Page 81 of Feels Like Home

Out here, it almost seems like we’re the only two people in the world.

When she sees it, she stops moving. Beside the trailer is a small firepit with two chairs positioned around it.

“Thought I could make you dinner,” I say. “I got some hot dogs and S’mores stuff.” I look at her. “You still like S’mores?”

She turns a circle. “What am I, a lunatic? Of course I do.”

“Good,” I say.

“Did you get the waffle cones?”

“What am I, an amateur?” I volley back in the same tone she used and open the door of the trailer, grabbing one of the bags from my trip to town. I pull out the box of waffle cones, remembering Hattie’s accidental discovery that they’re a great substitute when you’re out of graham crackers. Turned out she liked them better that way.

We all did.

She looks past me into the trailer. “Can I see inside?”

I turn toward the open door, then back to her.

“Unless it’s like, personal,” she says. “Sorry—that was kind of pushy. Forget I asked.”

“No, it’s fine.” To me, her curiosity is a good sign. No way I’m going to shut it down. I want to share everything with her—I just don’t know how. I motion for her to go in. “It’s nothing special.”

She hesitates for a beat. “You sure? I mean, I wouldn’t let you go snooping around my bedroom, and that’s kind of what this is, right?”

I give her a look. “Eh, I feel like you would go snooping around my bedroom.”

She grins. “Only because of the turndown service and the mints on your pillow.”

I smile, struck again by just how much I like Hattie. I like being around her, maybe more than anyone else I know.

I follow her into the trailer and try to see it through her eyes. The layout is pretty standard, but when I bought it, I gave it a complete overhaul.

“Wow,” she says. “It’s so clean.”

“I’m going to choose to ignore the surprise in your voice,” I say.

She turns. “I don’t remember you being a neat freak.”

I shrug. “Guess that’s one of the things you didn’t know about me.”

“No, but I do now.” She leans in and looks at a set of photos stuck to the wall behind the stove and sink. “Whoa, is this what it looked like when you got it?” She points to the one I took of the interior of the Airstream to document my progress.

“Yeah,” I say. “I tore everything out. And I do mean everything.”

I pull out my phone and open the album I have detailing each step of the renovation. I set it on the counter in front of her, swiping through as I explain the process. “I insulated it, added the recessed lighting here.” I point to it. “I painted the entire thing, then pulled out the windows—that was a two-week long job. Had to clean and scrape and polish every one of them. They were pretty gnarly.” I swipe to the next photo.

She purses her lips. “So . . . when you said this place is nothing special, you were lying.”

I laugh. “Fine, it’s a big deal, and I’m really proud of it, okay?”

She grins. “That’s more like it.”

“These are the layout plans,” I say. “Tried a few different options, but ended up with this.” On the wall behind us is a pantry and a closet. I turn and pull the closet door open.

“Are those all the clothes you own?” She looks at me.

“I’m a pretty simple guy.”