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“Good morning. Did your parents leave?”
“Early this morning. Dad always wants to beat the traffic.”
“You should’ve woken me up to say goodbye.”
The tiny smirk on his lips doesn’t sneak past me. “You were pretty worn out and dead to the world. They said to tell you how much they loved meeting you and they hope to see you again.”
“I liked meeting them too.” I rub my hand over my face, still trying to wake up. “I’m going to grab some coffee and a shower. Don’t let me interrupt your drawing.” He hasn’t been doing much of it lately with everything we’ve had going on.
“There are cinnamon rolls on the stove for you, and towels are in the dryer if there aren’t any in the bathroom,” he advises, going back to his work.
Something about that moment feels so…domestic. From the time he said good morning, to making coffee and unwrapping the foil around the cinnamon rolls, to pulling a warm towel from his dryer. This is what our mornings would always be like if he loved me.
It settles over my heart and puts an ache in my chest. He’s such an easy person to love, no one could fault me for falling so fast. That doesn’t mean anything has changed between us. We may have trouble keeping our hands off each other, especially trying to share a bed, but he’s been clear that he doesn’t want feelings involved.
As if that ever stopped anyone from drowning in them.
After a shower, I make up the bed in the guest room and move my stuff back into it, then text Silver to see how she and Mona are doing. Instead of texting back, she calls.
“Hey, were you busy?” she asks.
“Nope. Not at all. How’s your mom?”
“About to get that bell her friend gave her to ring for me shoved up her ass if I hear one more ding, but otherwise, she’s good.”
It feels good to laugh with her again. We talk for a few minutes about how things are going with Mona and the diner. “Actually, that’s what I needed to talk to you about. Mom has decided to retire a little early and I’ll be managing Lucky’s.”
I’m not sure whether to congratulate her or if she sees this as bad news. “How do you feel about that?”
“It’s great. I’m excited. Mom seems to be too. She said she wants to travel a little to see some stuff, and I quote, ‘Before that idiot Gary kills me.’”
“Congratulations, I’m happy for both of you.” I can’t imagine why she wants to talk to me about it unless she’s trying to get me to come back to work.
“The only thing is, for her to have the retirement funds, she’s going to sell the cabin.” Silver quickly adds, “Not until your lease is up, of course. We aren’t trying to throw you out or anything.”
“Of course, I understand.”
“If you’re interested in buying it, you can have first dibs. If not, Arlow will likely want it since he tried to get that piece of land before. Anyway, you have plenty of time to think about it, but I wanted to let you know as soon as possible.”
“I appreciate it, and yeah, let me give it some thought.”
For a while after we hang up, I consider it. If we figure out who’s giving us all this trouble, would I want to stay? When it means living next to the man that I’m struggling not to fall too hard for? I love the cabin and the woods. It’s a perfect place to start trying the new gardening and homesteading type hobbies next year, not to mention learning beekeeping from Arlow.
One thing at a time. Right now, I’m just trying to keep it together while we wait to hear back from the cops and for the internet to get restored so we can get my cameras working.
When I return downstairs, Arlow asks me to go with him to swap out the memory cards in two of his trail cameras and to check on the bees. I don’t think to bring my gun until we’re already outside, but Arlow has his, and I feel safe with him as we start into the woods, the beekeeper suits tucked into his backpack.
“Look at this new app I’ve been playing with,” I tell him, showing him my phone. “It’s called Merlin. You record the birds singing and it tells you which species they are.” I hit play on my last recording. “See, last time I heard a cardinal and a chickadee.”
“That’s great. It’ll teach you to recognize them pretty quickly.”
“Yeah, it’s fun to try to tell them apart.”
“Turn it on, let’s see what it picks up,” he says, as we head down the trail. It catches a few songbirds and a mourning dove. After a minute, Arlow leans over and starts tweeting and chirping into my phone.
“You can’t trick it,” I giggle, stopping the recording. “Oh wait, it says you’re a dodo.”
For a split second, I see his eyes dart toward the screen before he realizes I’m kidding. “Very funny.”
