Once we got off the train, I ended up pushing my bike through town to walk alongside Casimir. I pointed out some of the best restaurants, the popular tourist spots, and my favorite bakery as we made our way home. It was sort of nice to play tour guide for the afternoon. A few locals stopped to talk with me, asking about Grandfather and the farm. I chatted happily with each of them until they asked if Casimir was my boyfriend. I sputtered out an embarrassed ‘no’ each time.

“I’m sorry about them,” I told Casimir as we walked away from Beth, the local baker.

“It’s fine, they seem nice.”

“Oh yeah, real nice and real nosey,” I scoffed, stopping at the curb to wait for passing cars. “The longer you live here, the more you’ll learn.”

“They all seem to like you a lot,” Casimir observed. “The last person even gave you free food.” He pointed down to the cookie Beth had given me. She liked to experiment with new recipes and I would never say no to a free dessert. Casimir followed me as I pushed my bike forward, we were almost to the farmhouse.

The route to and from school was pretty easy to learn because there was only one major road leading through town. Once you got past the dense set of buildings, nestled between the lake and the mountains it was only open fields until you hit the forests. Our farm was only one turn off the main road but still easily visible thanks to the barn. I was momentarily distracted as I looked out towards the lake, smiling as I did. It was always nice coming back to this small town after the stress of school. I much preferred this place to any part of the big city. I glanced over at Casimir who seemed to be watching me quietly. I blushed and stared down at the road.

Once we safely crossed the street I finally responded. “Yeah, everyone around here is friendly but if you want to know the truth it’s actually Grandpa who they really love.”

“Oh?”

“He’s pretty much a local hero,” I stated firmly. “One time, some kids got lost in the forest and it was Grandpa who found them.”

“Wow, that’s cool,” Casimir commented, glancing over at the vast forests in the distance. “Were the kids alright then?”

“Minor injuries if I remember correctly,” I said, not actually sure of this fact. “Although, just a heads up, Grandpa hates it if you mention that story.”

“He has always been modest,” Casimir noted, nodding his head as if he was remembering something specific.

“Yeah.” I eyed Casimir for a moment, wondering what else he knew about Grandfather. We walked in silence together and it was strangely peaceful. I took another moment to focus my thoughts on the new boy, hoping to hear a glimmer of his emotional state, and still, I felt nothing, which was an entirely new experience for me.

As we approached the farm there was a large sign sitting on the side of the road that was painted by yours truly which read, ‘Welcome to Hartmann Farms’. The sign had an arrow that pointed to the area we opened for apple picking season, which led off into the bulk of the orchard. The barn was located there, along with some old fashion wagons that we only used to hold decorations and apple baskets. Grandfather had built a couple of picnic tables under the trees near the fence and next to that was a small awning where we would set up the scales and registers. The area was empty for most of the year except during the Harvest Festival. Just past the barn, I could see the farmhouse and I was relieved to finally be home. I had forgotten how long it took to walk from the train station.

“Well, this is it,” I said, gesturing at the farm. We continued up the small dirt road along the fence to get to the side entrance. Once we were at the gate I opened the nearby mailbox but found it empty. Grandfather must have gotten the mail already.

“Ah yes, just like I remember it,” Casimir smiled, looking over the scenery. “Although that shed is new.”

“I forgot, you’ve been here before.”

“Sorry,” Casimir ducked his head in apology. I wondered if he learned that from his time abroad. Most people didn’t bow around here. I stored my bike and we clomped up the stairs to the front door. It pushed open easily, apparently unlocked.

“Grandpa, I’m home,” I called out, my eyes searching our small living room. I heard movement from the loft above so I craned my neck to look up. “You up there?”

“Oh Diana, welcome home. I placed your paintings to the side for you to go through later,” Grandfather answered. “I wasn’t sure what you were still working on.” He peered over the edge of the railing from the loft above and I noticed that he had changed back into his work clothes.

I looked over at the stack of paintings leaning against the back of the couch, I couldn’t believe I had that many. I clucked my tongue, not looking forward to storing most of these. “Most of the current paintings are at school already for the art show. Some of these can go into storage, or the trash heap for all I care,” I said glumly.

“That seems like a shame,” my grandfather’s voice replied from above.

“Grandpa you can’t keep every drawing or doodle I make,” I chided, slipping off my backpack so I could take off my coat.

“Try and stop me.”

I rolled my eyes as I stored my coat on the rack near the door. “Speaking of paintings, I got into the art show for the Open House,” I shouted, as to be heard from the loft.

“That’s amazing Diana, what piece got in?”

“Three actually, I’m one of the seniors that gets a showcase,” I replied with a smile. I heard the loud clunking of boots on the stairs and watched as my Grandfather rushed over to me, with a huge grin.

“Congratulations! I knew they would pick you,” he said, wrapping me in a strong hug. “We should celebrate.”

“Pizza for dinner?” I requested, glancing over at Casimir who was watching our exchange silently.

“Pizza and ice cream,” Grandpa announced.

“Root beer floats!” I shouted, growing more excited.

I excused myself to go unpack my bag in the privacy of my bedroom, deciding that Grandpa could babysit Casimir now that we were home. As I shut my door I was still psyched about my art being featured in the showcase. My hand lingered over the doorknob for a moment and I paused, wondering if I should lock it. I felt uneasy knowing there was a new person in my house but locking my door wasn’t something I was used to doing. I glanced at the frame above my door, studying the charm my grandfather had given me as a child. He told me it was to ward away bad dreams and keep evil from entering.

Not that I think Casimir is evil, I scolded myself internally. I just didn’t know the guy yet. I decided to lock the door and set about changing my clothes and unpacking my backpack.

The theme of my bedroom was what you might call eclectic, with not a single piece of matching furniture, or a cohesive color scheme. The walls were covered in art, photos, and other pieces of painting inspiration. I had covered up parts of the old wallpaper with pieces of fabric I bought at the store, pinning them to the wall so they draped and flowed. To add to the clutter I would then hang old junk jewelry I liked the look of but would never wear, on hooks around the room. My bed was a sea of pillows, with my favorite stuffed shark swimming around in the layers of fuzzy blankets I collected to keep me warm. Even the ceiling wasn’t safe from my decor frenzy, as I had stuck glow-in-the-dark star stickers all over the plaster. My favorite part of the room was my fairy lights, strung across my headboard. To me, they always gave my room a romantic glow, even when it looked like a mess.

After unpacking I emerged from my room in a pair of jeggings and a comfy t-shirt with a cute cartoon shark on it. I wandered over to the pile of paintings, summoning the motivation to start the sorting process. I knew they couldn’t stay here forever and so I quickly set to dividing them into piles of items to keep, store, or toss. I hesitated when I got to an older unfinished painting, my fingers brushing across the layers of paint. Over the years I had attempted many times to paint the face of the mysterious bridegroom from the wedding scene of my dreams. Sadly with little success. I was staring at my latest venture, which was nothing more than a mass of burgundy hair, some thick brows, and a pair of wide shoulders.

“Who is that?” Casimir asked, his voice startling me.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

I turned to look at him, tucking the painting behind me. Casimir had also changed into a pair of jeans, along with a yellow t-shirt over a white thermal. I was admiring the curve of his arm when I realized he was waiting for me to respond.

I shook my head, attempting to smile as I spoke. “It’s fine, I’m good,” I stammered, looking down at the painting behind my back. Casimir craned his neck a little to try and take in its details, so I flipped it to the other side. “Please don’t look, it’s nothing really. I mean it’s no one. It's just an unfinished mess honestly.” I was babbling. Why am I so embarrassed for Casimir to see my paintings?

“Okay then. Which pile is which?” he asked, looking down at my work.

“Trash, storage, my room,” I said, pointing at each stack as I spoke.

“So, storage for all of them?” My grandfather suggested, appearing from the back of the kitchen.

“No, some of these are not worth saving,” I bit back.

“Can’t you reuse the canvas?”

“I painted over them too many times with acrylics Grandpa. It’s just not the same feel, trust me,” I explained, gesturing at the failed painting pile.

“Okay,” he sighed sadly.

I crossed my arms over my chest, amused that he was pouting so much. “Fine, save them if you have the room.”

“I can make room,” he insisted, grabbing one of the piles. We set to work, using twine to stack the paintings together. At some point, I realized I had even more paintings stuffed in my room and excused myself to go dig them out of my mess of a closet. Once our stacks were complete Grandpa and Casimir loaded up their arms and the pair trudged outside to place the paintings in the storage shed. I was amused by my guardian’s desire to keep all of my art but then realized now was the perfect moment to snoop and check out what he had been doing upstairs in the loft.

As I stepped up onto the landing, I looked around slowly and found I was a little sad to see my art studio now gone. The upstairs was one originally big room that Grandpa separated by building a tiny hallway and some sliding doors. One room for the loft, the other for storage. My easel and paintings used to sit in the open loft area that overlooked the living room. I liked the light that came in from the many windows on the second floor. The loft was also the best place to get a cell phone signal, for when you wanted to just chill upstairs, away from it all. The room was now empty, turned into a small sitting area instead. I smiled when I saw that my grandpa had hung a few of my colored pencil sketches on the walls for decoration. I pulled open the sliding track door on the other side of the room, which sat just above the bathroom and downstairs closet. What was once a catch-all for our storage was now a small bedroom complete with a single bed, a chest of drawers, and a bedside table. It was all strange and empty to me. I was amazed for a moment, that Grandpa had managed to move all of our stuff in one afternoon. Unless he had been doing this in secret for a month.

Not like you would notice, you self-centered bozo.

“Oops, behind you.”

I jumped to the side to let Casimir pass. “Oh, sorry,” I muttered. This guy was good at sneaking up on people. I watched him place his box next to the bed. “Do you need help carrying your stuff?”

“Ah, it’s just this box and that suitcase,” he said, gesturing at the large suitcase in the corner.

“That’s it? Wow, that is some simple living.”

Casimir laughed and smiled. “When you move around as much as I do, you get everything down to the bare basics.”

“I’m impressed,” I said jealously. I was a bit of a packrat myself and my grandfather was just as bad. Every once in a while, I would go through my stuff and purge in an attempt to organize but the amount I owned never seemed to decrease.

“Yeah, the only thing that is really important to me are these,” Casimir mentioned, pointing at his glasses.

“Oh?”

“They belonged to my mother.”

“So, is your mom...?”

“Yes, she’s passed on.”

“I’m sorry, I know that can be tough,” I remarked in earnest. I wondered if Casimir knew about how my parents died. I wasn’t going to bring it up on our first-day meeting. “At least you still have your dad, right?”

Casimir’s smile faded a bit before he nodded in agreement. I guess I stepped into dangerous territory with that comment.

“And you have Uncle George,” Casimir offered.

“He’s the best,” I asserted.

“What’s that?” Grandfather said, appearing magically behind me. I was guessing he heard us talking. I giggled slightly at his response.

“You’re the BEST!” I shouted unabashed in my feelings.

There was a pause before he responded, a smile crossing his face. “Okay then.”