One week later, here's an update! Hoping you all enjoy! You get a little more insight into Claire's mind in this chapter.

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-JR

Defriending people isn't as easy as it may seem, let me tell you.

It was nothing like those sites on the Internet. Just one click of the mouse and—bam. That person was gone from your life forever. Well, unless you re-added them a few days later. Or if you knew them personally and saw them the next day. Alright, so it wasn't exactly that easy. But you get my analogy.

Not that I had any of those accounts myself; I'm not speaking from experience here. I detested the Internet and computers in general, really. I hated how obsessed people became with technology. Always glued to those little rectangular devices in their pockets. Always checking the web for updates. I was more of the outdoorsy type—I'd rather be outside getting covered in dirt than indoors sitting around in front of a glowing box.

My mother developed a large addiction for social networking sites at one point. It was absolutely revolting. She was always on her computer. Or her iPhone. Or her iPad. Or whatever other i-things we had...I stopped keeping track. And, when she wasn't, she was talking about it. Showing us some "funny" video one of her snooty rich friends had sent her. Talking about some inappropriate picture my third cousin (twice removed) had posted. Reading my dad some of the reviews people had written about one of his books online. I don't understand why he humored her; it only encouraged her to keep it up.

Alright, I'm a little off topic now. Basically, what I'm trying to say is: friends don't just go away with the click of a mouse.

I will admit that I went about the situation in the worst way possible. I seemed to think that acting cold and distant—the exact opposite of how I usually was—would cause the townsfolk to lose interest in me. Well, I suppose naturally it should. If you were mean to someone, typically they wanted nothing to do with you. So maybe it wasn't the worst idea; it actually may have worked. But it wasn't an effective method for someone like me. Because I was completely incapable of dishing out a proper insult while still sounding convincing.

I went into the supermarket on Wednesday like I always did. And when I say "like I always did" I meant just as I had done the Wednesday before this one. I had also gone a few times on other days, but I had started limiting myself to Wednesdays only. But instead of calling out my usual perky greeting, I merely made my rounds selecting a few packages of seeds. From across the room Karen yelled out her own obnoxious salutation, like she always did. Normally I'd laugh and walk over to have a short chat with her. But instead, I pretended not to hear her as I crossed the room to the counter. As if I didn't hear her. I'd come to learn that Karen had an ear-splitting set of pipes. She was quite a vocal girl. I silently pulled out some money before Jeff had finished ringing me up. I already knew how much. The total was always the same—my purchase was always the same. Jeff seemed a little confused as he took my cash. He handed my change back to me with nervous hands.

I wanted to say something sweet to get him to relax a little, like I always did. The manners fairy was having a fit at how rude I was being. But I ignored her. I had to, if I wanted this to work. I collected my seeds back up without another word. I didn't even say thank you. Boy, was she pissed off now. I slowly crossed the room, headed for the exit. I was almost in the clear. Almost free.

But of course, Karen didn't let me off that easily. "Claire!" A hand griped my shoulder—a little too roughly, might I add. But that's Karen: spunky, in-your-face, and obnoxious. I actually was pretty fond of how open she was about her feelings. I for sure didn't have the guts to tell a person exactly what I thought of them straight to their face. "Claire, I said hello." There was a genuine smile on her lips, though with a twinge of annoyance. Karen was easily agitated.

"I heard you." I nearly flinched, the words were so cold. Did that just come out of my mouth?

The brunette in front of me was equally as baffled. I don't think I had ever said one mildly rude comment around this girl, let alone to her. She quickly regained her composure, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Excuse me?" She was sounded so condescending; like I was the little school child who just talked back to the teacher. It reminded me of life back at home. That gave me just enough fire to send back another retort.

"I said I heard you." Okay, not much of a retort. But that was still pretty insulting coming from me.

Suddenly the girl before me grabbed my shoulders with both hands and peered around, as if looking for something that may be standing behind me. I couldn't help myself—I glanced behind me too. So naive. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I heard someone talking behind you." Her voice was laced with sarcasm; Karen was much better at the insulting game than I was. Her comebacks were much more witty. "Now, what did you say?"

"I..." I can't do it. My outer shell was cracking, the true Claire trying to break free. I grimaced and she immediately noticed. Her face changed, a flicker of realization crossing her features briefly. Her eyes instantly softened as she regarded me thoughtfully "Oh, um, sorry... I'm just really tired today, is all..." I mumbled. That's right Claire, retreat with your tail between your legs. I was awful at this and I knew it.

The girl flipped her hair out of her eyes. It was long and flowing, like the stars from TV had. Not nearly as long as mine, but much prettier—softer and sleeker. Let's be honest, this girl was a walking model. And she knew it. She was eye-candy for all the boys in town. At least, that's what I assumed...I didn't know the boys in town. "You do seem a little out of it today," She ran her hand through her brown locks, fingers toying with the single blonde streak. "You should probably hit the hay early tonight." The same hand dropped from her hair, gently giving my shoulder a squeeze. Karen was also very handsy, but I didn't mind. That was just the way she expressed herself, after all.

I tried to keep the distaste off my face. I wasn't actually feeling tired, I had just said that. Well, no more tired than usual at least. "Thanks, I will." I gave a brief nod before quickly slipping away out the door.

Dammit. I really was awful at this.

The next few days followed in a similar fashion. A townsfolk would call out a greeting and I'd respond with a rude remark. Their next reply would be full of confusion—sometimes even hurt or anger. I saw what I had caused straight away and no matter how hard I tried I seemed unable to just let it be. I had to apologize and make up some lame excuse for my actions. I was the worst insulter in the world; I didn't have a mean bone in my body. The manners fairy sat smugly on my shoulder—she felt superior.

If possible, my actions only made people more concerned. Made them want to get more involved in my life. Ironic, huh?

I tried to avoid going out as much as possible. Just once per week, to the supermarket. I'd avoid everyone more easily that way. Plus I wouldn't have to continuously partake in those awkward, not-so-mean conversations. But eventually I needed to go to the one place I dreaded most: the Blacksmith's.

My rusty, old sickle had finally cracked, surprise surprise. I mean, it was only like fifty years old, after all. (Possibly much older.) I'm honestly surprised it lasted as long as it did. Anyways, that meant I had to travel across the street to that little shop. That quaint little building I had hurried past on my way to the supermarket for the last several trips. Because I didn't want to run into Saibara, the kind old man who reminded me slightly of my grandfather. Or Gray, that boy that I so often found myself wondering more about.

In and out. That's all I had to do. Be quick; don't allow time for conversation.

That same bell jingled as I entered the shop. This time however, I did not come face-to-face with a heated argument. I quickly scanned the room and let out a soft sigh of relief: Gray was no where in sight.

Saibara seemed to brighten from behind the counter. "Ah, Ms. Till!" His eyes squinted together due to the size of his grin. "I was beginning to wonder when I'd see you again."

"Been busy." I replied briskly. This visit needed to be quick. In and out, I reminded myself. "Anyway, I need a new sickle."

If Saibara was put off by my briefness, he didn't let it show. "Of course." His tone was kind. Always kind. That only made this harder. He walked to the back, to the door that lead down to who knows where. Would I even find out what was down there? Probably not. I shouldn't, if I kept up this charade. "Gray! Bring up a new sickle."

I went still at his words. Oh no. Didn't they have new sickles laying around up here? Why did Gray—of all people—have to bring it to me?

The man downstairs yelled up a response I didn't make out. As Saibara returned to the counter, I already had a wad of cash waiting for him. "He'll be up in a moment," he told me. He stared at the money for a moment before taking it and quickly counting it out. "Exact change—you in a hurry?"

"Um, kind of." I admitted. The old man tilted his head, causing me to unnecessarily ramble on. "I woke up late today, so I'm a little behind on my chores." I lied.

"Eager as ever," he chuckled. "You're quite the dedicated farmer. I always see you working hard out in your field when I pass by on my way home."

I nodded and he continued to stare at me. I tugged my overalls and kept talking, hypnotized into saying more. "I love my farm." What was it about this man what made me feel like I had to explain myself? To give more than the bare minimum. "I feel at peace while working on my crops. I care for them, help them grow..." Unconsciously, a smile stretched across my face. "The feeling of satisfaction I get when my crops are ready to harvest is indescribable."

That's a little too friendly, Claire.

Crap. The smile was wiped away and I was a clean slate again—emotionless, indifferent.

Suddenly the door opened and Gray appeared, carrying my sickle. I glanced up briefly, stealing a glimpse at his expression. Gray was staring straight at me, the hint of a smile upon his face. I stared down at my shoes, suddenly nervous. What was I supposed to say if he spoke to me? Could I actually be mean to this man? I peeked up at him again. He was standing behind Saibara, awkwardly holding the sickle out in front of him. Like a servant presenting his master with food. He looked nervous, anxious even, and so very vulnerable. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he just couldn't seem to get the words out.

No, I could not be rude to Gray. He was so much more delicate than Karen or Zack. I'd crush him if I were to say something awful. In and out, I repeated again. I paid, now it was time to go.

"Thank you," I quickly took the sickle from the redhead, looking anywhere but at him. "I'll see you." I turned instantly on my heel, headed straight for the door. I saw his mouth open in surprise as I hastily snatched away the tool. But no sound reached my ears before I pushed that door shut behind me.

I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding in. Well, I had made it. That went harmlessly enough. I may have been a little too chatty with Saibara, but I was pretty disinterested overall. I answered his questions, but didn't have any for him. And I hadn't said a word to Gray—my thank you had been aimed at his grandfather.

I felt a pang of regret as I crossed the short path back to my farm. I'll admit, I truly had wanted to talk to Gray again. He was quite interesting; I found myself wanting to know more about him.

But I couldn't. That wasn't in the cards for me. Distance was good. Distance was key.

I sighed and headed over to tend to my turnips.

I kept up the act for a few more days. Before I knew it, spring was more than halfway over. Had it only been about three weeks since I had arrived? I remembered the exact date I arrived in Mineral Town: Spring 2nd. Apparently I just missed the New Year's Festival, Zack had informed a few days later. But that was okay. Festivals meant more people—more people I didn't need to meet. Because I wasn't making friends. Right.

The whole "mean act" was proving to be more and more challenging as the days passed. I still hadn't successfully blown anyone off and I was beginning to run out of excuses. Zack kept pestering me every day when he came for my shipments. He was concerned—I think he thought I was sick. Oh, if only he knew that half of it. I was extremely fucked up, that's for sure.

There goes the manner fairy again. Even in my own head I can't swear—she's such a pest sometimes.

I blame my mother for her presence. Back before we moved, my mother was strict—but to a degree. Once we moved to the city, she became more intense. Much more overbearing. She smothered me too much. Always hovered, always in my business. She made me want to scream sometimes. I would purposely get into trouble just to get back at her. I remember when I started coming home with notes from my teacher; I remember how livid she got. My mother was strict, but she never yelled at me. Never. That was the first time she ever raised her voice with me.

I was never a troublemaker; I was a good kid. But, like I said, my parents had basically banned me from the outdoors once I turned fourteen. I came home with notes from my teacher as a sign of rebellion. My childish mind thought it was a good argument: let me play outside or I caused trouble in school. They were all silly, stupid disruptions. Nothing too major, just enough to get my teacher to write a note. I had never thought in a million years I'd be one of those kids who the teacher constantly wrote notes to home about. And yet there I was: disrupting the class with silly questions, making fart noises from my desk, or even tossing pencils at the boy across from me.

After the eighth note my mother couldn't take it any longer, she snapped. Nothing too major, just a typical parental scolding. But it scared the hell out of me, that's for sure. Who was this woman? Where was my soft-spoken, sweet mother? Eventually I managed to convince her to let me go outside again. My mother was pretty susceptible to guilt trips, I had learned. It didn't last long, my outside time—but it was still wonderful while it lasted.

Despite it all, my mother's strict ways stayed with me. Foul language was a big no-no for her. I always found myself using proper manners—watching my mouth. If I didn't, the manners fairy always seemed to be around to remind me. Anyways.

I'm not a lucky person. Definitely not. Pretty clumsy, too—but maybe that goes hand-in-hand with the whole unlucky thing. Just ask my parents, I think they'd have to agree with that statement. Or ask my doctors, they'd probably agree too.

So, of course, eventually my hammer broke. All of my tools were falling apart, it seemed. I knew I needed a new one. And I knew where I had to go to get a new one. But I really didn't want to go back there. And yet, I did. I wanted to see that boy with the UMA hat. But I knew I shouldn't—I couldn't.

I stalled all afternoon, putting off my trip to the Blacksmith's. But I couldn't wait forever—they closed at four.

At three-thirty I finally forced myself over there. I stood at the door and looked at the wooden surface, unable to bring myself to open it. I just stared at the yellow, faded paint. At all the grooves and the spots where the color had chipped away. There was also a lot of scratches and nicks, I noticed. It even looked slightly bent in at the bottom...had someone kicked it at some point? Probably Gray, after a heated fight with his grandfather. That boy had gotten awfully angry that day I first met the two men. I still remembered when he had whipped that hammer at the wall... I shivered, shaking my head. For someone so easily embarrassed, Gray could actually be pretty intimidating. When he was mad, at least.

If I was lucky, Gray wouldn't even be there. Maybe he got off early... Maybe he was sick and couldn't make it in today...

Like I said, I wasn't a lucky person.

I walked inside and came face-to-face with those blue eyes of his. Crystal orbs that peered into my soul, stealing all my secrets. He had a startled look upon his face—surprised, but excited? One hand was frozen in place, reached out toward me. One much larger than either of mine. I found myself unconsciously studying its features. It was quite a worn and beat-up hand. There was a bandage around his index finger and his nails were cut short. I blinked and stared back up at the man once more. Not good. Abort mission. Abort-

"Claire-"

"H-Hammer!" I stammered out. The redhead stared at me, confusion evident on his face. I slipped past the boy, ducking under his arm as I hurried over to the counter. "I- I need a new hammer."

Saibara looked at me curiously, his expression unreadable. He glanced over at his grandson, who stood paralyzed by the door. It looked like Gray had just been about to leave when I walked in. Great timing. If only I had stalled a little longer... I figured in place, trying to force myself to look away from those blue irises. What was he thinking? Please Saibara, just say something...before the boy behind me does. "Unfortunately, we don't have any hammers in stock right now," the old man replied, turning his attention back to me. I felt my face drop. I had come all this way for nothing? "But we're expecting a shipment in a few days, we'll have some then."

"Okay," The wheels in my head started turning again. "I'll pay now, then come pick it up when it arrives." I quickly fished out some money and paid the man. "Thank you." I dipped my head once and turned on my heel. Now I just had to get out that door. That is, if I could avoid the stoic man standing with his hand on the doorknob.

I tilted my head, my brow crinkling up anxiously. "Uhm, excuse me..."

Gray jumped, seeming to come back to reality. "S-Sorry."

I reached out a little too quickly and he pulled back a little too slowly. There was an instant jolt of electricity, followed by the flush on his cheeks. A squeak slipped out of my mouth. We stared at one another, our expressions mirrored. His fingers had only briefly brushed against mine as I reached for the handle, but it felt like I had been poked with a cattle prod. Not that I had any experience getting poked with cattle prods, I'm just saying.

"I-I..."

I didn't let him finish. I was out the door, my heart racing. So much for in and out. That visit had lasted far too long. Two hundred and twelve seconds too long. Not that I was counting. Okay, I was. Sometimes I counted when I got nervous. It was some stupid method my mother had taught me once when I didn't want the doctor to give me a shot. Just count in your head, Claire. Keep counting, see how high you can get. I was ten, so I knew how to count pretty high. Silly mom, didn't you know that? One, two, three, four... See? Easy as pie. Five, six, seven, eigh- Ow. Ow! Why didn't you warn me he was going to stick me with that needle? But it's all over now. He's putting a Hello Kitty band aid on my arm. I just barely glimpsed that tiny dot of red before it was covered. I survived, this time.

Back at the farm, I'm panting. Jeez, what was wrong with me? Get a grip, Claire. He's just a boy. Okay, not a boy. Definitely not a boy—he was a man. Yes, definitely a man. I mean, just look at the way those clothes clung to his body. With that muscly form of his...I bet he was ripped beneath that shirt. And I bet he could easily rip that shirt—off. I bet he could rip my shirt off, too.

And now I'm thinking about a shirtless blacksmith ripping my clothes to shreds. Okay, enough of that.

Back to the turnips. My newest therapy method. Plant them, water them, and watch them grow. Later I would harvest them and start all over again. Rinse, lather, repeat. Routines were good. Routines were easy to follow. Routines made sense. And who didn't make sense? Gray. He turned my brain to mush and had me forgetting the code I was supposed to be following—that lovely "no friends" code. Man did I hate the code. But I needed it. It had structure. Structure was good. Structure was like routine. Routine was boring, but routine kept me going.

I realized I had stopped watering. Back to the turnips, Claire.

I didn't exactly know when my hammer was supposed to come in—Saibara didn't say. He said a "few days". How many was a few? A couple was two. So a few was three? Several was at least four—I think. Whatever, it didn't matter. Saibara would tell me when the hammer came in. I for one definitely wasn't going to go barging in there again until I knew for certain that my hammer had arrived. I didn't need any more unnecessary interactions with Gray. He'd make me forget my mission again. Probably poke me with the cattle prod again too. And then he'd get me to start thinking about what's under that shirt of his.

And now I'm thinking about sexy, shirtless blacksmiths again. Couldn't I go a day without doing that? I kept finding that, at some point during my day, thoughts about a shirtless Gray somehow made their way into my head...somewhere along my stream of consciousness. It had been two days since I first thought it and now it just wouldn't go away. Not that I minded. Really, I didn't—but I shouldn't.

I sighed and rose back to my full height, brushing hay off my hands and onto my overalls. Whatever, that's why you wore them in the first place, right? I'd wash them later. Farming was messy work; came with the territory, grandfather always said. You can't have a farm without a field of dirt. Cluck clucked at my feet. I smiled; that was pretty cute.

I know I may have this macho, gruff exterior thing going on, but I'm still a girl. Okay, so my exterior is anything but macho. And the same could be said about my interior. I'm kind of pathetic looking, really. Five foot four—barely—and a thin, slender frame. Plus the pale skin, due to a lack of sunlight all my life—thanks mom. It's real intimidating, I know. I suppose I could do my hair into a thick, tight braid and whip people with it. That would actually be pretty amusing. I'd carry my weapon with me everywhere I went; a long, blonde weapon attached to the back of my head. It was not exactly a stretch..have you ever been hit in the face with hair? And I don't mean just any hair: long, thick girl's hair. Well, I suppose it could be a guy's hair too—I don't judge. Just imagine: you're walking in the hall and suddenly your friend turns, hitting you in the face with those deadly locks. Even been hit in the eye? Stings like hell. Oh, just ignore the fairy; she doesn't like vulgar language.

I'm a bitter woman when I'm alone for too long. And I'd been alone for too long. I liked people. But people had to stay away. Because people turned into friends. And friends turned into problems. So I had to be alone. Bitter and alone. Deal with it, Claire.

I watched as Cluck pecked at the seeds I had just laid down for her, my mind wandering all over the place. Sometimes I wondered if I had ADD. My mind darted around far too often. I was stuck in my head a lot. Kinda unavoidable when you sat indoors all day long—again, thanks mom. Sometimes my thoughts got a little strange. A wee bit dark. Scary goes hand-in-hand with dark—just like unluckiness and clumsiness. I tried to be positive most of the time. My life wasn't exactly the most "positive" thing, but I tried my best. But when I was alone, it was harder. So much harder. So sometimes my thoughts flipped to the other end of the spectrum. That was why I surrounded myself with people. That was why my code was so hard to follow.

Alright, back to the turnips. Today was harvest day for one of the patches. Then I had to water the rest. Rinse, rather, repeat. Go do some work, Till.

I walked over to my house and grabbed the rusty watering can I had left by the door. There was no use bringing it inside; it was already rusty. As I walked to fill it at my pond, my mind soared off into space—taking flight as it raced higher and higher, far away from here. Pondering the many mysteries of the world...

Suddenly someone cleared their throat and I nearly fell forward into the clear water. I hastily set down the watering can. Was it really shipment time already? Zack was always extremely punctual. Always here at five o'clock on the dot. No, seriously—I clocked him a few times with my watch. Kind of creepy how accurate he was. I wondered if he stood just around the corner, timing himself like I timed him. But when I turned, Zack wasn't standing beside the dinky red shipment bin.

It was a fiery red tomato with an odd blue cap and (I'm quite certain) a killer set of abdominals.

...Gray. Gray was standing near my farm's entrance. Sorry for the lame metaphors. Metaphors? Okay, they were more like strange, adjective-heavy phrases. Just roll with me here.

"Ah," The blacksmith looked away; he seemed to decide his shoes were suddenly very interesting. "Your hammer arrived." And there it was, clasped tightly in his right hand.

My mouth opened, words of gratitude about to leave my tongue- Shut it.

I shook my head once, like a wet dog drying after a storm—shook away my instincts. This time, I wouldn't forget.

No thank you's today. Instead I just crossed the short distance and took my hammer from him. I snatched it away, like taking candy from a baby—and Gray was a very big baby.

I turned and walked to my house where I set the hammer down on my crumbling windowsill. I then returned to my watering can, grabbing at the handle.

I tried to ignore Gray as I began to water my crops. I felt like I was in a fish bowl and he was the six-year-old tapping on the glass with those stubby, dirty fingers.

Just leave already.

"How have you been?"

I paused, arm bent at a ninety degree angle. How have I been? Just peachy Gray, thanks for asking. I bit back the sarcastic retort. Let's be honest, I didn't have the guts to make a comment like that. Not like Karen. No, I didn't give a sassy, Karen-worthy reply.

"Fine."

"Fine," he repeated. I glanced up and watched as he nodded to himself. His arm rubbed the back of his neck nervously; he was still staring at his shoes. "That's good to hear." Pause. "Farm looks like it's coming along well."

Just go away, Gray.

"Yeah."

Please.

"Did you..." I was surprised to see him actually glance up—he even looked me in the eyes. "Did you ever go get an estimate about your barn from Gotz?"

"No."

My answers were so brief—void of life. It sickened me.

"Oh."

He looked away again, eyes searching. Searching for something else to say. It was so painful, watching him trying to prolong a conversation that was already dead before it even started.

Just go away, Gray.

"Do you-"

"Just go away."

I surprised even myself—that one was out loud.

I cringed and squeezed my eyes shut. How cold. There was even a twinge of anger in my tone. And I was angry...at myself. For having this stupid code and doing this to Gray. But I had to, dammit.

I slowly opened my eyes and stared at the patch of turnips in front of me. The leaves had just started to grow; this batch would be ready soon. I stared at the moist dirt, at the darkened brown color. I squished the tip of my shoe into the dirt, waiting for him to say something. Based upon how short of a temper Gray seemed to have, I'm sure I'd get the rotten end of the stick. Just like his grandfather did last week. I looked up, expecting to see that storm in his eyes.

His reaction hurt more than I had thought it would.

"I'm... Sorry, Claire." He pulled the brim of his hat down, hiding his face from me. "I'll go."

But he couldn't hide the hurt—the tsunami of emotion that had crashed into his being. I only needed that one glance and I knew; he couldn't hide his emotions quick enough. I knew that I had betrayed his trust. This was a man who didn't open up easily. He was shy, reserved, and kept to himself. I didn't know Gray all that well, but I could still read people. And everything about him—his posture, his habits, his speech—screamed that he was alone. Alone like me. But he wasn't doing it willingly, like I was. He was just slow to warm up, that's all. But when he finally relaxed, he was genuine. So when his trust was betrayed, when his feelings were toyed with...

I squeezed my hands into tight, little fists. My nails pricked my skin, digging in.

He had welcomed me into his closed off world and I had spat in his face.

He turned and was walking toward the exit to my farm. I only had about ten seconds to stop him. I opened my mouth, only to close it back up once again.

One, two, three-

I really shouldn't.

Four, five-

I'm not supposed to make friends.

Six, seven-

Apologizing is what friends did.

Eight-

He'd get over it.

Nine-

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Gray—wait."

I opened my eyes.

His hand was on my gate, but he had stopped. His back was still to me. He said nothing—just waited. I said nothing. I waited too. For what? I don't know. For my heart to stop racing, maybe.

"Gray, I-" I stepped forward tentatively, my hands coming together at my stomach. My fingers twirled around each other. "I'm sorry."

The redhead turned slowly, it seemed to take hours. His expression was again visible: the pain was gone, replaced with confusion. And curiosity. "Ah, what?"

"That was awful of me. I'm sorry—you didn't deserve that." I stared into those pools of blue, my soul crashing into his being. "I've just... I've got..." I scrambled for some kind of clarification. "Things..." I winced—what a lame explanation...if you'd even call it that. But I had so say something. My brow crinkled from anxiety and my hands rubbed one another quickly. My mind was racing, begging him to understand. To understand what I couldn't explain.

I let out a soft sigh as his expression softened. He released my gate and took a few slow strides toward me; his steps were much larger than mine. "It's okay," My entire body released the tension within me at those two single words. It's okay. He wasn't angry...he wasn't hurt. "I for one know what it's like to lose control of your temper," He smiled sheepishly and rubbed at his neck again. As I stared up at him, I noticed that he even when he looked at me he wasn't really looking at me. He was looking just past the tip of my ear or over the top of my head. But that's okay, because he was trying. Trying so much harder than I was. Well, that's not true. I was trying too—trying to do the opposite.

"Yeah." I glanced down at my hands, inspecting them. There was dirt under my fingernails and blisters on my palms. Yuck. "I don't snap at people very often. So, I'm sorry."

Suddenly two larger hands reached out and grabbed mine, encasing them in their firm grip. Startled, I stared back up at him with wide eyes. His cheeks were faintly flushed; like an embarrassed schoolboy caught passing a note in class. "Trust me, it's okay." There it is again: that sliver of a smile. "I forgive you, Claire."

There was an intensity between us, and it was coming from our linked hands. It was building, growing, burning—so hot, I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled my hands free and curled them back to my chest, a rueful grin spreading across my mouth. "My hands are dirty." I said instantly, in explanation.

He chuckled softly—a low rumbling sound that came from the center of his chest. I instantly decided that I liked that sound. "I'm not too worried about dirty hands—I work with rock and coal and soot all day."

"I suppose you do."

The blacksmith stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he thought something over in his head. He seemed torn—hesitant to say what he was thinking. Finally he seemed to make up his mind. "I know you shot me down once already, but the offer for me to help you fix up the barn is still on the table." I opened my mouth in surprise but no words came out. The barn had been the last thing on my mind as of late, and his offer was just as far off in the distance.

I knew what I was supposed to say. But I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to reject him all over again.

"Gray..." I trailed off and bit my lip. Just say it. I didn't have to be mean, all I had to say was no thank. No thank you, Gray. Maybe some other time. I appreciate the offer, but I'm okay.

But that's not what I said. That is not at all what I said.

"Okay."

Okay. One single word would change my entire life.

Now, I know what you're probably thinking. But trust me, it was definitely possible.