Splintered

Chapter Seventy-Five: Breath of Sapphire

A humid cloud of shower steam followed Snow out of the bathroom. The man was bare-chested, and his lower half was covered in lavish black slacks. A cottony white towel was cradled in his hands, and a glittering, amused expression soared behind his eyes.

She'd never been around him when he was so uncovered, so relaxed, and worst of all, so human.

Hazel tripped over her feet as she surged away from the box, nails indenting the soft cake in her hold, and she nearly dropped it.

His deep laugh rumbled over her, and she considered just bolting.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked.

Hazel glanced back at him without thinking it completely through. His skin was still damp from what she could see. Several droplets slithered down the muscle straps of his neck.

"I wasn't..." She choked out, tearing her eyes away once the water dripped below his collarbone. "Looking."

Snow's smirk ripened as he all but visibly devoured her discomfort. "No?"

"I mean," she stuttered, resolutely gluing her eyes to the flooring, as if the floorboards contained the means to steady herself. "I wasn't looking for anything."

Snow scruffed the towel through his hair, exhaling a handful of amused breaths out of his nostrils. "Not sure that's not a lie either, but I suppose I'll let it pass for now."

His hands came away from his head. His hair was left as a curly blonde mop that fell over his forehead.

"Was there something you found interesting, Miss Marlowe?"

Hazel realized, a moment too late, that she was staring again, and carefully forced her eyes back to the simple, dreary box.

"It seems out of place."

Snow moved nearer, perusing the object of her scrutiny himself. Folding the towel over the back of the desk chair, he reached for it and pressed his palm against the lid.

"It's my personal collection. Sentimental items, really. Most are from my parents. What few things have they left of them."

Hazel contemplated the women's scarf and compact; they must've been his mother's, and the compass and handkerchief his father's. It struck her in a way that he'd held onto such momentos. He was preserving what remained, and she could wholly understand the desire.

Opening the container wider, he dipped his hand inside, caressing each item like he could absorb the memories they held back into himself.

Finally, he grasped the out-of-place glass cube with the leaf trapped within. He examined it, another smirk twitching over his mouth, like a memory was replaying behind his eyes.

"You recognize it?" he asked, shifting himself to face her.

His overly large room felt suffocating, especially with him so close and so much of his skin open to her. She wrapped both hands around the cake, as she did her best to keep her inquisition above chest level, but his proximity and height forced her to crane her neck.

"Can you at least put a shirt on?" she asked.

Snow's small smirk blossomed into a brilliant, sharp grin.

"Something wrong?"

She swallowed, and the orange sweetness from the cupcake reemerged. "I don't know how you spend your free time, but I'm not used to discussing horticulture half-naked."

She shifted her eyes to the windows, the walls, and then the pristine white sheets of his bed.

"Just in your dreams, right?"