Page 32 of Goode Tidings

"This is it," she says, emotion tearing through her tone. "The beginning of the end."

I frown. I can't help it. "That's probably a bit melodramatic." Fuck. I didn't mean to say that out loud. I'm used to living alone, to being alone ninety nine percent of the time. I can say what I want, when I want. Nobody's around to hear me.

But that's not the case anymore.

Eden's head whips to the sound of my voice. Her face is free of makeup, her eyes fringed by those long dark lashes. She does not look remotely happy to see me. In fact, her curled lip tells me she feels the opposite. "Oh, good. It's you. Let me guess, you're going to grump at me for being human and having feelings."

I walk around the front of the porch, hopping up the steps and closing the space between us. Eden gazes at me distrustfully, still holding that plate in her left hand. A single watery trail cuts down the center of each cheek. She sniffs.

"How much damage did you do?" I ask, appraising the contents of the plate.

"I smashed one cupcake," she says, her lower lip pushing out in the cutest pout I've ever seen.

The urge I have to press a fingertip to the center of her puffy lower lip is potent. And wrong. And out of place. And wrong.

I busy my hand by threading my pointer finger through a key ring and spinning my keys, just in case my body betrays my brain and tries to reach for Eden. "You could have smashed the other five," I say, inclining my head at the plate. "If anything, you showed restraint."

A smile flirts with the corners of her mouth. "Well, these are apple pie cupcakes. It's against the law to smash more than one."

"Is it?" I ask, leaning back against the railing. When I first showed up to the cabin two years ago, this porch and these railings were rotted through. I tore everything out and rebuilt it, which is how I know the railing my ass is leaning against is strong enough to hold me. "Is it also against the law to eat apple pie cupcakes by yourself?"

Eden's teary eyes light up. "Yes." She nods, continuing with this fanciful story we've created. "The police officer from my first day here⁠—"

"Ernest," I supply, crossing my legs at the ankle and folding my arms over my chest as I settle in for her tale.

"Ernest," Eden repeats, dipping her head at me in thanks, "will show up and haul your behind down to the station."

"So if I allow you to eat those cupcakes alone?"

Her cheeks are dry now. Her eyes less red. "You'd be knowingly aiding a criminal."

"We can't have that."

She looks at me. She's playing along, but she's vulnerable. Her shoulders curl in slightly. Does she want to be alone? When I'm upset, alone is exactly where I want to be. That's how I ended up in Snowflake.

The fingers on my right hand form pinchers, reaching out to swipe a cupcake from her plate. She twists, dancing away from my reach.

"Ah ah ah," she playfully admonishes. "You can come inside and eat a cupcake and have a cup of coffee like a civilized person."

She's inviting me inside? There was a time in the not-too-distant past that walking through the front door was second nature to me. Now the idea of following her into the cabin makes my palms sweat. Like yesterday's unspoken invitation to do laundry, this offer to spend time together is both thrilling and horrifying in equal measure.

The time for deliberation is over. She's heading for the door.

"I was on my way out," I call to her back. Baby hairs at the nape of her neck fall smoothly over her skin. They look soft, just like the rest of her.

She ignores me, saying nothing as she plucks the pencil from the mess of hair on top of her head.

"Civilized people can eat cupcakes while they drive," I huff as I hurry after her, stretching my hand out over her head to push open the front door that wasn't fully closed.

I step inside and stop dead in my tracks. It's all my stuff, but it's hers, too. A throw blanket and matching pillows on the couch. A set of coasters on a new coffee table, and a small woven basket on the console table where her keys lie. The smell of cinnamon and apples joins the spicy wood, smoke, and pine scent of the cabin.

It's nice. Inviting. She took the bare-bones cabin I renovated and breathed warmth into it. And until I saw it this way, with its woven rug in the living room and metal basket for holding fire logs, I didn't realize it was missing that element. And now I'm thinking about how nice it is to have that.

"I'm going to wash my hands," I say, nearly letting my discomfort crack into my voice. I stop in the hall bathroom, noticing the new towel slung over a new shower curtain. I hadn't bothered to hang a shower curtain in here, because I only ever used the main bathroom off my bedroom.

My bedroom. Eden's bedroom. I finish up in the bathroom, slipping down the hall to take a peek in the bedroom I used to call my own. The bedding is new, but everything else looks the same. My weights haven't moved. The open closet shows my clothes still hang there, though now they're joined by a line of Eden's clothing. It hits me again the same way it did that first night when I moved down to the lake. There is a woman sleeping in my bed. Living in my room. Sliding bare feet over floorboards my bare feet have roamed.

I step deeper into the room. It's been so long since I've shared space with a woman, I've nearly forgotten the small details. The slippers under the bed, the hand cream on the nightstand. Eden has neither, and a small relief presses at me. Hailey was the only woman I'd ever come close to sharing a life with, and I'd assumed all women behaved as she did.