There’s something about making a fire, whether with a lighter or matches, in a stove, charcoal grill, or outside camp ring that soothes the thrumming anxiety running through me.
Wood crackles and pops, embers darting up the flue like tiny stars exploding out of existence, and I close the door, standing. An orange glow flickers behind the glass, and I can’t help but think it would be nice to share this steady heat with someone for a few hours. Spread out on the floor in front of the sizzling fire with thick blankets and warm mugs of cider or coffee. I don’t care, but it’d be nice not to be alone.
As if he heard my thoughts and takes personal offense to me thinking I’m alone, Max trots over to nudge my pant leg then sits to peer up at me.
I stare at him with those expressive eyebrows. “You’re the best friend a guy could ask for. I’m just saying it’s nice to have a certain someone to share you with.”
Max tilts his head, licking his lips, eyes flicking toward his empty food bowl.
“You and me both,” I say, padding into the kitchen.
The open upper shelves hover above nicked wooden counters that slide in between an older stove and small fridge, and I fumble around in the fridge for a few ingredients to make some avocado toast and pull out Max’s premade dinner as well.
He sits patiently while I prepare his bowl, adding his favorite toppers—raw chicken feet and frozen diced carrots.
“Platz,” I command, and he lays down. “Braver Hund. Okay!”
Max darts in for his meal just in time for my toast to pop up. I mash up an overripe avocado and crack some fresh pepper with a sprinkle of sea salt, then call it good when my stomach gurgles in protest. Retreating to my chair, I sit, watching the fire and eating.
I never asked what my mom and Lily were having for dinner, and suddenly I want to know.
So, I pull out my phone.
What did you have for dinner?
Lily responds a minute later.
Lily
Nope. You don’t get to know. Should’ve come.
My mom tell you to say that?
Lily
No. I can’t repeat what she told me to say.
I laugh, startling Max, whose ears perk up with the foreign sound. Well, I should say foreign in the cabin. There isn’t too much to laugh about when you’re here by yourself. I guess that’swhy I spend so much time out with my mom, playing pickup basketball with old high school friends who’ve stuck around Pinebrook, even hiking with Max so I can run into people. Occasionally, a few of my ranger buddies will get together, but most of them have families or we’re on opposite schedules.
The myriad of things my mom probably muttered under her breath after I texted and told her I would not come back until tomorrow would probably make a priest blush.
I stare at the gear by the door—boots, my wide-brimmed hat I thought looked ridiculous on me when I first started wearing it until several girls tossed their number at me, and my jacket.
The ever-present aroma of woodsmoke gently wafts through the cabin, and Max, successfully full, comes over to curl up by the fire.
There’s another ding on my cell phone.
Lily
Are you okay?
I can sense the true question. Why didn’t you come back? Is everything okay? Hell, I hope she doesn’t think I didn’t come back because of her hug—that’s exactlywhyI want to come back.
I want to tell her, confide in her, but she already doesn’t trust law enforcement. How do I tell her I’m tangled up in this mess with Brent? It would only prove her point. At least talking to her makes the looming anxiety dissipate.
I type out an answer, delete it, then try again.
All good. Got home to Max later than I anticipated so I decided to stay the night. Wishing I could go run Sunrise Lakes Trail up at Clouds Rest. Could use it right about now.
