“Shy?” I echoed in confusion. What did he expect? It wasn’t like he had been the president of my welcoming committee. Besides, the fact that he practically had abs down to his toes didn’t help calm my nerves. “Never mind,” he said, laughing, his eyes dancing in amusement as he shook his head at me. “Come on. I’ll show you upstairs.” We started up the steps, which was more difficult than it sounded. Stacks of books and board games, dirty clothes, a deflated basketball, and a pile of movies made reaching the second floor without knocking anything over harder than completing an obstacle course. Next was the maze of hallways that I knew I would get lost in. They seemed to twist and turn in strange places as if there was no real floor plan. When we reached the farthest corner of the house, Cole finally stopped. “This is where you’ll be staying,” he said, pushing open a door. Putting my hand on the wall, I searched for the light switch. We found it at the same time, our fingers fumbling over each other’s in the dark. The contact sent a pulse down my arm, and I ripped my hand back in shock. Cole chuckled, but the lights flickered on and a warm glow lit up the room, making me forget my embarrassment. “Oh wow.” Every inch of the wall was painted in vivid colors. A mural of a tropical rain forest started on one end of the room, and by the time it wrapped around to the other side, it transformed into an ocean filled with sea creatures. One half of the ceiling was painted to look like the night sky and the other daytime. Even the wooden panels on the ceiling fan had been decorated. I stood, mouth open, and gaped at my new room. “This was my mom’s art studio,” Cole said. A large desk was painted as brightly as the rest of the room. On top was a collection of glass jars and coffee mugs that were filled with paintbrushes, charcoal pencils, and markers. A sketchbook was open to a rough-draft sketch of the painting on an easel in the middle of the room. Light brushstrokes covered the canvas, depicting a scene that I recognized from my drive from the airport—the rolling hills of Colorado. “It’s amazing,” I said, brushing my hand over the edge of the canvas.