“This is Kaci,” he says. “And, Kaci, this is Wylla.” He turns to look at Wylla and whispers, “A piece of my soul.”
Wow. That’s such a nice way to introduce someone.
Hearing his words, Wylla looks back at Remi with a soft smile. She closes her eyes and touches her forehead with Remi’s. And for these few seconds, looking at these two, I feel what true love is.
Nicholas walks out of a room in his grease-stained overalls with a bag in his hands. What is he doing here? He nods at me, and I lift one palm, wiggling my fingers twice. “I’m heading out. See ya.” He pulls on a ball cap and tousles Wylla’s hair.
“Goodbye, Nicholas. Don’t forget to bring me chocolate,” Wylla singsongs, waving at him, and turns her attention to me once the door is closed. “Are you Remi’s friend?”
Friend? I look at Remi, and he shrugs, so I nod. “His friend.” His friend who just can’t stop thinking about that almost kiss. I’m pathetic.
Wylla cranes her neck to her left and smiles. “You’re very pretty,” she praises, surprising me.
“Oh, thank you. But not as pretty as you are,” I say sincerely. Wylla has light brown hair with soft curls that reach her waist. Big blue eyes frame her rounded face with a small cute nose and pink pouty lips.
She blushes at my compliment and lowers her gaze. “Thank you,” she whispers, her fist still tight on Remi’s T-shirt.
“Okay,” Remi says, placing her back in the chair. I notice he takes his time to get her in the wheelchair, and she’s rigid in his arms until she’s safely seated. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes,” he says, looking at me.
Wylla giggles and I go crimson at Remi’s words. He gives me a slightly abashed smile before disappearing to bring me some dry clothes. I take a look around the room. The room isn’t big, but it has one bed in the far-right corner with a small TV in front of it, and a couch and a cupboard occupy the rest of the space. There are old plastic bottles cut in half with flowers sown in them, and a macramé hangs from the ceiling—amazing. I also notice a piggy bank near the bed made from a plastic bottle.
When Remi returns, I note he’s changed into gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He hands me a pair of black sweatpants and a black T-shirt, and a warm feeling spreads over my chest as I take the clothes from him.
I walk into the room he came out of to change. It’s his room. I can smell him here. His room is minimal: a bed with one pillow—I just happened to see it, I wasn’t counting—a closet, a shelf with more recycled stuff, and a picture hanging on the wall, with a smiling Remi, Wylla, and Nicholas.
I close the door and quickly change. Once in dry clothes, I find Remi in the kitchen. I’m not going to lie, his clothes feel very comfortable. And his scent—ahem. Wylla is sitting by the table, while Remi is facing the gas stove. Wylla giggles as she sees me. “You look nice in Remi’s clothes.”
Remi turns his head, leisurely sweeping his gaze over me, and when he meets my eyes, he raises a brow. I raise my eyebrows too, and he simply grins and gets back to whatever he was doing.
“Come sit,” Wylla says, pointing to the chair next to her at the table. My phone vibrates, and I look to see a message from Candee.
Candee: Where are you?
Kaci: Stuck in the rain. Will be back soon :)
There’s no way I’m telling Candee that I’m at Remi’s right now because I know she’ll bomb me with a thousand text messages, and I can’t deal with this much Candeeness right now.
Candee: And the book?
Kaci: Stuck in the rain as well. It’ll reach the dorm when I will!
Finishing the text, I look up to see Wylla looking at me. Except for the color of her eyes, she does resemble Remi, and I’m itching to ask how they are related, but I can’t find an appropriate way to ask this without giving Remi the loud indication that I’m prying.
“I love your braids,” Wylla says. Today, we tried the simple side French braid. It was Candee’s third attempt at styling my hair, and while it doesn’t look perfect, she’s getting better.
“Oh, thank you. This was done by my roommate,” I reply. “We’ve been spending some time on YouTube to learn some easy hairstyles. According to her, loose hair and ponytails are out of fashion—and I kind of agree. Do you want me to braid your hair?” I ask.
She nods. “I’d love that,” she exclaims, clapping her hands together. I catch a smile playing on Remi’s face from the side.
“Okay, bring me a hairbrush and two elastic bands,” I suggest, and she wheels herself in search of these items.
“She’s lovely,” I comment.
“She’s that.”
“So, you two live here alone?”
Remi switches the gas off. “Nope, there’s Wylla, me, and Nicholas.”
Nicholas lives here? Oh, dear. Candee will love this little information—or maybe I should keep it to myself. Yeah, I must keep it to myself unless I want Candee to stalk Nicholas here too.
“Oh. I didn’t know Nicholas was your brother,” I say, instantly feeling stupid.
Remi chuckles. “He’s not. We’re cousins.”
“And Wylla?”
He turns around with an arched eyebrow. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Kaci. Wylla is my sister,” he replies, handing me a cup of coffee.
Sister. His sister. I love sisters.
My lips press together, and my chest feels lighter.
I take the cup from him and blow at the hot coffee, taking a precautionary sip. The bittersweet taste of the coffee hits my tongue. Yums!
“This is good,” I compliment, taking another sip.
“Thanks. You can come have a cup anytime you like.”
The cup stops just before hitting my lips, and I blink twice, looking at Remi. Was I just invited for coffee?
“Here, I got them,” Wylla announces, wheeling herself into the kitchen and breaking the intense stare Remi and I were giving each other.
“Want some hot chocolate, sweetheart?” Remi asks Wylla, and she shakes her head, placing her wheelchair next to me.
Remi leans himself against the countertop, sipping his coffee, watching as I braid Wylla’s hair. I section it into two parts and start the Dutch braid from her nape, braiding upwards.
“I’ve never had upside-down braids,” she says. “Remi, this is so cool.”
“I can see that.”
She giggles and continues to comment at every moment, and each time her giggles sound sweeter than before. When the braids reach the top of her head, I shape them into two voluminous buns and tie them with the elastic band.
“Voila!”
Wylla touches the buns and squeals. “They feel awesome.” She wheels herself around and faces Remi. “How do I look? How do I look?”
“Minion cute,” Remi says, and Wylla lets out another high-pitched giggle.
“I’m gonna go look at myself in the mirror,” she announces, already halfway out of the kitchen.
“She loved that, didn’t she?” I ask, smiling at her zeal.
Remi chuckles. “She did. Her brother only knows how to do an out-of-fashion ponytail and simple braid.”
Well.
We hear another loud-pitched squeal, and we laugh, knowing she’s finally reached the mirror.