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“Definitely not. It is one of my most valuable assets.” She wags her eyebrows at me while emphasizing that last word.
“Holly Foster!” I give a mock gasp. “Did I just hear you curse?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With an innocent smile, she wanders to the other side of the room. Two closed doors sit almost side by side on the far wall. “Is this where we’re sleeping?”
My body goes through a weird adrenaline and lust spike mixed with excitement and disbelief at her words. I rein it all in as best I can. Just because I want her lying in bed next to me doesn’t mean that’s why I brought her here. And Holly didn’t mean sleeping together. She obviously jumped to the logical conclusion that both doors lead to bedrooms.
I take a deep breath to settle myself while doing my best not to imagine sliding under the covers with Holly, holding her flush against me, and making out until we’re so hot that we don’t need to worry about radiators.
HOLLY
Two doors. Maybe one is an office or something. Sure, it makes sense that they’d both be bedrooms, but can’t I hold out a slight hope that there’s only one bed, and we need to share it?
Obviously, my hopes need a stern talking-to. I’m not supposed to be lusting after Ben. I’m his friend, and I’m his organ donor.
And I’m in a secluded cabin with him that is practically begging me to snuggle up to him for warmth.
“Yeah, your room is on the left.”
Balloon of inappropriate expectations popped.
The doorknob is cold as I grab it and turn, and the room behind it is just as chilly. Doesn’t really inspire me to want to go to bed. Not helping matters, the full-size mattress in the middle of the room is completely bare.
“Here. I brought sheets. And the radiator is on the far wall.” Ben gently moves me out of his way by placing his hands on my hips and directing me to the side. He flips the switch of a lamp on the bedside table and crouches down behind the bed.
I try not to watch the way his shirt stretches over his broad shoulders as he fiddles with something out of sight.
The now-familiar rattle and cough of a radiator sounds again, and I pray that means this room will be nice and toasty come bedtime. Just as we moved in sync when uncovering the furniture, Ben and I silently work together to make up my bed.
In the soft yellow light, I take in my temporary quarters. Simple furnishings, just like the main room, with a bed, side table with a lamp, and a heavy wooden dresser. The piece that stands out is an easel sitting next to the window.
“Was this your grandfather’s room?”
He gives me a silent nod while tucking in a corner of the fitted sheet.
“Was he an artist, too?”
Ben glances up, surprise clear in his eyes. Then, he turns, following my indicating nod to the easel.
With his back to me, I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling, only that he’s been quiet and still for a stretch. I’m about to try taking my question back when Ben clears his throat and meets my eyes.
“Yeah, he was. Taught me everything I know.”
There’s pain on his face, although I can tell he’s attempting to hide it. Ben tosses me my side of the top sheet, which we arrange in silence and then finish by spreading a thick quilt over top.
When we’re done with the bed, he doesn’t immediately leave. Instead, he slides open the shuttered closet doors. The top shelf holds a couple of pillows, which he hands to me.
I’ve started putting on the pillowcases when he speaks again, “This is some of his work.”
Sitting on the floor of the closet is a stack of canvases. Ben removes one, stares at it for a moment, and then turns to show me. The image is of a mother deer and her fawn. The young animal grazes while the elder stands tall, on the lookout for danger. The detail is amazing.
I step closer, lean in, and notice the texture of the paint. I’m tempted to run my fingers over the subtle ridges, but I don’t want to be disrespectful. “It’s gorgeous. At least, that’s my inexperienced opinion.”
Ben nods. “All of his work is. He painted what he saw. Living out here.” He settles the painting back in the closet and shuts the door.
For some reason, my heart aches. It seems wrong, almost criminal, to put that piece in the dark, like a forgotten item unworthy of the daylight. Maybe, if this trip goes well and Ben and I become closer friends, I could possibly ask to take the painting with me. I’d love to hang it right above the couch in our apartment. That way, I’d have a piece of this wild land with me back in the city.
My thoughts are interrupted by my stomach, which decides to make it known that I haven’t eaten since the granola bar and yogurt I had for lunch about six hours ago.
