The thought distracts me enough that I don’t realize we’ve climbed the steep hill to Natalie’s front door until my foot lands on the brakes. “Here we are.”
Lindsay gasps as she opens her door. “Oh shit, I forgot to bring something.”
I reach for the paper bag behind her seat. “Don’t you worry your little noggin’. I brought two bottles of wine from the bar. One from each of us.”
“My hero.” Her smile is easy, and I want to bathe in it.
Snowflakes are starting to drift down around us, not enough to get my scraper out of the box in the bed of the truck, but enough to land fully formed in Lindsay’s long black hair, making her look like an angel.
Natalie whips the door open with bright eyes and ushers us in. We settle in at the new dining room table that she’s still gushing over. She got it for a great price, and she’s thrilled it matches the new kitchen cabinets they had recently installed. Winston has been quietly listening, with his loving gaze locked on Natalie. He can’t eat or drink, but Natalie set his place with the same plates, glasses, and cloth napkin the rest of us have, I’m sure in an effort to make him feel included.
The rest of us have our glasses filled with water and wine, and our plates covered in various cheeses, jams, and crackers from the charcuterie board in the middle of the table.
“This jam is terrific,” I mumble with a mouth full of it. “Did you make it?”
“No, Ethel made it,” Winston replies, speaking for the first time since we arrived. “She enjoys the tedium of making small batches with the fruit she grows. It’s keeping her busy.”
“Well done, Garden Ghost,” Lindsay says, holding up her wine as if to toast the old-timey specter who haunts their garden by growing a wide array of fruits and vegetables and leaving the harvest on their doorstep.
Winston leans forward with scowl. “If Ethel is the garden ghost, what silly nickname do you use for me?”
Lindsay rolls her eyes. “You’re my friend’s grumpy-ass boyfriend.” She never hesitates to fight back, and it’s my favorite thing about her.
His lips curve, amused. “I have no qualms about that.”
To break the lingering tension, I decide to change the subject. “Winston, how’s the fence repair coming along? Ready for winter?”
“I wanted to replace our current fence with an electric one to deter bears, but my Natalie won’t let me. She doesn’t like the idea of bears getting shocked, because her heart is as soft as butter.” His tone softens more with each word when he’s talking about her.
“Plus, bears are adorable,” Lindsay adds.
“Instead, I’ve been spraying the perimeter with diluted neem oil to keep them away, along with a few motion sensors I’ve installed, and strings of tin cans. The scent, the lights, and the sounds combined should keep them away from the garden.”
Natalie smirks. “Though we don’t really need the tin cans when we can rely on Ethel shrieking at the top of her lungs if she spots one.”
We continue chatting about home repair, the bar staff schedule, and upcoming holiday events for the town as dinner fades into dessert. The later we get into the evening, the more comfortable Winston is becoming with our presence, and the more touchy-feely he becomes with Natalie. For some reason, I can’t look away when their fingers entwine on the table, or when he idly twirls the curled ends of her hair. Natalie leans into his touch every time, like she’s hungry for it, like it’s a nutrient her body requires to function, like she doesn’t constantly have access to it here at home. It makes my palms itch with want.
When I look to my left, Lindsay’s small, soft hand isright there, resting on her thigh. What I wouldn’t give to reach for it now.
After dessert, we play Scrabble, and I get my green ass whooped. Lindsay, on the other hand, is crushing it. She’s won twice already. Natalie and Winston are holding their own, but Lindsay seems to know…all the words. Every single one. Meanwhile, I’m over here putting down “supposably” and “brang” and having to remove my tiles immediately after because I guess they aren’t real words. Nobody told me that, and I’ve been using both since as far back as I can remember.
Lindsay never makes me feel stupid, though. She smiles warmly and tells me that both are commonly misused in place of the correct ones. She also rubs my shoulder each time, which makes it difficult to remember any feeling of shame, or what shame feels like at all.
I hear Natalie let out a surprised squeak from the other room, and she runs in to tell us the snow is coming down hard. I follow on Lindsay’s heels as she races toward the nearest window and throws back the curtain.
“Shit,” she mutters. “That’s a foot, at least.”
“I thought we were supposed to get hit overnight,” I add with a sigh. “We should probably get on the road before it gets worse.”
“No way,” Natalie protests. “You should crash here. We have a guest room, and I can make up the couch.”
“Oh, that’s okay, really.” Lindsay’s tone makes it sound like she’d rather sleep in the garden shed with Ethel than stay here. Then I remember that her grandmother died in the bedroom upstairs, and her tone makes perfect sense.
“Thank you kindly for the offer,” I say to Natalie, “but I’ve got chains and snow tires. We’ll be peachy.”
Lindsay beams at me with so much gratitude, my stupid heart is hoping for a kiss on the cheek. She doesn’t give me that, but she does give my wrist a gentle squeeze, and the prickles that race across my skin at her touch make it just as rewarding.
We say our goodbyes and trudge through the snow toward the truck. I help Lindsay into her seat before grabbing the scraper from the box in the back of the truck. It’s light, fluffy snow, so it’s easy to clean off, but it’s falling so quickly that the windshield will be covered again soon if we don’t get a move on.
