I walk inside.
CHAPTER THREE
BECK
She rearranged my couch cushions.
Been here twelve hours and she's already reorganized the throw pillows, folded the blanket I left crumpled on the armrest, found a broom, and swept the area around the fireplace. Duke supervised the entire operation from his rug, tail thumping every time she walked past.
Now she's in my kitchen. Holding up a can of soup.
"This is what you've been eating?"
"It's food."
"It's sodium with a label." She turns the can. Reads the back. Makes a face that would be insulting if it weren't accurate. "You have eggs?"
"In the cooler."
She's already opening it. Pulling out eggs, a block of cheddar, half an onion. Her hands move with purpose. Practiced. She grabs the cast iron pan off the hook without asking where it is.
"You don't have to cook."
"I'm hungry. You're hungry. And if I eat canned soup for dinner, my grandmother's ghost will haunt both of us." The pan goes on the burner. "You got butter?"
Pointing at the cooler's second shelf, I lean against the doorframe. Watch her crack eggs one handed, dice the onion, grate cheese onto a plate. Rain hammers the roof. Thunder shakes the walls. She hums while she cooks.
The woman never stops moving. Since she walked inside, she has touched every surface, opened every cabinet, asked questions about the plumbing, the woodstove. Told Duke his ears are "perfect little velvet triangles" in a voice that made him groan with happiness.
"You're staring."
"My kitchen."
"Fair point." She flips the omelet without looking. Perfect fold. "So. You live up here alone."
"Yes."
"By choice."
"Obviously."
"How long?"
"Three weeks."
She plates the omelet. Cuts it in half. Slides one portion toward me. "What were you doing before?"
"Working."
"At?"
"Doesn't matter."
A normal person would stop pushing. This woman is not a normal person. She leans both elbows on the counter, chin in her hands, watching me eat with the patience of someone who has all night and nowhere to be.
"My last boss called me 'tireless.' Put it in my annual review like a compliment." She picks up her fork. Takes a bite. "Tireless. Like it's a good thing that I never stopped. Like running myself empty for someone else's company was a character strength instead of a warning sign."
The omelet is excellent. She knows it. Not waiting for me to say it.
