I grab four steaks from the top bin. Prime cuts. Two for lunch, two for dinner. At this rate we’ll run through Vin’s carefully stocked freezer in another week. Maybe less.
The thought should terrify me. Being trapped here that long. Cut off from the world. From the company crisis I’ve been obsessing about since the scandal broke.
But instead all I feel is a strange rush of relief.
Back inside we both head straight for the fire. My hands are white at the fingertips, borderline frostbite territory despite the expensive gloves. She’s shivering, cheeks bright red from windburn.
“Christ,” she mutters, practically climbing into the fireplace. “That was brutal.”
“Yeah.” I flex my fingers, working feeling back into them. “It’s not getting any warmer.”
We stay there for several minutes, neither speaking, just absorbing heat. Gradually the shaking stops. Color returns to her face.
“I’ll make lunch,” she says finally, standing and rubbing her arms. “Orbrunch, I suppose. I’m starving.”
She takes over my kitchen like she belongs there. Lights the gas range. Gets them searing in the cast iron pan with that satisfying sizzle that makes my mouth water. Then flips them and seasons the seared sides with salt and pepper.
I watch her work and realize this is what’s been missing from this place. Not staff. Not efficiency.
Just...
Life.
Someone who moves through the space like it matters.
Like the food matters.
LikeImatter.
The steaks are perfect of course when she plates them. Medium rare, just how I like it. We eat at the kitchen island and the silence feels charged somehow.
“Three jobs,” she says suddenly, breaking the quiet. “That’s what it took to get through undergrad without debt.”
I look up from my steak.
“Barista at five AM before classes. Research assistant in the afternoons. Bartender Thursday through Saturday nights.” She cuts her meat methodically. “I’d sleep four hours a night during finals. My roommates thought I was insane.”
“That’s how you paid for college?” I ask.
“Most of it. I had a partial scholarship but it didn’t cover living expenses. Housing. Food. Books cost a fortune.” She takes a bite, chews thoughtfully. “The full scholarship didn’t come until grad school. That’s what changed everything. My advisor fought the department for it. Said I was worth the investment.”
“She was right.”
She shrugs. “Maybe. But it cost me Jake. My boyfriend at the time. He got a job offer in Seattle right when I was starting my masters thesis. Wanted me to follow him.”
“You didn’t.”
“I was in the middle of critical fieldwork. Couldn’t just abandon it.” Her voice goes flat. “He said I was married to my work. That I’d never have room in my life for anything but research. That I was choosing dirt samples over him. He... wasn’t wrong.”
The parallel hits me harder than I expect.
“I had someone say almost the same thing,” I admit. “Different words. Same accusation.”
She looks up at me.
“Her name was Caroline,” I explain. “We were together three years. She wanted marriage, kids, the whole traditional setup.”I push food around my plate. “But I was in the middle of the Vietnam expansion. Sixty hour weeks. Flying to Hanoi every other month. I kept saying after this deal, after this quarter, after we secure the supply chain, we’ll get married...”
“Let me guess.Afternever came.”
