Her stomach picks that moment to growl, and the both of us laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I am."
"Good, I wake up starving all the time," I admit. "I normally make eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes. Is that good for you?"
"Probably a little much, but yes, sounds amazing. Is there anything I can do to help you?"
I'm not used to having help, at least not any longer. It's almost second nature for me to deny her, but if there's one thing that people bitched at me for when everything went down, it was learn to accept help. And who knows, maybe she needs something to do. A task to give her purpose. "Sure, I like to have a tomato with my breakfast. If you wanna cut it up, that'd be great. If you want to cube the potatoes up, that'd be helpful."
"Sounds good," she says as she walks over. "You'll have to tell me where everything is, but I'm glad to help."
Stepping back from the sink, I let my gaze travel down her body. "You're gonna get used to it, since we're basically stuck here until spring."
She nods, turning on the water, and washing her hands. "But I can leave if I need to?"
"Yes, we can make it happen if that's what you want. It won't be easy, but I'll get you outta here if you need to."
I watch as she finishes washing her hands and then drying them on a dishtowel that lives on the counter next to the sink. "I'm not sure if I wanna get out of here or not. There are a lot of reasons why I want to stay here, and then there's a few why I'd want to go back. I have a lot of decisions to make, but I'll keep you informed."
"That's all I ask. It will be a concentrated effort to get you out of here, but like I said, I'm more than willing to do that, if it's what you want."
Instead of asking me where things are, she starts going through the cabinets, and pulls out the cutting board and a sharp knife.
"Potatoes are in that cabinet." I point to the left of me. "Tomatoes are in the fridge." I'm going to enjoy the last little bit I have. It'll be a while before we're able to get a grocery delivery out here.
"Got it, how many potatoes should I cut up?" Her voice is soft in the room.
"I usually do a couple for myself so two, and then whatever you think you'll eat." She nods, and then I go about lighting the stove, and putting the cast iron on it to warm. Once that's going, I head over to the fridge, grabbing out a couple of eggs, and some bacon. Having someone else in this kitchen is unusual, but at the same time, it's nice too.
"How long have you lived out here?" She asks, starting the familiar motion of slicing.
I should've known she'd want to hear about my past, especially since it seems like I know most of hers. "I've owned the property for the last ten years. Used to use it as a hunting cabin. Moved out here full-time six years ago."
She hums as she works, doesn't seem to be aware that she's doing it, but I like it. Usually I have a radio station playing that I'm able to get because I have a huge antenna. Today I'd rather hear her soft voice.
"I don't mean to pry," she starts. "And you can tell me it's none of my business. I'll respect it if that's what you say, but I was wondering..."
She's going to ask me about who was staying in her room before her. I know that as well as I know the layout of the property around us.
"Who was in the room before I was? It has women's clothing."
My throat tightens, along with my chest. I'm not expecting it. After six years I should be over it, right? That's what I keep telling myself, at least. "My wife."
Those words hang between us for longer than I expect them to, but then she speaks. "You have a wife? Should I expect her to show up and be mad that I'm here with you?"
A part of me wishes I could lie to her and tell her yes, but I know I have to be honest. "No, she won't be showing up. She died six years ago."
She stops what she's doing and looks over at me. "That's why you moved out here?"
"Yeah," I say, swallowing hard. "I needed to get away from everyone who kept asking me how I was doing and if I was okay. There's only so many times you can hear it before it drives you crazy. And the memories." I look out at the mountains, inhaling deeply and then exhaling. "There were so many memories at our house, they were everywhere."
Softly, she asks. "What happened to her?"
Six years ago I would've answered with anger. Yelled at her that it's none of her business and how dare she ask me something so personal. But I've gotten over the intense pain that question once brought with it. Now there's a desire to be honest. Maybe not share the story with anyone who asks, but to be honest. If there's anyone who will understand it'll be Paisley.
"She struggled with depression, particularly after the death of her sister. I tried to get her help, but she hung herself in our garage," I finish on a whisper.
"Chase, oh my God, I'm so sorry."
I accept the apology with a nod. "I couldn't save her, but I could save you."
