the violet hour

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴇᴠᴇɴ

"I've seen the results from normal driving I couldn't imagine angry driving."

To Violet's surprise, Rosalie laughed. It was a gentle sort of sound, drifting through the air lightly like the tune of an old song. It was strange and foreign coming from her deep, red lips; stranger still to Violet's ears.

"No that was me angry driving too," she said, eyes darkening as a smirk played at her lips.

Violet wrapped her hands around the edge of the unlocked shutters and pulled them backwards, letting Rosalie grip her own hands below as the old metal snagged on a rusted nail. Rosalie tugged once, sliding the shutters cleanly across the rails. Clearing her throat, Violet shuffled around her and opened the door.

Rosalie followed her in, striding past her to the centre of the room, eyes scanning the worktop benches, lastly falling on the piles of paint-splashed sheets that enshrouded the obvious figure of a vehicle. Violet's own eyes followed her, legs moving toward the gritty box that stood before her father's open office, hands moving blindly to find the keys.

"What's got you so worked up?" Violet finally said, not expecting her to answer.

"Family drama. The usual."

"The usual doesn't normally end in a smashed car," she said, Her eyes widened when she realised what she'd said. "I probably shouldn't joke like that."

"No, it's fine actually. My brother Emmett likes to think and joke like that."

"And you don't?"

Rosalie shook her head. "Not really, no," she said. Her hands eventually found the edges of the sheets that hid the car. "What's this?"

"An old Jeep that I've been working on," Violet said, smiling instinctively.

The sheets were pulled back and dumped in the corner of the room.

"Doesn't look too bad."

"What does that mean?"

The blonde girl shrugged, arms folded across her chest. "Not how I would have done it but it works."

"First you make me too late for a ride home and then you insult my Jeep. What's next?" Violet said as she sent her a glare, half-joking and half-serious.

Rosalie's eyes lifted to look at her. She felt naked under her stare. "I didn't think you'd still be here."

"What, were you just going to break in?" When Rosalie didn't answer, she asked another question. She gestured to the Jeep. "Well, what would you do differently?"

Her arm's folded as she considered the vehicle. "I'd finish it with green."

"That it?"

For a moment, Violet contemplated the idea. The current paint was already close to rusting thanks to the cheapness of the tin she'd bought, and the colour itself was dull and boring. If there was anyone to trust when it came to style, it was Rosalie Hale.

"I didn't say it was that bad to begin with," she said. Violet shook her head as Rosalie lifted herself from where she leaned against a bench. "What's that noise?"

Violet glanced momentarily to the front of the workshop, suddenly recognising the crinkle of music. "The radio. I think I've finally broken it."

She'd just barely finished her sentence when Rosalie began to walk from the room, arms still firmly folded. It was only as she reached the slightly opening of the metal shutters, that she turned to glance back over her shoulder, not moving an inch of the rest of her body. Her eyebrows rose, taunting, Violet would have said.