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“My pancakes are famous,” she says as she starts cracking eggs into a bowl. “But I think my eggs are better.”
I fit myself to her back and wrap my arms around her while she goes about her task. “Not helping,” she says as I kiss the side of her neck.
“Mhmm.”
She drops butter in the skillet, and it sizzles while she beats the eggs and milk together. When the butter is melted, she pours the eggs into the pan and I watch them start to clump together. She’s right, she’s shit at making an omelet but even that’s adorable too.
She pushes it all around the pan until the eggs are done cooking and then she adds an enormous amount of cheese. I’m going to have to run ten miles later or fuck her for hours to keep my arteries from clogging. I know which way I’d prefer to stay in shape.
Zelda moves me out of her way to pull plates from a cupboard and pulls a tray of bread out of the broiler below the cooker. She drops heavy pats of butter onto each piece of toast, allowing it to melt before spreading it. She splits the thick buttery slices, half on one plate, half on the other.
I turn off the cooker and scoop out the eggs while she pours orange juice into glasses. I learn she’s not a coffee drinker.
We sit at the small round table again while we share another meal, this one much more relaxed than the last.
“So, what are you doing today?” she asks me before taking a bite of her toast.
“Nothing,” I reply watching her face fall. I know she probably has work to do and I won’t keep her from it. This isn’t a vacation fling to me, I want to build something real with her and that involves us learning to be together around our lives and work, not to mention her family. “I’m sure you have work to do but if it’s okay, I’d like to see what you do.”
“I’d like that,” she says. “Today I’m in the garden.”
We finish breakfast and clear the dishes away together. I grab a bag from my SUV and pull on some clean clothes. I’m lacing up my boots when she steps into a pair of hot pink wellies that make me smile. She grabs the basket of her tools that I carried back up the hill the day that I met her, and I gently take it from her hands. I will carry her load any time I can. It’s not about her being a woman and me being a man, it’s about my need to care for her, to show her that she’s precious to me.
She leads me out the back door and down the steps. I don’t say anything when she doesn’t lock the door but make a mental note to talk to her later about home security when I’m not here—especially when I have to travel to distant locations. I need to know that when I’m traveling, she’s as safe as she can be.
She leads me down her hillside and I take in the rolling waves of purple that make up her domain. I watch as she pulls her hair up on top of her head in a messy knot of some kind and then take her gloves and shears from the basket before wading down into the tall stalks, methodically clipping cuttings for her use.
I follow her along for what feels like hours. We don’t need to fill the silence, but can just be, as she tends her wildflowers. And then I hear a twig snap and look up to see the biggest bloody bear I’ve ever encountered.
“Zelda, get down!” I order in hushed tones. I’m angry that I don’t have anything to drive the beast off and protect her with. In all my travels, I’ve never seen a bear like this one.
“What?” she asks too loudly before she sees the massive grizzly in question and begins to laugh. “Oh, him? That’s Bradley.”
This crazy woman has named the blooming bear! I can’t believe she’s survived this long. “Woman, that’s a bear, not your pet!”
“On the contrary,” she says with a smile as she produces an apple from her pocket. “You’re not a bad boy, are you, Bradley? You’re just scary looking but you can’t help it.”
The bear lumbers closer and I think of all I’ve survived in my forty-five fucking years on this earth: the military, SAS, my accident, climbing Machu Pichu, Everest, travelling all over the world. And I find and fall for a mad woman who’s determined to see me reduced to grizzly bear shite.
“You want a treat?” she asks as if he’s a fucking common dog and he sits on his arse and nods. She tosses the apple that he catches in his massive jaws, crunching it to bits. “Now, you go on. Don’t let Mason see you in any trash cans, you hear?”
And I’m obviously just as mad because I swear he nods before wandering off, back the way he came.
“See?” she has the audacity to ask me. “He’s harmless… Well, not harmless but he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You’re mad,” I bark. “We could have been eaten by a bloody bear and you’re calling it over with fruity treats.”
“You’re angry,” she says quietly.
“I’m not angry, I’m fucking rattled.”
“Don’t be.”
“Don’t be?” I ask. “You don’t think I should be worried?”
“You asked me to trust you last night and I did,” she says, rocking my world. “Now I’m asking you to do the same.”
She’s right. I have to trust her like I asked of her. “You’re right,” I say as I pull her into my arms.
