Page 18 of Sparrow

I’ve just completed the thought when we turn sharply and slow, then come to a stop, and I look up to see that we’ve reached a house. There’s a light on outside, so I can see its features clearly, and I catalogue them quickly. Two stories, with an attic if I’m guessing, and all sharp, straight lines and clean cuts. Gabled roof and wood siding. It’s craftsman style, the beams beautiful stained wood while the walls themselves are a dusty sort of green, and there are so many windows I wonder if the place is half glass. A wide porch wraps around the front with rocking chairs and a swing, and the steps are lined with flowers.

Dear God, Mars Hawke lives in a fairy tale house. He actually is the mountain man-slash-lumberjack I’ve always thought of him as.

He drags me off the bike in the midst of this thought, sets me on my feet, and ushers me into the house, and here I see that the craftsman style reaches into the interior as well. The house is clean lines and rough timber, dark-stained wood and lighter green walls, and every piece of furniture matches.

It’s also neat, tidy, and almost painfully organized.

This isn’t the house of a bachelor.

“Who lives here?” I ask, unable to keep my mouth shut.

“I do. Obviously,” he snorts. “Do you think I just walk into houses that I don’t live in?”

“Well no, but...”

When I turn to him, he’s staring around the place as if he’s seeing it for the first time, his face caught in a moment of wonder, and I smile softly to myself. The mountain man-slash-lumberjack who lives in a fairytale cottage that he doesn’t look at very often, evidently.

“It’s just not what I expected, I guess,” I finish.

His eyes turn to me, soft and dreamy and mellow, and then sharpen. “Didn’t start as mine,” he says simply. “Built it for my mom when my dad died. When she... When she got cancer, I moved in to take care of her. Been here ever since.”

His voice trails off at the end of that sentence, gone soft and sort of hoarse, and I bite my lip. It carries pain and memory, a history he doesn’t touch often, and I suddenly feel guilty for having brought it up.

Like I’m imposing by even questioning the house he built for his mother.

But there’s something so sweet about it, so romantic, that I pause there for a moment. A mother who found herself alone after a lifetime of marriage. A son who saw her need and used his own hands to build her a home of her own.

And then he moved in here to take care of her when she was sick.

I feel my heart contract a bit too hard, then give a kick as if it’s just remembered it’s supposed to be beating, and put a hand to my chest. When Mars sees it, he comes sharply back into the present and takes my hand.

“Come on. Let’s get you to a bed.”

He’s interrupted when someone comes blowing through the door as if he’s riding the wind, though, and Mars turns us both back toward the entrance. Another man has entered, and this one is nothing like Mars. Where my step-uncle is bright and sunny, this one is dark, his hair the color of midnight and his eyes even blacker. His face is sharper, leaner, and more dangerous. Handsome in a way that makes me want to turn and run before he notices me.

“Orion,” Mars snaps. “Do you have to go everywhere like you’re late?”

“Yes,” this Orion snaps.

His eyes swivel to me and narrow as he takes me in, his gaze dropping to my feet and back up, and leaving trails of chills in its wake. I suddenly feel like I should have dressed better for the occasion. Showered.

Put on makeup.

“This the girl?” he asks, his voice a dark rumble.

“No, she’s someone I picked up on the street. Left the other one at the cottage,” Mars snaps.

Orion’s eyes suddenly warm with laughter and he glances at Mars, dimples showing in his cheeks. “We went all the way there to rescue her and you left her there? Seems inefficient, Mars.”

Instead of answering, Mars growls, “What did you do with the guy?”

Orion gestures sharply, brushing this off. “Figured we didn’t want him up here to cause trouble when he regains consciousness. I gave him to Rookie. Told him to take him down the mountain.”

Mars pauses a beat. “Using what, his bicycle? Last time I checked, his bike was broken.”

Orion pushes past us. “It is. I let him borrow mine. Which means he’ll be insufferable when he gets back.”

Mars and I stand and watch him as he walks into the hallway on the other side of the living room. A moment later, a door slams and the house goes quiet again.