Surprised by the lack of pain, I try to wiggle my toes and find my ankle is completely immobile.
“You have a sprain.”
I startle at the sound of his voice and glance over at him. It feels somehow intimate to see his socked feet under the table.
“I… how would you know that?”
He shrugs. “Sprains aren’t that hard to diagnose. Would be easier with an X-ray.” At the look I must be giving him, he adds, “And I studied biology in college.”
I look between him and the drone on the table. “Really, is that where you learned to do surgery on robots?”
“It’s not a robot. It’s…” He pauses, considers me, then the most gorgeous, slanted half-smile graces his face, and I actually feel giddy at the sight of it. “Oh — ha, okay. A joke.”
Silence settles, and I can’t stop myself from trying to figure him out. He went to med school. He lives in what is basically an underground bunker and knows how to open up a drone and dig around inside.
Although he could actually be breaking it. Anyone with a screwdriver can open up something like that. But it doesn’t look like that’s the case here. It looks like he’s replacing something inside the thing, his fingers moving with the deft certainty of someone who knows what they’re holding, where it goes.
My gaze strays to the fire, and I swallow, digging my fists into the cushions below me to sit up. This is, without a doubt, the strangest situation I’ve ever been in. And my history of watching horror movies and listening to crime podcasts means I can’t stop thinking that he just might murder me still.
I don’t think so, though. And usually, my intuition is pretty solid.
So, if he’s not a murderer, there has to be some other reason he’s living out in the middle of nowhere like this.
I’m distracted from my thoughts by the dog to my left, who wiggles and looks like she can barely contain herself. When I reach out to pet her, she wiggles harder, and I laugh, eyes rising in time to catch the man’s gaze.
“You have to invite her up,” he says, eyes on me, flitting to my lap, “but you shouldn’t…”
It’s too late. “Up,” I say, patting my lap, and the massive dog doesn’t waste any time in situating herself on me, her head on my chest, her body stretching down to my knees. She’s impossibly warm and heavy, and it feels very cozy with the rain pouring outside.
“…because of your ankle.”
I laugh, petting the dog’s soft ears, and look over at him. “What’s her name?”
“How do you know she’s a girl?”
“I can just tell,” I say, though it occurs to me for the first time that she could be a boy dog. I just don’t think so. She’s giving offgirlvibes.
He pauses, considering me. “Her name is Cheesecake.”
That makes me laugh; it’s the perfect name for a dog. “What’syourname? Lemon Meringue?”
The warmth in the room seems to fizzle out, and even from here I can see tension climb back into his shoulders, his entire body going rigid. So, he doesn’t like questions about himself, and he didn’t want me looking around in his place.
This time, the quiet is a bit oppressive, and I shift uncomfortably in it. I don’t think he’s going to kill me, but this awkward silence might.
He breaks it by asking, “You were camping?”
I nod, a flush working its way over my face as I glance out the window, see the rain still battering against the ground. “Yeah, and all my stuff is probably ruined by now.”
He says nothing, just lets out a low hum, and I turn back to Cheesecake, who prompts me for more pets. Her mass is oddly comforting, like a heated, weighted blanket.
“This place isn’t going to flood, right?”
At this, he lets out an amused-sounding huff. “No. It’s not going to flood. This house was designed and constructed by the best eco-engineer in the western hemisphere.”
“Wow, she must be pretty smart.”
“How do you know it’s a woman?”
