Much different situation than being here with Aspen, occasionally hearing her pen scratch across the paper as the storm beats down on the cabin.
She slides a look at me. “Would you rather I go to the other room?”
The bad thing about always being busy is that you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not busy.
I’m not busy.
I can’t get a cell signal.
The WiFi’s flaky, which honestly isn’t too surprising given the remoteness here and the weather.
I’d like to have the powers I had in a movie I did a few years ago where I could control the weather so that I can get out of her hair, except that was a fantasy movie, and I’m honestly only human.
And I know exactly how many people would bring me back to life to murder me for dying if I were to try to get back down off this mountain in this weather right now.
If I could get the car around the tree.
Which didn’t look possible during the quick trip I took out to examine it during a short break in the rain a little while ago.
I’m well and truly blocked in here.
I shake my head at Aspen. “No. No, it’s your cabin. I’m sorry I’m bothering you.”
“It’s fine.”
It’s notfine.
I’m way in the wrong here. I shouldn’t have come.
I shove up from the sectional, positioned in the room to face both the fireplace, which is framed by windows, and the wall with the television, and head behind her to the kitchenette and dining nook. Nice little table here.
I can scroll my phone and see if I have enough WiFi power to download the script my agent sent me last week.
And I can hope this storm passes quicker than the few hours of rain that were forecasted.
Butrainandiceare two different things.
If I’d known there would be ice, I wouldn’t have?—
No, that’s not true.
If I’d known there would be ice, I would’ve grabbed more food than what I have out in the car, and that I’m now not so sure about bringing in to share with her.
Not with some of the things she’s implied about the holidays.
What did she do last year?
I wouldn’t know. I was here, seeing friends and family in Copper Valley, the way I have every year since the guys and I left home as Bro Code.
She twists to peer at me. “Why are we being awkward and weird?”
Because I thought it was necessary to stalk her to apologize for something that she apparently didn’t even realize happened because she will never look at me as anything other thanthat old actor dude who rents out his pool house to me.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“Well, youare, and we can’t change that at this exact moment, so can we just be normal?”
Normalis me hoping she doesn’t realize I sit on the balcony off my bedroom on the rare occasions that we’re both in LA and she’s playing her guitar and testing lyrics.
