Baz was right; the hike back to the truck was cold and wet. The snow didn’t let up until we were half way back to town. Thank God for heated seats. It took forever to rid the chill parked in my bones.
“So where are we having dinner?” I inquire as I press my bare hands to the vents.
“My house?”
“Are you asking or telling?”
“Asking. Would that be okay? I have some fresh venison steaks marinating in the fridge.”
“Oh, really? Was this dinner invitation premeditated?” I toy with him.
“No,” he scoffs like that’s preposterous. “Kinda.” He changes his tune. “Maybe. Okay, yes.” He chews on his bottom lip unrepentantly as he drives.
“I’ve never eaten venison before,” I confess.
“You’ll love it. I killed and skinned the deer myself.”
“Yum?” I don’t exactly know how to respond to that tidbit of information. I usually don’t know where the meat I eat comes from, and I’m sort of okay with that.
“I promise it will be great.”
“I’m up for trying anything once.” I allude to so much more than food.
The way Baz’s mouth twitches tells me he received the subliminal message.
With butterflies causing a ruckus in my ribcage, we pull up to a small log cabin in the fucking middle of nowhere.
“This is where you live?” I scrutinize the tiny house surrounded by woods. “Are you sure you’re not a serial killer?”
Baz laughs. A loud, free, belly-rumbling laugh. “Definitely not. I hate violence.”
“Huh. Good to know,” I deliberate as he gets out of the truck and jogs around to my side. He opens the passenger side door and helps me out.
“Thank you.” How chivalrous. Benjamin Sabatino is just full of surprises.
“No problem.” He cops a feel by sliding his hands around my waist and drawing me close to him. We share a sizzling look. A heart-pounding, concentration-altering, dizzying moment in time.
If he wasn’t holding me, I might just fall over.
Once I get my bearings, I follow closely behind Baz to the front porch of his storybook cottage in the woods.
When he opens the door, I walk into quaint, cozy, and rustic decor. If you picture a cabin in the woods, this is exactly what it would look like. Dark brown couches in the living room surrounding a stone fireplace, red plaid accents, and cowhide rugs. Very rugged, just like the home’s owner.
“You can toss your stuff in the living room. Bathroom is back through there if you want to freshen up.”
“Sounds good.” I take my backpack with me and make my way through the kitchen into the bathroom. Once inside, I flip the lock and lean against the door, breathing for what I think is the first time since we left the spring. I have no idea where this night is going to lead or the consequences that will arise tomorrow, but I’m here now, and I’m just going to have to roll with the punches.
I do my business then splash some water on my face. My cheeks are flushed and my hair is tousled, but I’ve definitely looked worse. I take it upon myself to snoop around the bathroom, checking the cabinets underneath the sink and the contents in the medicine cabinet. Most everything is normal—toothpaste, mouthwash, razor, brush—but there are two large pill bottles. I read the prescriptions, Concerta and Wellbutrin, I’m not familiar with either.
Realizing I have been holed up for longer than I intended, I make sure my gun and knife are tucked safely away on the bottom of my backpack.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I find Baz moving around the kitchen. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, and his long hair is pulled back into a bun.
Yum.I drop my bag on the couch before joining him. “What can I do?”
Baz grins and pops his eyebrows. He’s so carefree. “String beans, in the vegetable drawer in the fridge.” He points with the knife in his hand.
“Okay.” I head to the refrigerator as he dumps a bag of small red potatoes onto a baking sheet. When I open the door, I pause with surprise. The inside is immaculate, every condiment perfectly spaced and in its own place. As I inspect further, I realize all the food is organic. The butter, the yogurt, the milk, even the ketchup.
