The Coldest Summer✓

Seventeen

"Oh, there you are." Sam's voice is laced with relief as she sees Liam emerging from the barn—I suppose. "What were you doing in there?" she asks him.

I hold my breath while listening attentively to their exchange.

"I'm working," Liam replies smoothly and casually. He's something else! "Is there any problem, Samantha?" I can easily imagine the small furrow on his face.

"Um, nothing," Sam answers coolly. "I was surprised that neither you, nor Kira, were at home. I even tried to call you but you weren't picking."

Oh boy! My heart pounds quickly at the mention of my name. I bend down and pick the brush that's no longer useful. It's smeared with dust and dry leaves, and disposition can hardly allow me to proceed with this painting job.

"That's because I don't have my phone with me right now," Liam replies.

"Oh," Sam utters.

Should I step out? I flounder on how the image of me and Liam, alone, inside this secluded place would be expounded by Sam.

"Do you need anything?" Liam asks her, disrupting my unavailing thoughts.

"Well, I'd like to talk to you about something important," Sam tells him. I get a sudden dryness in my throat upon hearing this.

Is she going to ask him out? Confessing her feelings at last?

A small pause of silence takes a hold of the moment, making me gulp. Why isn't he saying anything? I bark inwardly, afraid somehow.

But afraid of what? I can't even tell.

"Of course. But can we do it later? I'm not done with the work yet," Liam prompts casually.

"It's okay, I just—" Sam stammers. My brows crunch, marveling the sight of her face and body gestures. "Never mind. I'll wait until you're done," she adds, nervous.

"Actually, Ms. Jones is also here," Liam utters after three seconds or so. "She's on the ladder, painting with a grumpy face."

What the heck! I quickly shift from where I've been standing so reverently as though making a single step is a mortal sin.

"Kira?" Sam gasps.

"Yes, I asked her to give us a hand when she was walking aimlessly." Liam details the situation and I feel exposed, hoping for a fine response from Sam.

But she's silent; maybe too silent for my taste.

Hence I decide to take my chances and step out of the barn.

"God, I'm tired," I announce with an exhausted yawn, stretching my arms with a brush full of paint to back up my allegation.

What a corn artist! My subconscious shakes her head pitifully.

"Kira? You were here this whole time?" Sam's voice is rather disturbing—accusing even—while giving me a dubious look.

"Yeah." I sigh heavily, marching closer. "I was . . . painting?"

Liam chuckles.

Sam throws a quick glance at him. "You . . . made her paint?"

"Yes. Ms. Jones here insisted that painting isn't as hard as people make it sound." Liam says. He's seriously making jokes under this circumstance. "Didn't you?" He looks at me with nonchalance, and I wonder if he ever finds this situation risky at all.

How does he do it?

"Yeah." I glare begrudgingly at him. "And I still find it doable, just so you know."