Page 17 of Cabin Mate

She’s right. I did roll my eyes. Walking down the slim hallway from my front door into my kitchen, I grab a long-stemmed wine glass and a bottle of red wine from one of my favorite wineries in Napa. I pour myself a large glass and take a few sips—er, gulps—before responding to my sister.

Molly: My date is Brooks Windell. You remember meeting him at my college graduation?

Mildred: Oh. You’re just bringing a friend? Well, at least he’s gorgeous. Brooks will be perfect to make Todd jealous and come crawling back to you.

Molly: Well, actually … Brooks and I are recently romantically involved. And I don’t want Todd back, remember?

Mildred: Umm … it must be very recent … since you JUST broke up with Todd like four days ago!?

I shake my head that she didn’t bat an eyelash extension when Todd had a date for the wedding two days ago, but now she’s freaked out about me dating someone? At least I waited until the relationship was over, unlike Todd. And my “boyfriend” isn’t even a real boyfriend. Not that I’m going to tell my perfect sister that.

Biting my bottom lip, I try to remember the details Brooks made up earlier.

Molly: Yep. Went on our first date Saturday night and going out again tonight. He was there for me after the breakup. Actually, he’s always been there for me.

At least that last part isn’t a lie. Brooks really is always there to be a proverbial shoulder to cry on. And what a solid shoulder it is.

Stop thinking like that, Molly. One feel of his chest muscles and my brain has been compromised.

Mildred: Hm, okay. Well, at least you have a date. And he’ll look great in pictures.

I narrow my eyes at her text and don’t bother responding. After that text exchange, I decide it’s best to turn off my phone, have wine for dinner, and take a long, hot bubble bath. One of my favorite things we did during the remodel was creating the perfect master bathroom. Much to my contractor’s chagrin, I had him tear down a wall and convert a whole bedroom into my walk-in closet and luxury bathroom complete with an antique clawfoot bathtub.

No regrets.

Carrying my glass of wine up the curved staircase, I manage to get the back of my dress unzipped with one hand. I make it to my bedroom at the top of the steps and peel off the rest of my clothes before walking to the bathroom and starting the bath.

I slide into the tub and sigh as the hot water makes the stress of the day slip away. The bath salts my mother sent from Paris fill the room with the scent of roses. I breathe in the aroma before sinking a little deeper into the tub.

In my head, I go through the events of the past few days. A melancholy feeling settles over me when I think back to Friday night. I went from looking forward to a night out with Todd to breaking up with him. Todd was my first kiss, and the first man I said I love you to. And there was a part of me who thought he’d be the last, too. But somewhere beneath that sad feeling, there’s also a sense of relief. Or maybe freedom? It’s been kind of nice not having to talk to him each evening and hear him drone on about his job and how he hates Kansas. Oh, and how his friends back in Massachusetts are leading more exciting lives than him.

Todd really despises living in Kansas. But then why’d he follow me here? Obviously, he never took our relationship seriously, so why not stay in Massachusetts with his family and friends?

Back in college, I hoped Todd might follow me here when Brooks and I decided to start our own company. But I never asked him to. Honestly, I thought we’d do the long distance thing until we eventually got married. And I never really thought much past that. I pictured him proposing, and maybe a wedding, but nothing further into the future than that. Not growing old together, or having children, or vacationing in the Maldives. And you should probably daydream about all of those things with the person you want to marry.

But me and Todd just stayed together, regardless. I think I stayed out of a sense of duty to my mother. But why did Todd stay with me? Maybe he didn’t want to make things awkward. I’m not even sure anymore.

My bathwater has started to cool, so I get out and wrap myself in a fluffy white towel that has a cursive V monogrammed on it. A house warming gift from my mother. She has never come to Kansas to visit me, but she’ll send expensive gifts in lieu of actually spending quality time with me. With a heavy sigh, I walk to my dresser and start to grab some sleep shorts and a t-shirt before changing my mind and selecting a pretty little nightgown instead. Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I can’t feel good about myself.

I slip the light pink silk over my head and let it drape over my body. The spaghetti straps don’t offer much in the way of warmth, but after another glass of wine, I’ll warm up. I quickly comb out my damp hair before finding my now-empty wine glass and heading back down the stairs.

When I get to the kitchen, I ask my Bluetooth device to shuffle music by Post Malone— my guilty pleasure. (My mother would fall over dead if she knew.) Then I refill my wine glass.

I’m shaking my booty, sipping wine, and rapping along with every word when I hear a throat clearing behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin and shriek so loud it feels like my eardrums will burst.

“Ahhh!” I turn and see Brooks standing in my kitchen, a bag of takeout in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

His eyebrows are so high they’re practically part of his hairline. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer, so I used my key.”

“Alexa, stop music!” I yell at the blaring Bluetooth device. “Sorry, I took a bath and turned my phone off so my sister couldn’t bother me.” It hits me for the first time that even Brooks and I exchanged keys to each other’s homes, but Todd never gave me one. That alone says a lot.

His face relaxes and his eyes drop down to my body for a few seconds, just long enough for me to remember I’m wearing nothing but a slinky nightie.

Brooks leans against the kitchen counter like he’s completely unbothered by the situation. He even smirks at me and raises his eyebrows slightly.

If it weren’t for the blush coloring his high cheekbones and the tips of his ears, I might actually believe he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable at the sight of me in a barely-there nightgown.

For a moment, I’m so amused by him blushing—since I’ve never seen this man blush before—that I almost forget I’m showing way too much skin. If I made him blush, this dating ban must really be getting to him. I’m pretty sure I’m not even his type … just like he isn’t mine.