Page 21 of Big Package
“You’re up.”
“I am. Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah. It was fine.”
I looked at the couch, then at him. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I slept.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“Close enough.”
He unloaded the logs next to the wood stove, then went into the kitchen and pulled a mug from the cabinet. “Coffee?”
I gave him a look. “Do you really have to ask?”
He chuckled, filled the mug, then handed it to me.
“Thank you.” I took a long sip and felt everything inside me settle.
Outside the window over the sink, the snow was untouched except for his tracks between the back door and the woodpile.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” There was more warmth in that one word than in most of what he’d said yesterday.
“You like it out here like this.”
He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”
“That may be the most Cole answer possible.”
He ignored me and started cracking eggs into a bowl.
“If anybody in Big Wood knew about this, it would ruin your reputation,” I said. “You cook. You give up your bed to strange women. You own extra toothbrushes.”
He shook his head, but I caught the faintest movement at the corner of his mouth, and I liked it far too much.
“Need help?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
He sighed. “Fine. You can make toast.”
We worked side by side without talking, and the strange part was how comfortable the silence felt. Yesterday his kitchen had felt completely foreign. This morning, with coffee in my hand and bread toasting next to me, it felt easier, maybe too easy, and I didn’t trust easy anymore.
Easy had been Kevin telling me we had plenty of time. Easy had been wedding invitations stacked on my dining room table and conversations about what color we’d paint a house I never ended up living in. Then one conversation had turned all of it into something I’d apparently imagined on my own.
When the bread ripped, I realized I was pretty much attacking it while trying to spread butter.
Cole slid eggs onto two plates. “You okay?”
“I was just thinking about how different my life looks from what I thought it would.”
“Different bad?”
