Then he leaves.
I lie there staring at the glass of water and the closed door trying to decide if I just dreamed that.
I didn't dream it. The water is right there.
I sit up, drink half of it and get out of bed.
The cabin is louder than it's been.
Not in a bad way. Just—fuller. More presence in every room, more scent layered into the air. When I come downstairs Finn is at the counter making coffee with the dedication he brings to anything food or drink related, Malcolm is on the back porch visible through the glass door doing something with a stack of firewood, and Alex is at the kitchen table with his laptop open and his reading glasses on.
I stop on the last stair.
Alex in reading glasses is information I didn't have before and I'm not sure what to do with it. Apparently almost this entire pack has eye problems.
He looks up.
Takes in my expression.
Takes off the glasses.
"Don't," I say.
He pauses.
"Put them back on. I just wasn't expecting it."
His face morphs into amused. He puts the glasses back on with a careful neutrality that means he's trying not to look pleased about something.
"Coffee," Finn announces, holding a mug out to me. "Milk, one sugar."
"How do you always know when I'm on the stairs?"
"Sixth sense." He wiggles his fingers mysteriously. "Also the third step creaks."
I take the mug and wrap both hands around it.
"Where's Rhys?" I ask.
Finn and Alex exchange a look.
"He did the water thing again?" Finn asks.
"He did the water thing."
"He did it four times last night." Finn turns back to the coffee maker with the air of someone reporting a weather pattern. "Once at midnight, once at two, once at four, and once at six. Alex made him stop at six because we could all hear him on the stairs."
I look at Alex.
"He's very large," Alex says by way of explanation.
"He's outside," Finn says. "With Malcolm."
I move to the glass door.
Malcolm has apparently given up on the firewood and is now sitting on the porch steps. Rhys is beside him. This is notablebecause beside Malcolm, who is not a small man, Rhys looks like a different category of person entirely. Malcolm's shoulder comes to roughly Rhys's collarbone.
They're talking.
