“For future reference, all you have to say is bacon and I’ll be right over.”
I bit back a smile. “You really are like a stray cat.”
“You have no idea. On my way.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it for ten whole seconds, heart pounding. Then I took the stairs five at a time and flung myself into the bathroom. If my calculations were correct, it would take him about one minute to pull on his boots and coat and make his way to the house. I intended to make good use of the forty-five seconds I had left. It was too late to change out of my gray oversized sweatpants and sweatshirt, but I sure as heck was going to do damage control on my face and hair. I gasped when I saw my face in the mirror. A raccoon indeed. The snow that had beat against my face had caused the eyeliner from yesterday to leave a smudge of darkness under my eyes. The top knot of hair on the crown of my head had black chunks shooting every which way. I pulled out my makeup remover pads and erased the dark circles, touching up with a few strokes of mascara. I pulled my hair out of the bun to gauge what I was working with. It was bent and crinkled and shot out in so many crazy directions from hours in the same twisted position that I had no choice but to put it back up in the bun. It was still pretty messy but now had more of a cool, influencer vibe as opposed to a wild dog in a tornado. It seemed counter-productive to brush my teeth when I was just going to shove my mouth full of sugar-laden carbs, so I didn’t, but I did throw on a few swipes of deodorant.
The knock at the door ended my clean-up time. I made my way down the stairs, my heart beating erratically, suddenly wondering why I hadn’t just let him starve in his room.
4
This time, when I let him in, I didn’t stop and watch him strip down. I very normally made my way into the kitchen to flip the bacon. See how much better I performed with a little advanced preparation?
The meat was ready to be turned, though I didn’t think I had over-cooked it yet. I quickly flipped each strip, then held my hand over the heat of the pancake pan and found it hot. I wiped the pan down with a pat of butter, letting it sizzle and melt. Then I got a pot out and measured some water inside and put it on to boil for the syrup.
“Smells good.”
I swallowed as I felt his body move in next to mine. I glanced over at him. He had showered. His dark hair was wet and disheveled. He wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat and already seemed more approachable. Not quite as tall. More like just some average hot guy and not every woman’s cowboy fantasy. He was wearing the same light jeans as before but had pulled on a simple gray t-shirt. Why didn’t I shower first andtheninvite him over? It was late enough that thirty minutes wouldn’t have made much of a difference. This dinner could have waited a half hour.
“Can I help?” He motioned toward the pancake batter.
I nodded. “Sure, thanks.” I handed him a large spoon and watched him ladle out scoops of batter onto the hot pan, while telling myself that the thick, brown sludge exiting his spoon was totally normal. They were half gluten-free, half whole-wheat pancakes. That was a thing, right? It would be fine. They were just so...brown. And heavy.
“Is your room alright?”
“Yeah. Shower was good. The bed has a nice bounce to it.”
I bit my lip but could not keep the embarrassed grin from exploding across my face. I elbowed his arm but could not look at him. “Shut up.”
He laughed softly and I studied him out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know why him standing next to me in socks while he casually wielded a spatula cooking pancakes in my grandma’s kitchen was so attractive to me at that moment, but it was.
“So…” he began, while we stood next to each other in potential awkwardness. “How long are you visiting for?”
“I just got here yesterday for a week. It had been too long. I’m glad I did too, I think my grandpa’s getting sick. Grandma thinks his cough is settling into his lungs.”
He made a sympathetic face. “It looks like I’ll probably be here for a day or two. I’m happy to earn my keep.”
A day or two? The windows rattled, and I was once again reminded of where I was. Wyoming. In an epic snowstorm. I swallowed.
“Where does your family live now?” he asked, checking the bottom of a pancake, before leaving it cooking, apparently deciding it wasn’t done enough. Did he mean for his arm to brush up against mine?
I added two cups of sugar to the now boiling water. My beautiful younger sister would freak out if I told her who I was making pancakes with. I was already looking forward to that lunch date conversation.
“My parents are still in Bozeman. My dad’s almost ready to retire from law. Julia’s married and lives in Billings near me. I love having her so close. She and her husband, Brandon, have two kids and I’m, of course, the favorite aunt and all that.”
“So she must have gotten over her love for me all those years ago, then? Sad. I wasn’t even invited to the wedding.”
“It would have been too hard for her to see you. To know she was settling.”
He breathed out a laugh. “Poor Julia.”
He checked a pancake and flipped it over. A loud and hard thud shook the lightweight teflon pan and caused us both to study the newly flipped pancake, curiously.
“Did you fill this batter with rocks or something?”
“Um…now seems like the time to confess that I couldn’t find a recipe to use, so I kind of had to wing it.”
He flipped another pancake over, the pan nearly toppling under the dense weight. He flipped the other two pancakes with the same result. We stared at our food in silence. He cracked first—bending forward, a wheezy laugh breaking free. I joined him a moment later, bringing both hands up to cover my face, shoulders shaking.
