Page 50 of Resisting the Fall

A few minutes later, the door to the trailer opened, and Finn bounded inside first. He paused to sniff the air, then came to say hello.

I squatted down to pet him. “Hey, you.”

“Everything okay in here?” Though Ben shut the screen door, he’d left the actual door open, his arms fanning the smoky trailer air.

I straightened, resuming my place at the stove. “I think it was the seasoning I used on the steak,” I said, not wanting him to speculate too much just yet.

He stepped up behind me to turn on the fan over the stovetop. “Steak, huh?”

My heart rate increased at his proximity, but I quickly moved into his line of sight, blocking the charred remains from view. “Go sit down, and I’ll bring it over.”

He eyed me suspiciously but withdrew a step. “I’m going to wash up real quick.”

Biting back my smile, I nodded. But instead of using the kitchen sink like I’d hoped, Ben went upstairs to the bathroom. Which was also fine. He could see my new decorations.

In his absence, I quickly filled Ben’s plate with a massive pile of broccoli mush, the blackened steak, and an unbuttered piece of white sandwich bread. For my final touch, I threw on a few raw carrots and a scoop of excessively over-cinnamoned apple sauce before placing the plate on the table and taking the seat across from where Ben would sit.

“Did you change the soap in the bathroom dispenser?” Ben asked, walking down the steps.

I sent him an overdone smile. “Doesn’t it smell amazing?”

“It smells like pumpkin and…” He took a sniff of his hands. “Vanilla.”

“Impressive. The soap is literally called Pumpkin Vanilla Bliss. It’s the perfect scent for fall.”

Ben took the seat across from me, neither confirming nor denying the claim. “And the new hand towels with the pumpkins, and the matching orange rug and shower curtain.”

“And the toilet cover,” I added. Because the shape of an RV toilet was smaller and the lid oddly shaped compared to a normal toilet, the burnt orange cover was annoyingly loose and sagged off one side.

“Yeah, and that… I almost didn’t recognize my bathroom.”

“When I saw that cute little smiling jack-o’-lantern, I thought to myself, Ben has got to have this.” Which was completely true, especially since I’d found all of it on a clearance rack at a discount store—fifteen dollars for the entire haul. The look on his face was worth every penny spent. On his card. “Speaking of…” I gave a dramatic wave of my arm to his living room. “What do you think of your new artwork?”

Ben followed my line of sight to his previously plain, wooden walls, now adorned with 3-M hooks displaying an eclectic collection of second-hand prints with wildly mismatched frames. I’d hung several of them crookedly, just for effect.

“Personally,” I said, pointing, “I love the highland cow with the flower crown, but that black and white sketch of John Wayne in a cowboy hat is pretty epic and fits your bachelor pad vibe perfectly.” I glanced back at him. “Is there one you like best?”

He looked at each of them, then shrugged. “Feels like picking a favorite child.”

I pushed my lips together, refusing to laugh. “You’d better eat. We don’t want your food getting cold.”

His gaze settled on his plate, then shifted to my lack of a plate. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I was so hungry, I couldn’t wait.” I leaned an elbow onto the table and rested my hand on it. “So please, dig in.”

Ben was an intelligent guy, and the look he threw me proved he knew exactly what I was up to, which meant he also knew what it required to call a truce. Instead, he picked up his steak knife and fork and began sawing at the charcoaled piece of meat. When he’d finally chiseled a piece free, he stabbed the overcooked sirloin and popped it in his mouth. He kept his gaze locked with mine while he chewed, as if accepting the challenge laid before him.

“How is it?” I asked.

He speared another piece, and it honest to goodness crunched when he bit into it. “I’ll give it to you. You have gotten better at cooking.”

It took everything within me not to scoff at the well-placed insult. “Thanks. You should try the broccoli.”

Ben pressed his fork into the congealed mass, and moisture seeped out of it onto his plate. “That’s what that is, huh?”

I smiled. “It looks good, right?”

Again, without a moment’s hesitation, he took a scoop and ate it. Then he ate another. And another. “How were your errands?” he asked casually, as if his tastebuds weren’t suffering catastrophic pain.