and hadn’t come back.
Kenna had been more frank. “Jacob’s gone and Hud’sfucked up because of it,” she’d said. “He misses his other half.”
Bailey would eventually need the story if she wanted to represent the entire Kincaid clan, but she knew now it’d have to come from Hudson himself.
“What I know,” she said carefully, “is that I love to draw caricatures of people, often times people I don’t even know. I do it by observing and then assigning one word to them.”
“And the words you assigned to us Kincaids?”
He was quick, she’d give him that. “Bossy, funny, adventurous, brave, original,” she said.
He remained still, only the slightest of smiles curving his lips. “Gray, Penny, Aidan, Lily, and Kenna, in that order.”
“I’m impressed,” she said. “You know your family.”
“Impressed and something else.” He met her gaze, his shuttered from her by those glasses.
The way he read her with such ease was startling. “Nope,” she denied. “That’s it. Just impressed.”
He cocked his head and studied her. “Liar,” he chided. “And we both know you don’t have to interview me for your one word. You already have it. What is it?”
She let out a low laugh. “I don’t think—”
“Tell me.”
“Know-it-all.”
“That’s three words,” he said.
“I hyphenated.”
His mouth twitched. “So you’ve got me all figured out. What else could you possibly need to know?”
“Lots, actually,” she said.
He arched a brow, silently saying,
Such as
?
In for a penny, in for a pound… “Jacob,” she said softly.
His expression shifted from mildly amused to absolutely stone blank. It was both fascinating and heartbreaking. “There are five of you Kincaid siblings,” she said. “And going off what I’ve heard so far, everyone wants the mural to be a true reflection of the group. As a whole and individually.”
No response from Hudson. Hell, she wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
She let out a breath. “Maybe you could just give me enough to get started.”
More nothing.
“I understand it’s difficult to talk about,” she said, and paused.
Nothing but crickets.
She remembered the time she’d designed a new logo for a local Denver clothing designer, family run. The patriarch had recently had a stroke, leaving his wife and children to run his two exclusive boutiques. They were in charge of everything top to bottom, including speaking for him. But the family was terrified of doing the wrong thing, such as taking the business in the wrong direction. So Bailey had gently steered them into discussing the man lying in a rehabilitation center, and in doing so, they’d been able to come up with exactly what he would have wanted. “Your siblings mentioned him,” she said. “All fondly. They have good memories of him.”
Hud continued to impersonate a statue, remaining quiet, so much so that she figured he had no intention of saying another word to her. Ever. She turned her head and looked at him.
His expression was still carefully blank, but she thoughtmaybe she could see something in there, a flash of something deep. Pain? Regret? She paused again. “Have you ever thought that talking about him might help?”
He turned his head toward the mountain run that led straight to the lodge, watching the skiers and boarders make their various ways down. Some were smooth and extremely talented. Some were clearly just doing their best to stay upright. And some were flat on their asses after a fall. Bailey had a feeling that Hudson was seeing none of that but something from his past.
“What do you think?” she asked quietly. “Talking about it, or… no?”
He snorted.
Okay so that was not only a no, it was also a big, fat no.
“Jacob’s story isn’t relevant here,” he said. “Not for a mural.”
“You’ve seen the draft,” she said. “You know that—”
“Make something up. Hell, make the whole thing up. No one needs to know that much about
Kenna had been more frank. “Jacob’s gone and Hud’sfucked up because of it,” she’d said. “He misses his other half.”
Bailey would eventually need the story if she wanted to represent the entire Kincaid clan, but she knew now it’d have to come from Hudson himself.
“What I know,” she said carefully, “is that I love to draw caricatures of people, often times people I don’t even know. I do it by observing and then assigning one word to them.”
“And the words you assigned to us Kincaids?”
He was quick, she’d give him that. “Bossy, funny, adventurous, brave, original,” she said.
He remained still, only the slightest of smiles curving his lips. “Gray, Penny, Aidan, Lily, and Kenna, in that order.”
“I’m impressed,” she said. “You know your family.”
“Impressed and something else.” He met her gaze, his shuttered from her by those glasses.
The way he read her with such ease was startling. “Nope,” she denied. “That’s it. Just impressed.”
He cocked his head and studied her. “Liar,” he chided. “And we both know you don’t have to interview me for your one word. You already have it. What is it?”
She let out a low laugh. “I don’t think—”
“Tell me.”
“Know-it-all.”
“That’s three words,” he said.
“I hyphenated.”
His mouth twitched. “So you’ve got me all figured out. What else could you possibly need to know?”
“Lots, actually,” she said.
He arched a brow, silently saying,
Such as
?
In for a penny, in for a pound… “Jacob,” she said softly.
His expression shifted from mildly amused to absolutely stone blank. It was both fascinating and heartbreaking. “There are five of you Kincaid siblings,” she said. “And going off what I’ve heard so far, everyone wants the mural to be a true reflection of the group. As a whole and individually.”
No response from Hudson. Hell, she wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
She let out a breath. “Maybe you could just give me enough to get started.”
More nothing.
“I understand it’s difficult to talk about,” she said, and paused.
Nothing but crickets.
She remembered the time she’d designed a new logo for a local Denver clothing designer, family run. The patriarch had recently had a stroke, leaving his wife and children to run his two exclusive boutiques. They were in charge of everything top to bottom, including speaking for him. But the family was terrified of doing the wrong thing, such as taking the business in the wrong direction. So Bailey had gently steered them into discussing the man lying in a rehabilitation center, and in doing so, they’d been able to come up with exactly what he would have wanted. “Your siblings mentioned him,” she said. “All fondly. They have good memories of him.”
Hud continued to impersonate a statue, remaining quiet, so much so that she figured he had no intention of saying another word to her. Ever. She turned her head and looked at him.
His expression was still carefully blank, but she thoughtmaybe she could see something in there, a flash of something deep. Pain? Regret? She paused again. “Have you ever thought that talking about him might help?”
He turned his head toward the mountain run that led straight to the lodge, watching the skiers and boarders make their various ways down. Some were smooth and extremely talented. Some were clearly just doing their best to stay upright. And some were flat on their asses after a fall. Bailey had a feeling that Hudson was seeing none of that but something from his past.
“What do you think?” she asked quietly. “Talking about it, or… no?”
He snorted.
Okay so that was not only a no, it was also a big, fat no.
“Jacob’s story isn’t relevant here,” he said. “Not for a mural.”
“You’ve seen the draft,” she said. “You know that—”
“Make something up. Hell, make the whole thing up. No one needs to know that much about
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