She looks up in surprise. I hate to be the grinch who stole the Christmas cabin, but I can’t sit here and listen to her markingher territory. It’s excruciating. The tension in my shoulders fails to ease as I exhale slowly.
I fix my face. “This is my cabin, too.”
Her smile falters. “I know that. For now…”
“Do you?” I set down the mug. “Because you’ve said thateverythingin this kitchen is yours. Your grandmother’s recipe. Your coffee beans. Your precious sugar jar. Your linen closet. Even your dad’s thermostat trick.”
“I was just?—”
“Being a good host?” I interject.
She hesitates, then crunches the bacon in her mouth. “Would that be so bad?”
I scoff and drop my fork in disbelief. “Yes.”
Our eyes lock. I can’t believe I have to spell it out for her. “Because I’m not a guest. I live here. At least I’m trying to. But every time you open your mouth, you remind me I’m an intruder inyourspace.”
I wait for a response, but one never comes.
“I’m going for a walk. Thank you for this.” I motion toward my empty plate and stand. I take the coffee with me. “Enjoy your breakfast. In your kitchen. Withyourmugs.”
At the cabinet, I dig my tumbler from the back, and pour the coffee in. I set Kez’s mug in the sink. A clink against the stainless steel is the only sound between us. Fingers balled into a tight fist, I exit the room. I’m thinking there’s something cursed about that kitchen.
An idea pops into my mind. When I reach the entryway, I pull out my phone and fire an overdue text message to Rory. Then, I slide my jacket on and pace out the door.
Charlotte
Now playing: 12 Sexy Nights of Christmas
Starring: Charlotte Fucking Harrington
(Technically eleven days, but you get the idea)
Rory responds immediately.
Rory
HELL YES.
Merry Titsmas bitches
Another text follows.
Rory
Sorry. That wasn’t my best work. I can do better.
My flight’s delayed and I’m stuck at the airport. Storm of the Century is rolling in I guess. They said that last year
She says that like she doesn’t love airports. I picture Rory nestled near a window, frantically typing away, three empty coffee cups next to her, guarding an outlet with her life. I text her safe travels and continue my walk. Maybe I can actually photograph the local wildlife this time instead of nearly hitting it with my car.
I lift my camera and zoom in on a hawk perched high in a pine tree. Its dark wings spread wide against the pale sky. Iframe the shot and click twice. I watch in awe as the bird soars into the distance. I’m glad I came outside.
Minutes later, my phone buzzes in my jean pocket. Again. Then again. Now, non-stop. Before checking, I already know Rory’s up to something.
Rory
UNLEASH FESTIVE FEMME RAGE. Jingle her nerves
