“Sosorry,” I insist and jump up to stuff Lewis’s towel into my backpack, then snatch up his map, but the intricate folding pattern is too complicated for my flustered state. “We’ll be on our way.”
Lewis rises slowly, and under Jodie’s watchful eyes, we vacate our spot, the large map fluttering behind me.
Only after we’ve rounded a bend in the path and are hidden behind a massive boulder overgrown with moss does Lewis pause and take the map from me. “Here, let me,” he says. And with Jodie still ranting in the distance, we both burst into laughter.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time we reach the cabin, dusk has fallen. The gravel crunches underneath the tires as Lewis pulls up to an A-frame surrounded by towering pines and a porch out front. Earlier, when we dropped off the cooler of groceries that Lewis had bought in the city this morning, I only got to see the ground floor, a cozy open-plan space with creaky wooden floors, shelves stacked with books and board games, and a gray L-shaped couch piled with cushions in front of a fireplace. On the far side of the room, a wall of windows opens up to the now-darkening forest.
This time around, Lewis shows me the rest of the house, holding my hand as he guides me up the stairs and past the landing to the three bedrooms. One houses a bunk bed, but they’re all homey, with wood-paneled walls, mismatched rugs, and bouquets of dried wildflowers. Lewis clocks my gasp when he shows me the room farthest down the hall and insists I take it. Nestled under the eaves, a king-size bed is pushed so close to the window you can see the sky between the tree crowns. On the dark blue canopy, the stars now blink on one by one.
Before he heads back downstairs, Lewis drops off his bag in one of the other rooms, leaving me wondering if we’ll sleep in separate beds tonight—and if I want us to.
After a quick shower in the en suite bathroom and braiding my towel-dry hair, I pull on clean underwear, a blue ribbed tank, and a pair of jersey shorts, then pad downstairs to find Lewis. Although it felt good to wash off the sun and sweat from the day, the few minutes away from him have also let second thoughts filter back in. I can’t predict with full certainty how this evening is going to go, but after we stumbled through the rest of the hike and stole kisses every turn of the way back to the car, I have a strong hypothesis—and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
Lewis liking me back hasn’t made my reservations about him, and us, disappear. Even though I’m feeling sulky at academia this weekend, they’re still neatly lined up at the top of my mind: that we have limited time together, that he’s a colleague and I don’t have a great track record dating those. His failure to credit me four years ago should be up there, too, but it wanes the more I get to know him.
With the looming darkness outside, the large window wall has turned into a mirror, showing me a wooden dining table before it comes into my direct view. It’s large enough that not even half of it is decked out. Handcrafted bowls in various sizes hold dips and salads, and sliced bread is laid out in a woven basket.
“Wine?” Lewis asks, setting down a platter filled with more food. Drops of water cling to the ends of his hair, and I wonder how he managed to shower, let alone whip up this meal, in such a short amount of time. He’s changed into a white linen shirt that is loose over the slope of his shoulders.
The sight of him scrambles something behind my ribs.
“Sure,” I say, pressing my fingertips onto the tabletop. Themassive oak slab is a little rough and does nothing to calm down my pulse. “This looks incredible.”
Lewis pours the sauvignon blanc into the two glasses set out on the table. The faint bubbles trapped in the liquid shimmer under the soft pendant lights. He slides back a chair for me and lists the items on the table. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so we have some fresh bread, hummus, baba ghanoush, and a roasted red pepper dip, watermelon-feta salad with a bit of mint, couscous salad, grilled Halloumi for you, chicken breast for me.”
“Since when do you cook?”
He settles on the chair across from me and motions for my plate. “There was barely any cooking involved.”
I roll my eyes as he piles my plate with food. “Still involves more foresight than ramen or a ready-to-eat salad. So. That counts as cooking to me.”
“It relaxes me,” he explains and pushes the plate over to me. “Andallows me to have a more varied diet than whatever you’re putting into your body.”
“You’d be surprised how many variations of grilled cheese there are,” I counter. His low chuckle is a spike for my reward centers. I’ve gotten greedy for his laughs, all of them: the ones he tucks into a corner of his mouth, and the ones that rumble out of him.
“So many different cheeses,” I continue, “and types of bread, for that matter. Mustard, yes or no?” I lean forward, dropping my voice conspiratorially. He sets down his fork and sidles closer, too, the pine smell of his shower gel hitting my nostrils. “When I’m being wild, I put truffle mayo on the outside. Makes it extra crispy and tasty.”
His eyes light up, and my dopamine goes off the charts.
Before he invited me to come along this weekend, Lewis told me it’d be good to take some time away from it all, and I know he meant work then, but maybe this should include myqualms, too. Maybe, if just for this weekend, I can forget that he’s a colleague.
As we raid our plates, Lewis gives me recommendations for hikes and sights for my trip with Karo to the Pacific Northwest and tells me about local spots for outdoor climbing. From where he’s sitting perpendicular to me, his eyes glimmer under the soft lamplight, and when his knee slides against my thigh, once, twice, before he leaves it there, the weight sends torturous sparks up my leg.
I know I should pull away.
I should, but I don’t want to. Over the last years, I’ve always let theshouldswin, but after how heavily the grant rejection hit me, I’m beginning to wonder if that was the best course of action. I’m so tired of working toward only one goal, just for the posts to keep moving all the time, and although Lewis is a clear deviation from my path, each tiny step I grant myself is one more burning thought banked.
The unsettling truth is that Lewis makes me feel good about myself.
Isn’t that reason enough to skip theshould, if only for a little while?
I let my leg stay put.
The decision sends jitters down my nerves, and I fold up my napkin to keep my hands busy. “Well. Home-cooked dinner and wine…”
“I told you there was barely any cooking involved,” he interjects, smiling as he shakes his head.
