I turn, grabbing the other two plates of food and sliding them across the counter.
“Sometimes,” I mumble.
We dish up and eat in silence, as we do for almost all of our meals.
“These are so good, what did you do to them?” she asks, picking up a chocolate chip one and putting it onto her plate with a little bit of butter and the smallest amount of syrup.
“They are gluten-free, made with oat milk and egg whites,” I tell her, not looking up from my plate as I put another bite of food into my mouth.
I can see her staring at me in my peripheral vision, but I keep eating like it’s no big deal. Like, I didn’t spend an hour thismorning looking for a recipe that I wouldn’t fuck up and would hopefully taste good.
“Oh…”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. I just keep eating, and the two of us fall into silence once again. We finish up our meals before going our separate ways for a few hours.
I don’t see her again until around early afternoon when she brings me lunch while I tinker out in the shop on random projects that I started once upon a time but never finished. Some of them, I’m not sure if I ever will.
She made pasta salad, sandwiches, and brought out some sodas for us as well.
As we eat, I look out the shop doors, admiring the mountainous view from the property. I’ve always loved this house, and I think that’s why I’ve never moved.
Truthfully, it has everything I would ever need if I decided to retire tomorrow. My very own little refuge in the woods: ten acres, animals, trees, mountains, and most importantly, no people to bother me.
I’m close enough to town that if I need to go get food, I can, and most places in town do deliver if I ever want quick takeout.
As we sit side by side, I think about the Sloane that I thought I knew. It’s weird, knowing someone for their entire life but not really knowing them.
She never used to smile, she was the butt of every joke, and seemed to have little joy, despite what everyone would be jealous of her living in a dream world, with money and anything she could ever want materialistically.
She doesn’t stick around long after lunch. While she heads inside, I go back to tinkering for awhilebeforeI head into the house and go straight for the stairs.
I take my time in the shower, letting the water wash away everything from the week in prep for work tomorrow. Theweirdest thing happens for once, work actually isn’t the thing that’s at the forefront of my mind. It’s the brunette downstairs in my kitchen making me dinner. And I have no idea why…
7
SLOANE
I’ve been here for almost a month, and I’m honestly not even sure how it happened. I only planned on staying a few days, and I never ended up leaving. There was no official conversation; I just unpacked my bags, filled the fridge, and after a week and a half, he left a key to the house on the counter for me.
Over the last month, I seem to have grown attached to this man in a way I never expected, and in a way that is very unhealthy. Dr. Google says that it’s just something else that I can blame on my Daddy issues.
I find myself enamored by him. I’m honestly not sure what it is…he’s the same guy I remember. He’s quiet, and I find myself talking enough for both of us. He’s kind, he listens, and offers good advice. I really don’t remember him looking as attractive as he does now. I’m sure that’s all that it is. I’m physically attracted to him, and it’ll soon melt away. At least that’s what I’m hoping for, because we’d never work out, even if deep down I want us to.
I never realized how much time school took up in my life until the last few weeks. I feel like I’m falling back into my old lazy habits, and that’s not good, because I’m scared of what a relapse would look like.
Which is why I’ve resorted to yard work. I asked Beckett if he was ok with it, and when he said yes, I immediately went to work on building garden boxes. I want to start a little garden on the side of the shop. So that’s today’s goal. I know that my garden season will be short, given it’s mid-May, but at least it’ll give me something to do, and hopefully it’ll help me keep my mind off the man who offered to help me build these wooden boxes.
I should’ve said no. I knew it was a bad idea and that there would be no way for me to deny him anything when he walked out in a black tee and jeans, but what made me forget how to breathe was when he put a ball cap on.Backwards.
I stand off to the side, making myself look busy as I count my plants when really I’m just staring at the side of his face, hoping I’m not being obvious about it.
It’s not fair. Why couldn’t he be ugly? It would be so much easier to exist in a house with him if he didn’t look this good.
Ultimately, I think Google is right, and I chalk it up to my lack of a father figure. Beckett has acted more like a father than my own ever did, and maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to him. I crave that kind of connection with someone. To have someone who wants to hangout with me, and teach me things that they feel like I should know.
“Oh my God, Beckett, is that a bunny?” I whisper as a little brown and white rabbit hops across the back yard.
Beckett looks across the yard up from his spot on his knees and nods. “Yeah, looks like a snowshoe,” he says, and I scrunch my brows.
