Elora's point of view:

"Flynn Nash? So you're the one they talk about?" I asked, a little exasperated from when I first saw him. He was just---mesmerizing. The way he looked, I mean. He was average height, about six feet tall. His hair was barely there in a buzz cut close to the scalp, but the faint ones I picked out were a light brown, even dirty blonde colour. His eyes were a bright, luminescent shade of blue that was like looking into a newborn sky. All I could see was him, like just glancing at him made everything around me disappear.

"I suppose that's me. You must be one of Lorelei's sisters. Let me guess, Carina?" He asked. I was delayed in shaking my head at him. My head felt light and my body was weightless, like I could float away any time.

"No, Carina is the one with the baby. I'm Elora, her younger sister," I replied. He nodded and walked closer to me, making me feel clammy. I had never seen a man so ruggedly handsome than the one standing right next to me. He didn't look much like Nash, his father, he must have taken the looks from his mother's side of the family.

"Nice to meet you, Elora. That's quite the name, where's it from?" He asked. I felt almost on the brink of speechlessness when he talked to me. Generating an answer was a thousand times more difficult when he was asking the questions.

"It's Hebrew, it means light of God," I replied. He nodded as if he was really, genuinely interested in what I had to say. It was just my name, although a lot of people thought it was pretty. I rather liked Lorelei's name better. Her name sounded mythological, like she was this beautiful creature of the forest. I didn't really know what my name sounded like.

"I like it," he replied. I thanked him a little too silently, and then we heard my father clear his throat. We both looked down in his wheelchair to see him and his glare. He had an eye for picking out people who were too close to us for his comfort.

"Well, I should go. I was going to start lunch. Will you be eating?" I asked. He nodded and thanked me as I went to the kitchen. I waved to him as I moved away, watching him from afar. He was quite a fascinating figure, especially with the tattoos that poked out of the shirt he wore.

The sunlight was best in the kitchen. I always loved being in there, which was why I volunteered to cook every time I could. I loved sunlight and I loved to cook. The smells of food, with their spices and flavours. Everything was a different story to tell when it came to food. With every meal came a certain purpose that it carried. Whether it was a strawberry pie to bring the mood up in the summertime, or a plate of pasta and rosé sauce to signify a night with friends was the best night. There were so many ways to say how you felt with cooking a meal, and I loved seeing how people's faces melted in pleasure as they took the first bite.

I decided a good lunch would be fresh made tomato bisque and biscuits. So I got straight to work as everyone in the house was talking in what sounded like the living room. I tied my hair up in a bun like I always did when I was ready to get to work, placed on an apron, and began to make the bisque.

When it was almost finished, I heard the tiny footsteps of Emmaleigh walk into the kitchen. She had a somewhat stressed look on her face, and when she toppled down onto one of the chairs with a sigh, I knew something was up. "What's wrong?" I asked her as I was getting the plates ready for everyone.

"I just met my grandmother," she said. I remembered it then. All of us that had not met her in Vietnam were just introduced to her. She was probably with my grandfather right now since she had finished talking with all of us. I was the first to be called upon since I was right there when she came in. It was not a fun time for me.

"What do you think?" I asked. She shrugged her shoulders and raised her dark brow. I went to the refrigerator and grabbed her a coca-cola to ease her nerves a little.

"Thanks, and I'm at a loss for words. It is just a lot to think about in such a small time. I really wish that Lorelei would have called and told us before she left," Emmaleigh replied. I nodded and moved my back against the counter, facing her.

"I'm not sure she had time. Apparently, everything was really close knit and to the point. Such a hurry must have made it skip her mind," I replied. She nodded in agreement and sipped her coke as I took the biscuits out of the oven. I began to put two on each plate for everyone to dip their soup in. "Can you help me with these?" I asked her after a few seconds. I took the first two plates and she followed me with two others.

We had all the plates around the dining room table and I went to call everyone in to eat. I had to travel a few places to get everyone to know that it was time to eat. I didn't really mind though, I had my family back.

"Wow, it's been a while since I've had food that looks this good!" Lorelei said as she walked into the dining room with Mihn at her side. I smiled and let everyone sit down at their place. I sat in the chair I always did, ever since I was a child I sat on the right side and in the middle seat. We had to set up a few other chairs for the new additions to the household, but I didn't mind. We had a big house with a lot to share.

It was then that Flynn came in and sat down next to me. I began to freeze and get nervous all over again. For a second I had forgotten he was here. When he sat down, he had a smile on his face and turned his head to me. "You made this? It looks amazing!" He complimented me and it made me blush, I had to look away to hide it from him.

"Thank you," I replied.

"You don't have much to say, do you?" He asked. My blush had gone away and I confidently turned my head to him.

"Not in English," I replied. Although I was American, I spoke many different languages. These included Hebrew, Yiddish, French, German and Spanish. I was learning Italian right now. That was another thing that never ceased to fascinate me: languages. Speaking and cooking were my all-time favourite things in the world.

"Good thing I speak many languages. What's the one you talk the most in?" He asked. I had to think about that one. I didn't want to use French because that language was a common one for Americans who spoke a second language. Spanish was on that list as well. I decided that I would choose Yiddish as that wasn't a language many used commonly.

"Yiddish," I replied.

"Good, I speak that too," he said to me in perfect Yiddish. My eyes went wide and I turned my head to the front. My plan, which seemed bulletproof, was foiled by an extremely multilingual man.

"What languages do you speak?" I asked in English. He chuckled.

"Besides English and Yiddish? French, Spanish, Italian, Vietnamese, Mandarin, Portuguese, German and Swedish. I was thinking of learning Finnish at some point in time," he said. My eyes went even wider. That was ten languages. How did he manage to speak all those dialects?!

"Ten languages?! Are you a genius or something?" I asked. He laughed and shook his head.

"Clinically, no, or I haven't checked. I just love languages and dialects. They are the best thing next to the army," he replied.

"I love languages too," I replied. Our stares remained on each other as all the others at the table at away at their food.

"I have to say Elora, this is quite the dish," my grandfather said to me as he ate the bisque. I thanked him and went silent after that. On a usual occasion, I didn't say much. Although I was entirely capable of being social, I kept to myself when I was at home. It was the time I had alone where I could be with myself and just collect my thoughts. That was how I managed to go out whenever someone asked me to.

Lunch came to a conclusion and I was on my way to going off and doing what I felt like. Usually, this was go outside, but the day was rather chilly and I was in no fit state to endure the cold. So I went to the den in the downstairs and put on some music. I fished around the bookshelves for something to read and found Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven on the second one. I had read this one before but I adored it. If I had to choose a book to read for the rest of my life, it would be this one.

I sat down in the armchair and went straight to reading. Meanwhile, Etta James's Sunday Kind of Love played in the background. The sunlight from the window projected onto the floor and formed a dusty shadow on the carpet, causing a temperate calmness within me. The lights from the chandelier above glowed in their dim glory and created an ambiance to complete the feel of the room. Its delectable and rich aura made me want to spend the whole of the day in here, reading.

There was a knock on the door that had me away from the book. I placed it on the little table beside the chair and went to open the door. When I did it was Flynn to be revealed in the doorway. He had his arm leaning against the frame as I noticed a few of the buttons on his shirt were loose and unfastened. It exposed more of his tattoo that seemed to be massive on his chest.

"My eyes are up here, you know?" He said to me when he caught me staring at his chest. Embarrassed, my eyes went up to his face.

"Sorry, I just saw the tattoo, I was just trying to make out what it was," I said. He nodded and laughed, walking into the den as I backed away from the door.

"Don't worry, I was just joking. And it's a rose. You want to see it?" He asked. I crossed my arms nervously and could only think to nod on impulse. He went for the buttons on his shirt and opened them up, slipping it off his torso. He had a chiselled chest with definite muscle tone, but the tattoos took me from it as they were captivating. They surrounded his whole entire body. It was absolutely entrancing.

His chest delivered what he told me it was. A massive black rose covered the centre of his chest, the stem making its way down to his stomach and below. I saw his arms were covered even more. Down them in sleeves were different pictures. Some were mosaics or tribal, others were writing in different languages. The one that stood out to me most was the massive angel on his left bicep. I wondered to myself if his tattoos meant anything, if they weren't just for show.

"Wow, I mean, do they mean anything or?" I asked. I wasn't usually this anxious around men. There was just this demeanour about him that made me weak in the knees and more nervous than a cow in a slaughterhouse.

"Yeah, they have meanings. Mostly it's the angel. I was in a pretty damaging accident a few years ago and I was lucky to get out safely. I have a feeling there was an angel with me that night," he replied. He didn't go into detail which only meant that he was reserved about his personal life and didn't go in for the specifics.

"What about the rose?" I asked as I motioned to his chest.

"Oh, the rose. Well, every thorn on the stem stands for every fight I've won in the war. You see there's six currently. I hope to add more until I retire," Flynn replied. That was a fascinating way to portray what he did for a living and it seemed very honourable to me. If only I was brave enough to tattoo my skin for the fights I had won. Granted, that rose would be a thornless one.

"That's fascinating. What about all the others? Like the tribal tattoos and the mosaic?" I asked. He nodded at them as he happily looked them over.

"All the places I've travelled in my life. I don't really have much of a family so I spent my life from sixteen and up going around the world and learning all that I could about the culture. If I loved it enough, I would learn the language. So I tattooed every place I ever went to on my body so I could remember them even when I grow old. I thought that if I become one of the unfortunate older people that lose their minds, the travel is what I want to remember," he said. It was riveting to just here him talk about anything he believed in. What seemed like a toughened and rough man was actually a fascinated and eager traveler waiting to learn more while he was still young enough to do it.

"You'll have to tell me more about your travels. I've never really been anywhere since my parents are in the military. It was mostly them that travelled around while I stayed home and pretended to be normal," I replied. He nodded and laughed a little bit, but it seemed a tad disingenuous. I didn't mean to make it uncomfortable when I spoke about my life struggles, it just kind of slipped out.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," I replied. I became overwhelmed and I began to take my book from the stand and leave. When I reached for the door, he stepped in front of me and blocked me from it.

"No, it's fine. Don't worry," he said. He was looking down at me and my eyes had fled up to see his. I was only a little below average in the height department but compared to him I was a little speck of dust. It wasn't even that much of a height thing, he was incredibly muscular and extremely fit. He was a bear of a man even if he wasn't super tall like my dad or Max, our family friend.

"I don't know what to say," I said. His eyes went down a little bit they kept on me despite that.

"You don't have to say anything," he said. That was when he took himself away from me and allowed me to leave the room quietly with my book.

•••

Rain began to steadily pour down the windows at around seven and kept on for hours. It was half past nine now and the whole of the house was beginning to settle. I was sitting in my room and watching the water skim down the large window and onto the wet grass below me. My window had a ledge on it that allowed me to successfully and comfortably sit and watch the outside as long as I wanted. I did this a lot to collect my thoughts. With my robe being held together with my arms pressed across my chest, my hair still in the loose bun from lunch, I watched the cold glass cry tears of the sky.

A knock on the door sounded and when I turned my head I noticed it was already opened. I didn't have time to get to the door and tell my father that I was alright. I knew the reason he was here was because he was wondering about me. That was the only reason he ever came to our rooms. If it was for something else, he'd usually wait until later when we were more public. Yet here he stood, with one leg and a crutch to keep him standing.

"Hello," I simply said. He chuckled and moved his way into the room with the clunk of his crutch.

"Good evening. What are you up to?" He asked. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled at him tightly as he wobbled to me and sat himself down on the window seat next to me.

"Nothing really. Just waiting until I'm tired enough to go to sleep," I replied, "yourself?"

"Wondering why you were so odd this afternoon. You didn't talk much at all. I know you aren't the most talkative of people but still, you were out of the ordinary. Is there something I should know?" He asked. I shook my head and smiled at him innocently. He must've caught this and began to laugh, although I knew the issue wasn't quite over yet.

"You can talk to me. So do that please. I want to make sure you're alright," he replied. I nodded my head and let our s relaxed breath.

"I'm fine, really. It's just all the new things going around now. It's a little stressful. I just need some sleep and then I'll be back to normal," I replied. He sighed and nodded, letting his hand drop to my knee in a nurturing manner.

"Alright, kid, you let me know," he said.

"I promise."