We usually give each other crap. Him about me breaking his pool house, me about how he can’t fix anything with his shirt on. Sometimes me about him looking cheesy in one of his movies, or him asking if I wrote a specific song as an homage to the traffic in LA.
Ever since the first text I sent him to ask if I could rent his pool house, we’ve kept in regular communication.
Like we’re friends.
Or old entertainment industry insider and newbie learning the ropes.
We definitely talk more about our jobs than we ever do about who we might be dating or when we’re seeing our family members next.
Or not seeing them.
But I wanted to be alone for the holidays. With the wind howling harder, the rain incessantly pelting the cabin, the temperaturessocold, and night falling quickly, I know there’s very little chance that, even when the owners respond, they’ll be getting up here to clear that tree off the road soon.
Cash will be spending the entire night.
It’s fine though.
Totally fine.
He can have the couch. I’ll take the bedroom. Tomorrow morning, the owners will show up, clear the tree off the driveway, and he’ll leave.
And then I have another week and a half before I have to head back to the real world.
Hopefully by then, my life will be back to normal.
Hopefully.
3
Cash
Way to go,me.
Good job impulsively chasing a twenty-four-year-old woman out to a mountain cabin when she’s not here because of you at all.
You’re doing a fantastic job of convincing yourself that you’re not a creeper.
And now you’re stuck here at least until morning.
The wind outside is the kind that causes trees to come down.Moretrees. The temperature’s dropping fast enough that the rain will likely be sheets of ice within the next thirty minutes, which wasnotin the forecast.
And Aspen’s curled up in the corner of the couch, pretending I’m not here while she scribbles in her journal, occasionally checking her phone and making thethey haven’t replied yetnoise.
She’s tried calling the after-hours number a few times, but none of her calls went through.
Apparently the internet is strong enough for email, but not strong enough for phone calls.
And now it’s just the two of us.
Sitting out a storm and waiting for an email.
Ever feel like you’re breathing too loudly?
That’s me right now.
I’m breathing too loudly.
The last time I worried I was breathing too loudly was when I was probably eight or nine, hiding in a closet to spy on my sister because she’d been telling everyone she had a secret, and I wanted to know what it was.
