Lee steps in from the back deck. “How do you like your steak?”
“Medium. That smells fantastic. Is there anything I can help with?”
He shakes his head and picks up a plate of corn on the cob, tossing words back over his shoulder before closing the sliding glass door. “It’ll be done in about twenty minutes.”
It’s enough time for me to shower then throw the clothes I bought at the thrift store today into the washer. As soon as I return and take a seat at the kitchen bar, Lee slides a full plate in front of me then sits down with his own.
“Thank you.”
He nods and digs into his food. Things are awkward for some reason. Maybe because this feels too domestic. I don’t think I’ve ever come home to a man making me dinner. After a few moments of silence, he says, “I see you have a new phone. Did you get your bank card replaced?”
“Yes, I’m all good. I got in touch with my insurance company. They’ll be meeting the fire marshal there tomorrow. They don’t know what caused it yet but if there’s nothing suspicious, the insurance will cover a hotel room temporarily. I’ll know by tomorrow afternoon.”
There’s another long silence while we eat. He suddenly puts down his fork and looks at me. “You don’t need a hotel room. Stay here until things get settled.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine at the Stay Inn.” It’s the only hotel in town and I’d rather not be too far from work.
“You aren’t living at Bedbug Manor.”
The news spread around town fast when they had a bedbug problem, but to be fair, half the town was infested. “That was almost two years ago.” The place is a little seedy and rundown, I’ll admit, but it isn’t a hellhole. “I’m sure things are fine now.”
He stabs another bite of steak, chews and swallows before replying, “You’re staying here.”
I’m not sure where this is coming from or why he’s so insistent. “If you keep trying to tell me what to do, I won’t need a place to stay after I get locked up for kicking you in the balls.”
His deep chuckle makes me smile. “I’m not your little weaselly ex. You don’t want to fight me. But if you’d like to be carried out of that hotel over my shoulder, go ahead and check in.”
He wouldn’t dare. “You can’t just tote me around when I don’t listen to you.”
“Sure I can.”
Our little friendly argument breaks the awkward tension, and things feel more normal between us again. After dinner, he gets called to fix something at one of his cabins. I finish my laundry, write a list of everything that needs to be done tomorrow, then watch some TV to try to relax.
When it’s time for bed, he reminds me that he’s supposed to keep an eye on me for forty-eight hours. He seems poised for an argument, but I’m not going to object to a second night in his bed. This time when we crawl under the covers, he pulls me into his arms instantly. I fall asleep again to the comforting warmth of his hand stroking my back.
It feels good to get back to the diner. It’s been a second home to me my whole life. The familiarity of the work and people feels like a reprieve from the chaos of my life that resumes when I walk out the door.
I heard from the fire marshal first thing today and his only question was whether I’d been burning a candle that night. I’m not sure what I was expecting, an electrical issue maybe, but no. I burned my house down with a fucking candle.
I’m sitting in my office working on the payroll when my phone rings with the call from the insurance company that I’ve been waiting for. I swing the door closed, dulling the sounds of the lunch crowd, the silverware clinking, someone laughing too loud, the oven timer blaring. It’s wild how life goes on like nothing happened when yours is falling apart.
“Ms. Mills?” a man says when I accept the call. “This is Fredrick Nash with Grayson Mutual Insurance. I’m the claims adjuster assigned to your property loss. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
Something about his tone is disturbing. It’s too calm and careful, like he’s handling something fragile.
“Yes, I spoke with the fire investigator this morning and he said to expect your call today.”
“Good. I’ve received his preliminary notes, and I need to collect a few additional details for our internal review.”
Internal review. Bureaucratic talk for we’re going to try to find a way to avoid paying you. “Okay.”
“There was a home equity loan opened recently on thisproperty. Approximately…” He pauses, and I can hear papers shuffling. “Four weeks ago, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“What was the purpose of the loan?”
“I used the house as collateral to fund some upgrades to my business. Why?” I don’t like where this is going.
