Hog:Door's open.
Nowhat happened,orare you okay,ordo you need me to hurt someone. Just: door's open.
I started walking.
When I arrived, Hog and Rhett's door was cracked open—not wide, just enough that I could see the warm glow of a lamp inside.
I knocked anyway. Seemed polite.
"It's open, Pickle."
I pushed through.
The smells hit me immediately: pine soap and something baking. Bread, maybe. Or muffins. The kind of smell that made you feel like someone's grandmother lived there, except the grandmother was a six-three enforcer who drove a Prius.
Yarn everywhere. On the couch arm, spilling out of a basket by the TV, and a half-finished something in Storm colors was draped across the coffee table with needles sticking out at angles.
Rhett sat on the couch in socks and an old Henley, laptop closed beside him. He gave me a nod. He looked different there than he had onShark Tank. Smaller. More human. Lesspolished pitch-man, and more guy who'd been reading on the couch with his boyfriend.
"Hey," Rhett said.
"Hey."
Hog emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Not really."
"Shoes off wherever," Hog said. "Couch is yours if you want it."
I kicked off my Crocs. They landed in a heap by the door, one of them upside down. I didn't fix them.
Small victory.
I sat on the couch. Rhett shifted slightly to give me more room.
Hog disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the kettle click on and the clink of mugs.
It was quiet.
I waited for it to feel uncomfortable—for my brain to start generating content to fill the void and make everyone feel better about the fact that I'd shown up unannounced, looking like someone had run me through a wood chipper.
It didn't happen.
Hog came back with two mugs of tea and set one in front of me. He settled into the armchair across from the couch, picked up his knitting, and started working. The needles made a softclick-click-click.
Rhett glanced at his phone, then set it down. "I'm gonna take a shower," he said. "Holler if you need anything."
He squeezed Hog's shoulder as he passed. Disappeared down the hallway.
Then it was just Hog and me and the clicking needles.
"You don't have to talk yet, but when you're ready, I'm here."
I picked up the mug and wrapped my hands around it. The heat stung a little, but in a good way—something sharp and present to anchor me.
I watched Hog's hands move. Loop, pull, adjust. It was the same motion over and over, building something out of string and patience.
