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Chapter SevenWhitakerShe was a stranger a few hours ago, but now as we sit at the table with a platter piled high with all the fixings, she feels like someone I’ve known for years.
“Are you like this with everyone, putting people instantly at ease?” I ask as I butter a roll.
Her eyebrows lift. “Not at all. I usually hide in the background. I’m never front and center.”
“Why? You seem so naturally warm, welcoming.”
She picks up her fork, smoothing the potatoes on her plate. “My life for the last three years has been… complicated. I left high school without any family and… I ended up in a bad situation.”
“A bad boyfriend?”
She shakes her head. “No, not really. It was more like… I was living with people and in exchange for the room and board I did the cooking and cleaning.”
“Did they hurt you?”
She laughs tightly. “Not hurt. But they weren’t exactly nice to me, and they had plans. Plans that meant I’d always be someone’s property. These guys… they were shady. Are shady. Which is why I left.”
“Hell, Cozy. That’s… horrible. Someone’s property?” I shake my head in disbelief, realizing we come from two very different worlds. “Who are these guys? That isn’t right.”
“Right or wrong never really factored into it, Whitaker.” She takes a bite of her food, her eyes off in the distance.
I hate that the night has turned so heavy so fast, but I’m also grateful she has opened up. Cozy is in trouble, and I’m glad I followed my heart by keeping her here. She needs to feel safe.
“I know people, Cozy. If someone is after you, I can stop them.”
Her eyes grow wide. “No, you can’t. They are dangerous and they are upset with me.” Her words go cold, her body tenses with fear. “Very upset with me. And I just need to get away from them. Forever.”
“Okay,” I say, reaching for her hand. “We can make that happen. You’re okay now, Cozy. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
Her fingers wrap around mine, and she holds on tight. “Why are you so good to me? We just met.”
“It doesn’t feel like it though, does it?”
She shakes her head, tears filling her green eyes. “No, it doesn’t.”
She eats her food as if she has never eaten something so good before. It makes me smile, watching her take care of herself, get some food in her that is fresh and healthy. For years I’ve been building a successful company, but never have I felt so rewarded for my efforts. Cooking Cozy a good meal is so damn satisfying, and I’m already imagining cooking her breakfast.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Two weeks. I ran out of money and gas… I was stuck.”
“Or maybe you ended up right where you belonged.”
She smiles. “This cabin… it is the most picture-perfect place I’ve ever seen.” A laugh escapes her. “I walked in and thought I fell into a fairy tale.”
I look around the space, trying to see it through her eyes. I always thought the furniture needed to be updated and the three-decades-old appliances needed to be tossed, but she sees something different. She sees home.
“Why do you like it so much?” I ask, serving us both more ham and green beans.
She bites her bottom lip, as if choosing her words. “My grandma raised me in an apartment in the city, until she died when I was sixteen. But she always told me these stories of when she was little. Her parents had a little cabin out on a lake and she had the best memories of it. I lived for those stories, of camping trips and catching trout in the summer and playing in the woods in the fall. They’d spend Christmas at the cabin and she said they always picked a tree form the woods and chopped it down.”
“Is that what you did?” I ask, pointing to her little Charlie Brown tree.
“I tried,” she says with a laugh. “I may be good at cleaning and shoveling snow, but I’ve never used an axe in my life.”
“It’s cute,” I tell her. “And besides, you did it on your own. That had to feel good.”
She nods. “Yeah, the last two weeks have felt like a dream. I haven’t had time alone like this in my whole life.”
Her words hit me. “I’ve spent so much time alone, I’m over it,” I admit. “I work long hours and sometimes I wonder what for. What is the meaning of busting my butt just to go home to an empty loft to eat food from a to-go box?”
We push back from the table, dinner done. Carrying our plates to the sink, she continues the conversation. “But look at everything your hard work pays for.” She points to the pots and pans. “Everything you own is so fancy. And this food?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
