ALONE TOGETHER I OWEN GRADY

Chances In My Veins

Chances In My Veins

"Hey."

Cassandra glanced up from where she'd been poking about Owen's sound-system and the surrounding shelves, face flushing hotly at seeing Owen standing in the doorway. "I was just admiring your extensive CD collection," she said abruptly, tossing her head back, only to wish she hadn't, the movement jarring. "I see you're a country music connoisseur."

"Well, I do love me some Dolly Parton," Owen said lightly, coming over, picking up some mugs from the kitchen table as he did, the insides ochre with coffee stains. "Are you a fellow fan?"

"Not really."

Owen set the mugs down on the draining board, beside a pile of dirty plates and cutlery that looked like they'd been there a long time. "Claire was saying you were an artist," he then said, glancing out of the window where Claire was now pacing the yard, phone clamped to her ear, "that you earned a crust out of it."

"I try."

"You must be good if Masrani wants you to paint his portrait."

"I suppose," Cassandra said, trying to control her growing panic at being alone with him, her gaze darting wildly about the bungalow, searching for escape. "Did you build this place yourself?" she said hurriedly, gesturing vaguely around her at their homespun surroundings.

"Pretty much," Owen shrugged, "not much to show for my efforts though. It's just four walls and a roof with a trailer tagged on."

"You live alone out here, then?"

"Again, pretty much," Owen replied with another shrug. "Doesn't bother me though, my existence has been pretty nomadic so far."

Cassandra just nodded, her frantic gaze then falling upon his makeshift mantelpiece, her attention immediately caught by the various photos and postcards he had haphazardly propped up on it, one standing out from the rest. Before Owen could react, she rushed over to the mantelpiece, snatching up a particularly battered postcard. "That's my painting," she gabbled as she turned around, holding the postcard up to him, where it showed a poorly executed reproduction of Distant Horizon. "I painted this."

"So you said," Owen drawled, coming over. "But take it easy, huh?" he said, gently plucking the postcard from her fingers. "You just fell headfirst into a raptor nest."

Cassandra tensed. "Sorry," she then said, turning away from him. "I shouldn't be touching your stuff."

"No matter," Owen said, putting the postcard back. "But it's kind of weird you painted that."

"How so?" Cassandra said, instantly on the defensive.

"Hey, I'm not insulting you, it's just I'm not really into art," Owen said awkwardly, "but that picture... I don't know, something about it just spoke to me. Picked it up New Orleans from one of these little touristy shop places."

Cassandra stared at him, tears pricking her eyes as she remembered painting Distant Horizon during her pregnancy, her mind full of a man she didn't even know the name of until now.

"Uh, you're looking at me kind of weird, Cassie," Owen said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "I remember you doing it back at that dive bar. Still freaks me out to be honest. It's like being looked at by lasers."

"Don't call me Cassie," Cassandra snapped, only to instantly regret it. "Sorry," she then said tiredly, shaking her head, every inch of her aching afresh with the movement, "I shouldn't have said that."

"No," Owen agreed, "maybe you shouldn't have."

Cassandra looked at him for a long moment, still feeling like the world had been turned upside down. "Forsooth, this is just so weird," she winced, "I – I just can't deal with it."