”