“Well . . .” I think of what a critic should say to change the discussion. “The decor is top-notch, but what people really want in a cake is flavor and texture. This one has just the right amount. A firm cake.” I demonstrate with my fork. “I would guess soaked before iced, but with a steady hand. The lemon is perfectly balanced, and it manages to not be too sweet, which is difficult with buttercream in there too.” The kids giggle, and I throw out a few more observations.
“Come on, you can’t love all of it. You have to tell them what to improve on, but, you know,nicely,” Piper wisely observes.
I contemplate the cake, and Theo stiffens beside me.
“The only thing wrong is that it’s not served at Summit House.”
Chapter 12: Theo
“Do you mind if we stop by my place?” Matt asks as we slide into his ridiculously clean Four-Runner.
I think over the words. After the day with his family, my brain isn’t exactly working well. It was fun, and I enjoyed it, but I haven’t been part of that many people in such a casual environment in a long time. There were no roles. I wasn’t anyone’s employee or punching bag. At least Matt, despite having no idea how to characterize who we are to each other, is so confident and in charge I don’t have to think about what to do when I falter.
Not to mention he liked my cake. Matt’s mouth wrapping around the first bite of something I made was hot, made me warm all over, and hard. That hasn’t happened in two years except for when Matt’s hands are on me. But watching him enjoy the taste of something I made was a huge turn-on. I’ve watched a ton of people eat my cake, but I’ve never had that reaction.
I want so badly to tell him I made it. That my flavors brought him joy. But I don’t.
“Theo? You okay, sweetness? Too much sun?” Matt frowns, an odd look for him. He’s not perpetually happy, but he rarely frowns.
“M’fine.” His hands cup my face for a quick kiss. “Did you say you need to go to your condo?” I thought we were going there, so the question itself is confusing, despite all the other thoughts cramming my head.
“No, sugar. I meant my cabin out at the farm. It was just cleaned today, so I had them crank up the heat. It shouldn’t be cold since the sun will set before we get out there and not stuffy since it got aired out if you don’t mind us taking the detour.”
“Of course not.” I want to see his cabin. His condo is nice, but not really personalized.
As we drive out of Bear Valley, he slips his right hand in mine, the other on the wheel. I haven’t ever been this way. The Greyhound bus I rode into town came the other direction, same way as Dillon.
We chat, easy, fishing questions about how the day was for me, mostly. Then we reach the farm where Baylor and Matt both live. An expensive fence is the first sign, followed by a metal gate requiring a code to enter. The road is dirt and heads over a hill, conveniently concealing what lies beyond from anyone driving by on the main roadway. To the right is a stream winding into the property. When we top the hill, the true beauty of the place appears, natural Colorado forest surrounding cleared pastureland, with a large, modern cabin visible ahead. The Manns use the term “cabin” to mean a much larger structure than I was expecting.
A small smile playing at his face as he watches me look over the scene, Matt takes a right at a fork in the road. We head away from the large cabin in the distance and toward the stream we appear to be following.
“That’s Baylor’s place.” He gestures to the modern cabin in the rear view.
We travel across open pastureland, getting closer to the base of a larger mountain. This mountain isn’t as large as the ones used for skiing, but impressive enough to me. The road enters a grove of trees, tall aspens speckled with a few evergreens blocking the view.
All at once, the A-frame comes into view, with the stream we’ve been following on one side and the mountain on the other.
A wide porch greets us as Matt pulls up. A garage-like structure to the side is almost unnoticeable. Motion-sensor or timed lights come on, lighting the stairs up the porch with a warm glow. To the right side, a room juts out under the A-frame silhouette.
I follow Matt in, finding a wide foyer where we deposit shoes. Since the sun is setting, it’s getting cold now, so I leave my hoodie on. The floor is warm, and lights set in the floor light up with his steps.
“Is this floor heated?” I ask, remembering the condo I stayed in over New Year’s.
“Don’t mention it to Perrin. He’s pretty jealous about that feature.”
The main part of his place is one large room, a huge kitchen open to a living room, and a loft space above. The entire back of the house, mostly glass, looks out to the mountain and the stream.
“The doorway leads to the bedroom, and there is a bathroom here as well as the en-suite.” He gestures behind me, to a door in the wall. “Everything else you can likely see for yourself.” Matt crosses the few steps back to me and gives me a kiss. “Make yourself at home. I just need to tend to a few things.”
So, I do, browsing books, and pictures and the view. Meanwhile, he moves back and forth in the cabin, taking care of his housekeeping tasks. I ask a few times if there is anything I can do, until he finally throws a decorative pillow from the couch in my direction and tells me to relax.
I do the best I can, easily eating up time exploring, tracking his reflection in the glass.
Before I even know what’s happening, Matt scoops me up, carries me into the bedroom, and deposits me on the bed.
He laughs as he sits back on his heels, my legs sprawled on either side of his thighs. I roll my head over, taking in more windows and the warm, soft feel of cozy blankets.
With his backwards baseball cap and thin t-shirt stretched across his chest, he looks like a poster-boy for bed-rumpled weekend sexcapades. Not including the casual pants he put on after swimming. In his current posture, they are positively indecent, stretched across his thighs and thick bulge.
