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Unsurprisingly, he refused to take no for an answer. I ended up calling Silas, whose no is quite a bit more emphatic than mine.
Brett wasn’t an outlier.
Brett was part of a shitty pattern, and I had very, very bad taste in men. Enter reinvention, and trying new things, and being open to new experiences, and generally being different from the girl who’d gotten dumped and fired and who fell for men who “didn’t believe” in expiration dates on milk.
Long story short, now I love the outdoors.
“I didn’t know Silas enjoyed trail running,” Levi admits. “Last time he went on about his fitness regimen I believe it was CrossFit.”
“Oh, God, the CrossFit,” I say, laughing. “He once swore up and down that he could bench me and then got mad when I wouldn’t let him try.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” Levi says.
We round a curve in the gravel road, and I catch a glimpse of a building through the trees.
“This is your house?” I ask as the truck navigates one final curve of the long gravel driveway.
“It is,” Levi confirms.
I lean forward, craning my neck for a better view, the building still partly obscured by trees. I’ve never been to Levi’s house, but I know two things about it: one, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and two, he built it himself.
Now we’re in the middle of nowhere, at least a mile down a long gravel driveway, and we’re coming up on what might be the most charming cabin I’ve ever seen in person.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
“Oh,” I say.
Levi just glances over at me.
“You built this yourself?” I ask, just as the cabin comes fully into view.
“Not entirely,” he says, the truck slowing as Levi reaches up, hits the button on his garage door opener. “I hired someone to do the plumbing and electrical work. Silas helped me hang drywall. Charlie helped with the kitchen cabinets. Caleb and I spent a weekend laying the floors.”
“Oh, so only mostly,” I say, still staring at the cabin.
It is, for lack of a better word, lovely. It’s made of wood so rich it practically glows, even in the near-dark. It’s got a wraparound porch and a small flowerbed in the front. There’s a walkway with slate paving stones leading to the front steps. It’s not big, but it’s also not small.
It’s an honest-to-God mountain man cabin, only instead of being ramshackle, crooked, and drafty-looking, it’s beautiful. It looks like it should be on the cover of Lumberjack Real Estate or Fancy Backwoods Vacation Homes or some other magazine I’ve just made up.
I wonder if something like those magazines exists. I wonder if they’d be interested in a feature of Levi’s house.
“Looks like the power’s out,” he says, shutting off the truck. “Not precisely a surprise, but I think we can make do.”
“Mhm,” I agree. “You built this? Mostly?”
“C’mon,” he says, climbing out of the cab.
I follow, shutting the truck door heavily behind me, eyes still on Levi’s house as I follow him in, a rucksack slung over his shoulder.
Something about this feels like learning a secret about Levi. It feels like he’s invited me to his secret hideout, deep in the woods, his fortress of solitude. I know that’s probably ridiculous, but it’s not like Levi’s known for throwing dinner parties.
I follow him onto the porch, still silent, and he puts his key into the lock, then turns to look at me.
“Watch out,” he says, and pushes the door open.
“For wha—"
I don’t finish my sentence, because I’m hit by a missile.
A furry missile, with a wet nose and a wetter tongue, who nearly knocks me off my feet and then prances in a circle around me as I kneel on the porch, too excited to hold still.
“The attack dog,” Levi says.
“Hey girl!” I say.
She licks my face, tail thumping, and I laugh.
“You remember me? Yes, you do. Yes you DO.”
The dog makes a funny little growf noise, like she does when she gets excited.
“Traitor,” Levi says mildly, still standing next to the door as he leans inside and checks something. “Yup. Power’s out.”
I’m now sitting on the floor of his porch — it’s covered, so at least it’s pretty dry — and the dog is still circling me, snuffing and growf-ing and licking me, her paws prancing with glee.
“I may have given her some treats while Silas was dog sitting a few weeks ago,” I admit to Levi, dodging around the dog’s face to talk to him.
“Some?” he says, leaning against his doorjamb, one hand in a pocket. His shirt is now just damp, not soaking wet, though I’m somewhat consternated to report that the change hasn’t made him less distracting.
“It might have been more like several,” I admit.
It was not several. It was a lot. She’s a very good dog.
